The Treasure of Ecarte Island

Ghost Stories

      "Captain!" called the high throaty voice of Madame Flambeau. She lifted her folded black feather fan and gave it a bit of a wave, "I say! Captain Baugainvillea!"
       The party guests about her turned their heads in Dietfried Baugainvillea's direction, wondering what in this world could be holding his attention captive, but just as they did, Dietfried Baugainvillea lifted his head to the elderly lady's voice.
        "Yes, Madame Flambeau!" he called back to her with proper enthusiasm.
        "Here! Stop with flitter-flattering that girl and come with us adults to the study!"
         "Ah!" Dietfried consulted the tall grandfather clock as it began to chime that it was now three in the morning, "How time flies when one is flitter-flattering." he replied to the young lady next to him.
        She looked up at him and laughed demurely. "I can not help but wonder what the importance of the adults convening in the study at this hour."
        "Oh, yes! This is your first time attending Madame Flambeau's Harvest Moon Party, isn't it, dear?" Dietfried offered his arm and he and the girl slowly made their way through the crowd to the double doors of the study. "At this hour, the hour when the spirits are most near to us, it is a tradition for us elder ones to go into the study, have a seat in a comfortable leather chair around the hearth with a freshly lit cigarillo and sifter of brandy. Then we each tell a ghost story."
          The girl sniffed derisively. "You are not being serious, Captain."
          "But I am!" Dietfried insisted. "Such fun to hear slightly differing versions of the same spooky folktales. Besides, tis tradition! Now, who am I to buck up against tradition?"
           They had arrived at the highly polished open door of the study and approximately seven of the older guests had already filed in and taken a seat. The butlers brought them drinks and began offering a variety of cigars or loose tobacco for pipe smoking.
           "Gracious!" said the girl, "Perhaps you are being truthful."
           "Nothing but, my dear Daphne," Dietfried lifted her gloved hand and gave it a light, gentlemanly kiss. "Now, go find our boy Hilary. With you to guide him, he'll make a proper mannered aristocrat yet."
          Daphne rolled her eyes heavenward. "He has yet to leave the card table tonight." she sighed plaintively, "But I shall go, although I am far more interested in your ghost stories than the gambling parlor."
           Dietfried chuckled. "Yes, I know. Please, for my sake, be patient with him, my dear. I would not have chosen my lone nephew to be my heir if I thought him a hopeless case."
           Daphne nodded. "Oh, I know. He isn't as awful as all that. Hilary has his charm. It's just not your brand of charm, Captain."
           Dietfried stepped away from her to enter into the study. "True. True, but then again, who does?"
            "No one," Daphne sighed under her breath as a butler gave a short bow to Dietfried and closed the study door after him.
            Madame Flambeau, being the hostess, began with a story brought down many generations about the burning man who roamed about peasant villages lighting the fires of those who had no fuel to burn. When his body began to burn out he had to be on the hunt to pass on the last of his flame.  It was to be passed to one deserving of the punishment to do likewise until atonement had been reached. 
           It was more of a cautionary tale to children, of course, but could be told with some wonderful macabre description of the burning man's painful, exhausted cries, and burning flesh that could make one think twice before opening the door on a chilly late autumn night!
           There was not one story among them that was completely original, not even Dietfried's, but original and creative embellishment made each no less entertaining. 
Dietfried sipped brandy telling of the legend of the faigrin, a malevolent sea creature that would crawl onto a sea vessel in the form of the one whom you desired above all others, only to eat you alive at your most vulnerable. Leave it to Captain Baugainvillea to tell a story that was equal parts sensual and horrific, and so very entertaining.
The last to tell their story was Lady Cordelia Frazier-Oberon, the widow of the late, great Col. Edmund Oberon. Lady Cordelia was not known for her storytelling, but tonight she brought forth a story that left Dietfried stunned, as well as highly concerned.
It began with a legend that was old even in ancient times when kings weren't only kings. Some were worshipped as gods. In their crowns sat a single gem that distinguished them from common men. Their kingdoms knew no famine nor disease. Battles were fought, of course, but these kingdoms always rose to victory, such was the power of the gems.
These crowns, being only three, were ultimately lost, the gems stripped from them and said to be taken back by those ancient of ancient beings who held the whole of the universe on the tips of their monsterous claws.
They cared nothing for the minute living things scattered throughout these billions of stars in the palms of their hands, if they could be called hands. These tiny flecks of life were of no consequence, and yet, these gems held these 'ancients' attention as nothing else. Having possession of these gems only added to their unquantifiable power, but this was not enough. It is said these Ancients are still in search of the hidden source of these gems to possess it all. If there be obstruction, then they would merely clap their hands together and snuff out the entire universe in a blink of an eye.
The others listening to the retelling of a legend long forgotten, weren't quite as impressed with it as the other stories regaled that evening. Lady Cordelia, in her youth, was far more a gossip than a storyteller, and moreover, her mind had gone a bit fuzzy. So, it was anyone's guess how much they were to believe Lady Cordelia's insistence that a stone made of the same crystal of the ever so powerful gems of the ancients had been sited just recently.
"Oh my!" laughed Madame Flambeau, unfolding her feather fan to generate herself some air, "How absolutely horrid of you, Lady Cordelia! Telling us such a story only to end it as no more than idle gossip. Clever, yes! But horrid! You mean thing!"
"Gossip? Gossip??" cried Lady Cordelia indignantly."I'll have you know, Evadeen Flambeau, it is said this stone and perhaps the source of it can be found somewhere on Ecarte Island!"
"Ecarte Island??" Lady Flambeau laughed even more, "And what do you make of it, Captain Baugainvillea? Lady Cordelia is making the claim that your brother's wine vineyard sits on the treasure of the ancients!"
Dietfried, was steadily staring at the dwindling fire in the hearth, puffing absently on a cigarillo. He then blinked, and straightened up attentively.
"Oh, Pish and Posh," he sniffed haughtily, "That poor little island is made up of no more than limestone those islanders use to make pitiful shacks for themselves, my brother included! How ironic, such a place as that would be sitting upon a mine of treasure these ancients would slap the universe out of existence about!"
"Ha!" scoffed a drunken Baron Hanson Von Hymer, "Too right, Dietfried! Too right!"
"Really, Cordelia!" her own cousin, Lady Theresa Gordon-Hyatt, gasped, "The rumors you fish out of the stream are often too much!"
They all had a good laugh, all except for Dietfried, who merely watched as the others continued to poke fun at the miserable Lady Cordelia.
Dietfried did not laugh, but sat wondering how quickly he could head to Ecarte Island.