The villagers of East Wellin slept well that night, despite the fog pressing in on their houses, swirling against their windowpanes, and creeping under their doors. They slept so well that not one of them woke up in the middle of the night. Not one of them heard a scream.
Over the next few days, a strange scent began to waft into town. Bitter and decayed. The scent of death.
A small group of brave men once again assembled and trudged up the hill to the manor. The mist had begun to clear and was now only a thin veil. They circled the manor, passing the patch of freshly churned dirt where they had buried Madame Ophelia. Tendrils of fog seeped over the grave. Not a shred of grass had sprung up and begun to cover it.
They approached the manor's great doors and banged on them. No one answered.
"Never mind," said one man, pushing the doors open. "They're unlocked."
Inside, the stench was sickening. Two men clomped upstairs, breathing shallowly. One man walked through the maze of hallways but found nothing. He encountered the other man standing in front of a closed bedroom door.
"I found them," the man said in a low, shaking voice. "They're in the room, dead. Both of them. And they're missing their fingers."
"Missing their fingers?" the first man said in a puzzled voice.
"Gone. They were chopped half off. You don't want to see. It's messy. I found this on one of the woman's stumps. Did you find anything?"
The first man shook his head. He'd seen nothing but a bunch of hallways and an empty closet. "What is it?" He stared at what the other man held out.
It was a golden ring, set with a glittering blood-red ruby.
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YOU ARE READING
The Organ of Madame Ophelia (short story)
HorrorLong after its mistress's death, the organ of Madame Ophelia pounds out a strange, haunting melody every night, tormenting the villagers in their sleep. Something must be done. Enter the Bunts: a young couple who buy Madame Ophelia's house, unwittin...
