Doughboy

THE HARBINGER OF EXCRESCENT DOOM (A GOTHIC TALE)

THE HARBINGER OF EXCRESCENT DOOM (A GOTHIC TALE)Emily Braughton sat in the wildly jolting coach and willed her thoughts into a more comforting realm, one far removed from the inclement weather that pounded irresolutely without letup upon the wounded landscape. The sky outside was bleak and dark, as if covered with a giant hand. Somewhere above the forbidding Alps a streak of lightening lit up the sky for one brief instant. She nearly fainted at the sight that met her eyes: She found herself surrounded by a tangle of thick trees with intertwining branches, which reminded her of being trapped in a prison in a dank dungeon somewhere beneath those overpowering mountains that leered above her like beetling brows. She imagined her virtue being compromised by the handsome Count Barlow. For some unexplained reason the thought sent a delicious tingle through her body, which again caused her to almost faint with the sheer imagined danger of such an encounter!

The carriage rocked violently back and forth upon the rutted road, further exciting her. She called upon the driver to slow down. A moment later, the carriage came to an abrupt halt and she called out again, inquiring as to the nature of why he had stopped. Silence, except for the cracking of branches and the sound of some malevolent force racing headlong through the thick trees, along with the screeching sound of some wild animal and an additional onslaught of rain, the ever incessant rain pounding relentlessly – rhythmically – upon the darkened forest. Hesitantly, fearfully, she opened the carriage door and peered out.

Leering above her, shrouded in the cloudy mists and the pelting rain, a forlorn castle reared starkly into the sky, as if clutching the very edge of the mountain ridge upon which it sat. The sight caused her heart to palpitate with wonder….and dread! She knew this to be the castle of Count Barlow. She had come here hired as the new nanny to fill the abrupt vacancy left by the previous nanny who had died in a bizarre accident that the Count was loathe to discuss, except to say that the woman had been beheaded after falling headlong down a winding set of stairs and landing perfectly onto a guillotine placed at the bottom! The Count would elaborate no further upon the incident, except to say that it was beastly horrid and a messy inconvenience. Although her heart had pounded with prescient dread when offered the position, she nevertheless decided to take the offer, for it meant money she could send to her mother for an operation on her crippled legs. Her mother liked to get down and boogie, but lately found it difficult due to her advanced age, arthritis, bad knees, hammer club feet, and corns.

She nearly swooned with unbridled passion as she thought of the Count and his dark, handsome eyes and the little tufts of curly red hair that protruded from his ears and nostrils. His lips were like ripe raspberries that demanded to be kissed. The thought caused her to blush with embarrassment, as the rain continued to pound relentlessly upon the stopped carriage, a rhythmic pounding that seemed to mirror the very chambers of her wildly beating heart!

She peered into the darkness. Where was that confounded driver? She stamped her little foot and, lifting her petticoats, stepped out of the coach and met a gust of wind that nearly toppled her into a mud puddle. Although momentarily flustered, she walked apace from the coach and horses and peered into the darkness. The driver had apparently vanished, or was perhaps at this very moment in the woods attending to nature's call. Men had such very small bladders, she thought.

Out of the pelting rain, a shadow detached itself from the surrounding darkness and strode purposefully forward. She covered her mouth and stifled a gasp!

“There is no need to be frightened, I assure you,” the strong, masculine voice spoke.

“Come no closer, sir,” she said. “Or I will faint! I assure you that I will!”

“I mean you no harm.” His voice was calm, assured, and strongly masculine.

He stepped nearer and, with sudden relief, she realized that the figure standing in front of her was none other than Count Barlow himself, the very person she had come to see! But what was he doing here? And in the rain?

“Count Barlow!” she managed at last to say. “It is you!”

“At your service!” He clicked his heels smartly, sending a shower of rain into the air. His black eyes shone with intensity, as if a fire had been lit in their depths.

She was speechless for but a moment, then: “But what has become of my driver?”

“Unfortunately, he was taken ill. A sudden onslaught of gastrointestinal distress, I'm afraid. No doubt he is off in the woods attending to his needs.”

He paused, perhaps waiting for her to speak. She was barely listening. She felt distracted by the curly red hairs visible on his half-unbuttoned shirt and how the rain caused them to glisten with dewy dampness. She had an unaccountable urge to twirl her fingers in his chest hairs and make little curlicues. She blushed at the audacity of her thoughts. Thankfully, it was so dark that the Count was unable to see the crimson rise in her cheeks.

“But how shall we proceed to your castle?” she finally managed to articulate.

“However that may be,” he continued, “we shall arrive.”

His words were mysterious, shrouded in secrecy and full of a subtext that she could not untangle. What exactly did he mean? She wondered. Did he have designs upon her heart, or was he merely playing with her affections? And did he detect the fullness of her desires? She stood there, digesting his words, attempting to fathom the full meaning behind his utterances. It took her awhile to understand that he had been speaking for some time and was now pointing behind her.

“Please,” he said, indicating the carriage. “Let me assist you.”

She accepted his assistance as he took her elbow and helped her into the coach. Her heart fluttered when she felt his gentle touch upon her elbow.

“I will drive,” he said.

The rain and wind swept past them blindingly as Count Barlow raced along the narrow path, as if anxious to get them both safely through the rain-soaked forest and within the walls of the castle. She glanced out and saw the forbidding edifice that would be her home for however long she remained in his employ. A part of her wondered why the Count had never mentioned his children; after all, she realized, she had been hired as a nanny. And yet, he had never once mentioned his children, neither their names nor their ages. These questions – and more – occupied her thoughts, along with the undeniable magnetic attraction of the Count's personality.

In the depths of the forest a lone cry sounded, a forlorn wail of agony that hinted at something monstrous, of something beyond the kin of knowledge. A glimmering of understanding permeated her brain as she realized that the sound was not unlike that of a child in dire straights, the cry perhaps hinting of madness and desperation. A moment later, she dismissed the sound as the wild imaginings of her overwrought brain. Instead, she concentrated upon the appetizing physique of Count Barlow, and then felt herself swoon into oblivion as she thankfully fainted.