Why did I do it? I’ve had enough of this vile man. I am forced to call him a colleague as well as a friend but he only seeks out my companionship at his many dinner parties to use me as no more than a jester. The putrid being’s name was Claude. Our occupations forced us to communicate and partake in a bountiful amount of correlative events. Without all the calamities our noble titles force us to take part in, I would not have even had to acknowledge the man’s existence let alone put up with him, but alas, such a thing would only be a wondrous dream. If it were not for the revenge I so suddenly had upon him and his foul being, which was much grander than not knowing him at all. Allow me to say:
What had Claude done to me to bring my negativity and hate, and soon my revenge, upon him you may ask? Well the tally of predicaments in which he has soiled my name, and my very being, is quite a lofty one. The multitude of times he has insulted, ridiculed, and mocked me is that of thousands, perhaps even millions. A decade in which I have gone to every event and joined Claude in every ball he has held has passed and not on even one occasion has he spared me an insult. Without exception to even the most concise of occasions do I feel his mockery! His insolence angers me so. Oh the harm I allowed him to receive. He perished in such great disparity that he should fear me even in death at the remembrance of the amount of agony I had caused him at his end.
In every single one of the fancy parties we partake in, I am seated near, if not next to, Claude. The reasoning for this escapes me and I often speculate it, but for the time I was forced to smile in his presence, all the while plotting his demise in such a tragic manor to him it almost seemed too precluding to not get caught by holding impunity over his soon-to-be murder at the time. I went as far as to think of how to dispose his body, perhaps by river, I thought. Then perhaps I would abscond from this place. No need to loiter here once I avenged my name.
The dinner party Claude and I were currently attending that evening was in the Forester’s dining room of their lovely mansion, which is surrounded by forestry and not too far away. a cemetery that is so near that the mansion’s shadow leaves a flow of darkness upon it. I found this remarkably beautiful; it allows the dead to forever have a dark resting place, in which no over-bearing heat from the sun can bake the minuscule amount of grass and top soil that shall forever cover the dead like a soft compact blanket of a resting place. I laugh at these thoughts I’d had now.
I watched Claude talk with the other guests a moment, oh how every word I heard coming out of his mouth made my ears closer and closer to bleeding. I had no choice but to look away from him as I sipped my champagne, too disgusted to glance at him. While I was oblivious to all of Claude’s many movements, he grabbed his wine in one hand and took a sip before gesticulating to emphasize his speech. The imbecile forgot that he was holding his drink while flailing his arms.
Soon be it, I was covered in an expensive and cloth-staining drink. My anger, though only a minimal amount for I did not want to expend it all, seized me and I was left to accost at the behemoth, Claude. I stood and pointed at his hideous face while looking down upon him, “You ludicrous, feeble-minded, idiot!! How dare you! How dare you constantly mock me, and all that I am! My pride and my emotions, you may have at them! Have at my dignity and looks! But I am now done with enduring your persistent torture upon my very being, Mr. Claude Vanderbilt! My dress, this dress, was my mother’s before her passing and the last of her memory. It is, was, my favorite dress as well as my most expensive! How dare you purposely ruin something so beloved by me!” I screeched to him, unable to control myself at the time…
Claude stood in a revolting manor towards me, making me look like a clown once again. His luminous height over my short frame gave him the chance to look down upon me, and I could tell his eyes were not looking into mine, or even upon my face. The pervert was allowing his eyes to bore into my bosoms. The hound was directly staring at my chest within the heat of being yelled at! He began to speak, and listening to his lies I would not fall victim to his foul words, “Please, Lady Mechalee, I implore you in all earnestness to look deep within your heart to forgive me. I shall pay for your dress to be cleaned, and if it is not immaculate by the time it is out of the cleaners then I will see to it that an exact replica of it is created. Please, madam.”
I have known Claude too long, I could see through his disguise though the twenty others around us only saw a man of honesty and fairness. Claude was going to see to nothing and keep all of his money where it always is, in his pockets which devoured every dollar and every dime he placed within them like a treacherous cave, a dragon’s hoard. No. I slapped him for looking at my chest and he ended up looking to the left, with a large red hand print upon his face. It caught the attention of many who were not originally watching us in our short feud. My hand stung but I did not care at the moment. Claude whipped his head back towards me, knowing perfectly well why I had slapped him. He did nothing in return, just continued looking down upon me. Though I knew he wouldn’t pay for me to get a new dress, or even get it cleaned, and that he was once again looking upon my chest, I did not call him out upon his ways in front of everyone. The dinner guests had just believed I slapped Claude for the ruined dress. “Very well then, I’ll be waiting for a fitting before weeks end. But allow me to paraphrase my earlier words; I am NOT at all happy that you have ruined my dress.” I could say no more. This man would be destroyed tonight.
“That is understood, Mechalee. Please stay calm. I truly am sorry for causing your lovely gown such harm.” Once Claude was done speaking and done with looking at my body in such a putrid manner, he sat back down. I allowed two of the Forester’s maids to take me to get my dress cleaned and dried a bit. They were very persistent in scrubbing out as much of the wine as possible. The garment was still stained but to a much smaller degree compared to its earlier appearance. When the young ladies finished doing what they could, I thanked them and redressed myself in the gown. They offered me a different gown to use for the duration of the evening but I refused. I wanted to stay in the same dress I had arrived in all throughout the banquet.
