Paradoxically Yours...

Chilled to the Bone

(prompt: 'cold' 3/11/2017)

It was more than cold down there. And not only for my body...

An ominous chill took hold of my heart in the iciest grip I'd yet known. My ears filled with the almost painful pounding of my pulse and I fancied I heard strident chords of organ music playing a funereal-type march.

I had no choice but to steady myself with a hand on the damp and clammy wall. There was no rail as I crept unwillingly down the steps. Jumbled thoughts of 'Pandora's Box' and 'be careful what you ask for... you just might get it' played over and over in my thoughts - a mind-numbing litany.

The smell was... all but indescribable. Musty, made up of a strange combination that defied identification. Could a smell make an atmosphere even more spooky? This could.

In the dead centre of the room (uhrr... bad choice of words, there!) a huge open vat of whitish liquid dominated the scene, dimly lit by a single cobweb covered lightbulb, bare of any cover.

Dread filled my soul as morbid curiosity drew me closer to peek over the edge - and my sense of doom increased. Great lumps of fleshy looking 'somethings' floated in there. Pinkish-grey pieces of bizarre, unrecognisable shapes and sizes.

My fertile imagination saw a repository for Mafia-style disposals of... once human beings? The shuddering deep within had little to do with the low temperature down there. I found myself shaking my head almost frantically. Not my gentle 'gentleman' Dad? Involved in some gruesome, nefarious activities? Part of a 'mob'? NO-O-O-o-o... I'd have screamed, if any sound at all could possibly emerge from my abruptly parched throat.

Spinning around, I blindly skittered up the stairs, out of that terrifying underground cellar. Up into the light and comparative warmth - and straight into the arms of my Dad. And now I was crying and gasping out garbled, unimaginable and probably unintelligible questions. I guessed by his expression of deep concern that my face was as white as my heart and spirit felt. I sagged weakly against him. Despite my worst fears, he was still my protector, my Dad... wasn't he?

I took a furtive peek up at his face and saw a slow smile begin as his glance swept past the lift-up trapdoor to the cellar, and understanding filled his eyes.

"You silly duffer," he said, and his voice was loving, as always, and he lifted my chin to smile cheerfully. "That's my Pickling Cellar down there. Where do you think all the Corned Beef you love so much comes from?" He chuckled. "Growing out from the cow, fully pickled already, maybe?"

I took a deep, if quivery breath, and opened my mouth to reply - but suddenly I found myself speechless. Some Butcher's daughters had much yet to learn.