The Many Morbid Tales of Spookinite Valley
My Very Own Fiends
Written by Benjamin Fouché
A tale of friendship written by The Coffin Keeper
There once was a time where I was a lonely and withdrawn soul—for I had no fiends. And indeed, the words I articulated are unerring—I had no fiends. It was a period in my life that I loathed so greatly—yet, I do conceive that it was because of my rather reclusive tendencies. So lost was I—and alas, I did not know what my reasons for existing were. However, within the depths of my warm heart, I envisioned that I was destined to uncover something that would end my grief. It all occurred on a quiet, autumn evening while I took a stroll through a cemetery near my home.
There was no draft to disrupt the resting leaves that had dwindled down from the limbs of the barren maples—only the deadest of silence; just as there should always be on the grounds where the deceased are put to rest. While I strode further, I stumbled upon something that fascinated me: a coffin. Moreover, unlike most, this was a delicately crafted coffin. The carpentry was quite exquisite and each of its six sides was carved with beauty. I wondered how one could bury such a lovely thing beneath the earth. And during that moment, I decided that I was not going to permit such a reprehensible thing to happen.
As I opened the lid to inspect it, I was disturbed by the hideous sight my very eyes beheld. This was not going to do—its position seemed a bit too unnatural. I took the corpse out and placed it on the ground. I gazed upon it for a few moments, and became enlightened: after what seemed to be centuries, I now indeed had a fiend. Yet, its position was still too intolerable to look upon—hence, I placed the cadaver back into its coffin. The lovely piece was dragged all the way back to my abode. I hauled it in through my front door—then up many flights of stairs—and finally, into my attic.
I had to fix my fiend’s posture that remarkably disgusted me, or else, I would not be able to converse with it. Slowly and steadily opening the lid of the coffin, I cringed; its arms were so perfectly crossed, and its neck—so perfectly straight! I was immediately sickened once again by the sight. The arms, legs, and neck had to be repositioned so that it would appear all the more peaceful. Therefore, I began my passionate work. I grabbed and I gnarled, it cracked and it crunched. But lastly, after each unending hour, I concluded my masterpiece.
Resting my new fiend in one of the chairs, I placed a candle within its long, emaciated, twisted fingers. I lit the wick and a flame lit up his face. I grinned as I saw its skeletal smile—and in my fiend’s hollowed eyes, I saw contentment. Alas, it was suddenly quite apparent that something else was very, very wrong—it never spoke. Not once! I thought, surely, it would have to, at the least, say a mere thank you—but no—it just sat there saying absolutely nothing to me! I was not going to put up with this nonsense—no—I deserved better!
In my desperation, I rushed back to the boneyard with a shovel and excavated as many graves as I possibly could. I opened the deteriorated coffins and snatched the fiends sleeping inside them—and yet, not a single word of gratitude was expressed from any of them. This infuriated me to no end. I brought them all to my house over the passing weeks and fixed their abhorrent postures—and still—they did not bestow upon me a blessing of any kind. It was mid-November when my attic’s space grew scarce. And now, I had to begin posing my fiends throughout the other rooms of my dwelling.
Notwithstanding, even the ones unearthed from the grandest of gravestones did not speak to me. It was mid-December, a month later, when I gave up my hopeless endeavors. While despair fell upon me, I awakened and saw things the way they ought to be seen. I ended my work one evening and sat in a chair facing the fireplace. Deep in my remorseless thoughts, I rested my eyes, reflecting upon what I had done. A waste of time is what it had been—and nothing more.
But all at once, I heard several faint voices. Realizing that they were emanating from upstairs, I leapt out of my chair with such astonishment and dashed up the stairway. They all eyed me—every single one of them. And they told me things—remarkable things! Only such things that few mortals can comprehend. To this night I continue to sit patiently and listen to them in awe. They possess a pronounced wisdom that intrigues me—and now, at long last, I have uncovered something splendid—I have discovered the immense love and splendor of having my very own fiends.
© Spookinite.com - All text, music and photographs by Benjamin A. Fouché | Music: "Immortal Nightmare" by Morbus Tenebris