Once seated again, I used the rest of the time at the dining table to contemplate and fulfill my plan to terminate Claude. One of the aspects of this plot was to intoxicate him, which was done easily enough; the Forester’s mansion is filled with an abundant amount of liquor, wine, beer, vodka, and many other alcohols.
By the time the evening’s events came to a halt and everyone had to quickly disperse from the Forester’s home, Claude had consumed just about enough alcohol to intoxicate two riding horses, I thought. He was so stupefied, his words were such a tragic jumbled mess of slurs and garble that the few words, or sentences, I could interpret ended up being something rather outlandish. I was forced to carry Claude out. I pushed Claude up into a carriage and seated him across from me after telling our driver where to take us. I sat comfortably and smiled with real joy, for the first time I’ve known Claude, simply by thinking what would become of him soon after we arrive to the chosen destination.
The ride had lasted about an hour or two. I pulled Claude’s nearly unconscious body into the abandoned building which was my chosen murder location and I brought him down the cellar’s steps, laying him upon a table I’d placed there days before. It took a few minutes, but I was able to fully disrobe Claude, undergarments and all, and used ropes to bind his arms and legs to the sides of the table and gagged him with a handkerchief so his screams of agony would be too muffled to be heard, not that he could be heard from within this suffocating cellar in anyway, with how deep it descends into the ground underneath the building.
I slapped him with a cold, gloved hand of mine. “Claude, wake up Claude. You’re going to miss your own demise if you continue to refuse to awaken.” I prepared my tools for his autopsy.
His eyes opened the moment I finished speaking. Claude looked around dumbfounded, still tragically drunk but coming out of his intoxicated state of mind just enough to have a miniscule grasp on what was going on around him. He tried to speak but nothing more than muffled sounds came from him. Perhaps I gagged him too well? Nevertheless, it’s not as though I wished for him to speak. “Sorry, but you’re not allowed to communicate any more. I’m going to fix everything I hate about you. And as you can see, I already fixed your mouth. Perhaps soon I’ll take your tongue. Now it’s time for the rest of you to be corrected, isn’t that a good thing?” I smiled widely, quite happy, but in response I only seemed to get a vigorous amount of head shaking and struggling. “Keep still!” I barked, not wanting him to die of fright before having my fun.
I picked up the sharpest and longest scalpel I’d arranged. “Where should I cut first? I’ll save your eyes for last so you can witness everything, alright? But first, I think it’s a bit cold in here.” I told him at the time, stabbing the blade into his hand, “Here hold this for me, please.” I joked, then walked over to the heating stove and created a flame, feeding it wood until the room warmed up. Claude shrieked in pain and had begun to cry as he sobered up more. Blood leaked out of his hand and dripped onto the floor. I could almost smell the scent of the iron in his blood from the other side of the room.
“Don’t worry, Claudy! This will only hurt cruelly and be a tragically slow and painful death.” I reassured happily. He tried to struggle free of the ropes that bound him but his attempts were futile. The rubber of my gloves felt tight and I pulled the scalpel from his hand and began to cut into Claude’s skin beginning from the collar bone and downwards… I cut into and past his abdomen, to just a little below the medial area of his hips. I took a moment to savor the mixture of emotions, tears, and the twisted un-human look upon his face. Claude writhed in pain as much as his immobile position would allow and screamed as much as he could though those screams were muffled to quite a grand extent. I enjoyed this so much, I laughed at his agony. I laughed and laughed at his struggles and helplessness.
Once I was done laughing I peeled back the skin to examine the first layer of muscle. “Congratulations Claudy! You do have muscles.” I laughed, watching the muscle writhe around, exposed, I found it wonderful. Never have my eyes seen such a lovely sight as the one right in front of me. I’d always took to my anatomy books with glee. His muscle was thick and layered. The coloration red and pink, I grasped the scalpel once again, and cut into the muscle. I pushed most of it out of the way then prodded and poked at his organs. “How intriguing, never before have you interested me so much, Claude…” His face was red, almost purple, from twisting it into so many pained expressions. He continued to writhe around like a bug, the pest he was. Claude’s teeth bit down tightly on the cloth that gagged him. I could see the veins on his throat and forehead popping out, his face and eyes were so scrunched up. He groaned in pain along with his many screams.
I chose to pull some of his organs out to examine and play with them more closely. Who would have guessed one man’s intestinal tract could be so long? I watched his heart beat for a few minutes. It was so quaint sitting in his open chest, caged in his ribs like a bird fluttering its wings. I watched his ribs expand and extract along with his lungs for a while. I took the tips of my fingers of each hand and traced a few of his ribs, running them over the muscle, nerves, veins, arteries, and mainly the bone. I pulled out and wrapped his intestines around his neck a few times, they looked like one giant red sausage; I could feel it working in my hands, it was very soft and smooth, like slick tubing. My hands ran over his intestines a few times as I wrapped them around Claude’s throat. Blood was everywhere and the red was so nice. I’m glad Claude ruined my dress. It doesn’t matter now that it’s covered in such a pretty red. “Look, you wear yourself. It looks so nice on you!” I laughed, slapping him in the face to keep him from falling unconscious on me.
