Darkness enveloped the night, eating its way to the edges of a single kerosene lantern bouncing hazardously next to a penniless, but forcibly well-dressed, carriage driver. Montresor sat inside the lonely cart, accompanied only by the click-clacking hooves of a lone, off-white Clydesdale. He sat in a silent state of melancholic panic- his business-acquaintance, Fortunato, had summoned him unexpectedly. Never mind the summons, the sleep-deprived wine-taster hadn't expected to be told to arrive in the dead of night.
Anxiety gnawed at Montresor's gut. He had recently been facing insurmountable debt, encroachment of bankruptcy, and worst of all: the threat of all of the secrecy coming unraveled, ruining him. Knowing Fortunato, the fool would try his best to capitalize off his misfortune.
Montresor was still in a hypnotic state of distress as the carriage ground to a creaky halt, and the carriage driver unlatched the side door to let his master out. Dim rays of light pierced the miser's gloomy tomb. Successfully roused from his trance, but no less conflicted, Montresor's expression hardened under the gaze of his subordinate and he made his reluctant way to the looming mansion in front of him.
Lit sconces lining the stone fortress illuminated the courtyard like blinding floodlights, scouring the grounds for those unworthy to tread within its bounds.
Failing to face the fire's challenge, the once-wealthy man hung his head and slunk inside.
"Good evening, sir!" An exhausted servant exclaimed and flamboyantly ushered him inside. Montresor sulked past the scrawny, heavily scarred, blue-eyed boy and into the castle in silence. The subordinate deftly slid in behind him before taking the lead and wordlessly showing him to his master's office.
An impossibly-daunting oak door stood before them. With the servant's quick flick of the wrist and a flourish, the debtor was thrust into the office and into a world he could never quite escape.
The solid door sealed with a clickbehind Montresor.
"My friend,"
Dark, purring, and predatory, Fortunato's voice called out from behind a sprawling, expensive desk.
"Come in, take a seat!" The wealthier motioned to a plush armchair opposite of himself.
So, he did.
'I don't have time for games.'The miser concluded. "Why have you summoned me here, Fortunato?" He confronted.
A low growl responded, "You think I don't know? You truly are a fool."
Suppressed terror edged its way into Montresor's heart. He dared not respond for fear of breaking his composure.
"I have a proposition for you." The businessman hissed. "I have what you need to revitalize your business. To save yourself from being ruined, I am your only option."
The debtor scoffed. "How can you be so sure?" He lashed, fear tinging the corners of his voice.
"Don't play games with me." Fortunato spat. "This is my proposition,"
The lesser man squirmed in his seat as the greater leaned forward. "In exchange for the goods, services, and financial aid you will receive," The businessman began,
"I request one servant to be delivered to my dwelling, at midnight, once a fortnight, indefinitely."
Surprise, then curiosity, then rage overpowered Montresor's fear. "What?" He exclaimed, "What am I to you, a maid recruiter?"
Calloused hands shot from the opposite end of the desk, grabbing the lesser's collar, pulling him out of his chair and sending him floundering onto the marred surface antique desk. Fiery eyes glowered into his own. Inches from his own face, Fortunato snarled. "No, you're a pathetic businessman on the verge of bankruptcy."
Montresor was slammed down onto the desk by his collar.
"Now do as you're told, debtor." The greater commanded, and shoved him back into the guest's chair. Still, ruffled, and shaken, Montresor crumpled up in the armchair.
"Consider it done." A defeated murmur finalized.
In the following months, business increased greatly. Montresor attributed this to his new business partner's contributions. Once a fortnight, as was agreed, a servant was delivered to Fortunato's castle in the dead of night. Neither head nor tail was ever seen of these servants again, but their disappearances never bothered their previous master. What didbother the nouveau-riche was that servants were not cheap- and his bank account was feeling the burden of routinely purchasing new staff.
One year, he concluded. By the agreement's first anniversary, his coffers would be stable enough to break off the shady deal; Montresor was quickly tiring of losing his most trusted servants.
The duo rarely met face to face, and such meetings were unplanned. Fortunato's aura of power and dominance intimidated his partner to this day. The less wealthy man's unease, he knew, was justified; Montresor did his best to avoid Fortunato and his rough handlings. They never once spoke of their deal, nor the servants provided, nor either's finances. The once-debtor had decided that fateful night that the less the two interacted, the better.
And yet... He truly did wonder what became of his servants once they entered the stony prison.
The ground grew icy, then thawed, then blossomed, and finally sweltered in summer heat. And in the oppressive heat of the summer, Montresor's finances and reputation had finally escaped the threat of collapse. And in this heat, a fortnight came, and a fortnight passed, until a month had slipped away and no servants had been delivered to the stony castle. Montresor was not troubled by breaking his word, and seldom thought of his partner.
Unburdened by his current situation, the wealthy man took a stroll once the sun had set, accompanied by only a kerosene lantern. He patrolled his vast grounds and took in the scenery his marvelous landscaping crew slaved over.
Further in his walk, Montresor came across a strange sight.
An orchard of sapling trees sat, neglected, in an untended area of the lawn. The businessman counted twenty-six in total, all of varying sizes. Was this a new project the groundskeepers were working on?
Upon closer inspection, peculiar letters had been carved into the tree trunks. Some had two letters, others three, still others four. The wine-taster ran his fingers gently over the scarred bark of a young birch tree and pondered its meaning.
Curiosity prompted Montresor to dig. So, at the foot of a miniscule birch sapling, he rolled his cuffs, kneeled in the dirt, and tunneled into the earth. The man shoved aside worms and larvae. He dislocated handfuls of soil. He ripped up roots and stones. And then, he came across something large and solid. Hooking fingers through openings in the object, he tugged it out from beneath the ground, and came face to face with a rotting, human skull.
Shrieking indignantly, Montresor lobbed it haphazardly across the lawn. He looked down at his slime-coated fingers, shaking off maggots and eyeball-gunk. The smell of corpse and earth stunk so highly that the businessman knew it would never leave him.
Slowly, marginally, he inched towards the skull. As he loomed over it, maggots chewed the still-rotting fleshed, and worms slithered inside the gunk within. Montresor blanched. If there was a corpse underneath everysapling, then...
A dark purr. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"
An iron pipe was hoisted into the air and swung heavy-handedly, and then, everything was black.