Starting to get bored, I ripped some cloth from my dress and tied it tightly around Claude’s left arm. I watched until the skin around the cloth started to turn purple. I think Claude’s muffled screams began to get louder, how nice. It sounds like music to me. I took another tool from the metal table, I didn’t know what this one was called but it looked as though it would be fun to play with, perhaps it was a butcher’s saw? Picking it up, I looked it over before slowly cutting into and severing off Claude’s arm then I untied it from the table. Blood poured onto the ground around the operating table. Just to be nice, I took a torch from the furnace and singed closed the end of his arm.
I took the severed arm and began playing with it. Oh how I found this limb ever so amazing. I took the left upper extremity and placed it over Claude’s face a moment. He stopped moving. I took the hand away and looked at him. He was still alive, much to my amazement, but his face was very pale and distorted from either blood-loss or horror. I shook the hand in front of Claude’s face a few times, thinking it was very funny. I laughed and watched him continue to thrive in agony. I then took his intestines and pushed them back into his body, placing the muscle and skin back where it belonged, just to be kind.
I found a pillow in the corner of the room once I looked, I chose to be kind and placed a pillow under Claude’s head for support so he could see his body more easily. Claude was absolutely bathed in blood. I looked at what else I could cut into on his body. I ripped another shred of cloth from my dress and tied it around the middle of his right foot. I tied it very tightly and waited a while before his toes turned purple. I picked up some sharp medical scissors.
“This little piggy went to market.” Off went his big toe. “This little piggy stayed home.” I cut off his second toe. “This little piggy had roast beef.” His middle toe was cut off with no more than a flick of the wrist. “This little piggy had none.” Claude’s fourth toe came off with barely any fight at all. “And this little piggy said wee wee wee all the way home.” His pinky toe almost fell off, with how easily I cut it off, Claude’s screams continued to rip through the air though they were muffled. The look he gave me was of agony and defeat. I giggled in reply to his solemn yet horrific expression. I decided to sing the song again while cutting off the toes of his left foot, deciding not to tie cloth around it to cut off the circulation this time.
Blood spurted up at me like a red geyser. Feeling a warm substance on my cheek beside my lip, I licked up the blood that had gotten on my face. It was even warm upon my tongue and tasted salty and metallic, much thicker than water. Without hesitation I chose to remove the rag that had been gagging Claude and listened to his cries and screams until his vocal chords cracked. I watched as blood pooled around his body on both the operating table and the ground. The red substance poured out of him until his body was white and his lips, hand, and feet and other parts of him turned a bluish purple.
Claude struggled with blood loss and began to tremble and shake. Feeling that he would die soon, I dug my fingers into his eyes and gouged them out, breaking the nerves attached to his eyes from outside the eye sockets. His mouth was open in a silent scream and his body fell still. No more movement came from him. I opened his chest quickly once again while using his lifeless eyes like stress balls in the palm of my hand and watched his very last heartbeat. A few of his muscles made spasm movements before I saw no more signs of any type coming from anywhere within the cellar.
I slashed his body in a maniacal rage. I cut the last of his limbs off and decapitated his head, before throwing the head against the far wall. It hit against the wall with a loud crack and the eyeless head rolled a few feet away. I laughed and I screamed then I threw down the scalpel in my hand and left Claude’s lifeless green eyes upon the table to stare at the ceiling thoughtlessly. The only sound I could hear in the otherwise deathly silent room was the dripping of blood from the table to the floor. The drip drip drip of blood and its lingering scent was very irritating.
My dress was soaked in blood so I washed off the best I could and changed. The clean dress that I had hidden in the building above the cellar felt very nice once I put it on. I put Claude’s body into a cloth bag and burned all the remaining evidence such as the gloves and my once beloved gown in the furnace before setting the store ablaze. I claimed the blood-soaked bag from the basement, locked everything up, and then made my way through forest towards a mausoleum. I made sure that no one had seen me. I made sure the bag didn’t get too much blood on the ground as I hauled it through the forest as well. It was still rather heavy even though so much of Claude’s blood was left down in that basement. It was nearly three in the morning as I dragged a deceased Claude away.
Once I came upon the mausoleum, I opened the heavy stone door and walked inside. I unlatched a coffin and shoved Claude’s corpse into the coffin with some other long-dead, poor unfortunate soul. I closed and relatched the coffin. I walked out of the structure and shut the door again, then walked away. I could see the fire rage on from the abandoned store as I walked to the next town through forest.
Finally I have gotten my long-deserved revenge. This revenge tasted so sweet, no longer would I have to be pushed around and insulted by that demon. My demons are much stronger. I have impunity after all, it seems. Who ever said “revenge is a dish best served cold” has clearly never had the taste of warm blood before. How delicious. I wonder who I shall feel my wrath, my vengeance next. And with that, I end this letter to no one but myself.