Tales of Terror Read Free Page A

Bones were piled along the walls up to the curved ceiling.
    “We’ve reached it,” I announced.
    I pointed to the end of the passageway lined with skeletons. There was a low arch. There was a pile of bones in front of it. Beyond the arch a final room had been cut into the rock.
    “At last the Amontillado,” Fortunato growled hoarsely.
    “Yes, the Amontillado,” I said.
    Fortunato broke into a staggering run. The bells on his cap jingled. He reached the archway before me. He stuck his torch into the room, but it no longer was flaming. His torch gave off only a feeble glow. He could not see where the room ended.
    “Go in,” I said. I followed close behind.
    “The Amontillado! Where is it?” Fortunato demanded. He had reached a bare rock wall. Puzzled, he stared at it.
    He did not notice the iron rings in therock. Or the chain hanging from one of them. And the padlock on the other.
    I did not give him time to notice.
    Swiftly I passed the chain tight around his body. Then I fastened it with the padlock.
    I pulled the key out of the lock and stepped back to the archway.
    “Feel the rock, dear friend,” I said. “How damp it is. How cold. I beg you once more. Let us return. No? You won’t? Then I must leave you. But first I will do you one last favor. I will make sure no one disturbs you while you enjoy the Amontillado.”
    “The Amontillado!” said Fortunato. He shook his drunken head dully. He still did not know what was happening.
    “Yes, the Amontillado,” I said as I pushed aside a pile of bones.
    Behind them was a heap of large building stones. There was cement as well. I used wine instead of water to mix the cement. Then I set to work with my trowel. I laid a row of stones across the entrance to the room.
    I heard a signal that the wine was wearing off Fortunato. There was a low moaning cry. It was not the cry of a drunken man.
    Then there was silence. Stubborn silence. Or perhaps hopeless silence.
    I kept on working. I laid a row of stones on top of the first row. Then another. And another.
    At that point I heard the chain loudly clanking. He must have been desperately trying to break it. Or tear it free from the wall.
    I stopped to better enjoy the sounds. I sat down on a pile of bones to listen to the noise. It was like listening to music.
    The clanking ended. I went back to work. I finished the fifth row. The sixth. The seventh. The wall was as high as my chest now.
    I paused again. I thrust my torch over the wall. I could dimly see Fortunato’s chained figure.
    Screams burst from his throat. Hideous screams. One after another.
    I stiffened. I retreated. My hand went to the hilt of my sword. Then my other hand touched the rock side of the passageway. I felt how solid it was. How strong. I thought of the iron rings in the rock. The rings that Fortunato was trying to pull out. I relaxed.
    I returned to my unfinished wall. I answered Fortunato’s screams with my own. My screams were louder and stronger. He was quiet by the time I stopped.
    I laid the eighth row of stones. The ninth. The tenth. Almost all of the eleventh. The last row.
    By now it was midnight. The wall reached the ceiling. There was a single gap left. I just had to put one large stone in place. Then cement it.
    It was heavy. Panting, I lifted it. I moved it partway into the gap. Then I heard laughter. It made my hair stand on end.
    It was followed by a sad voice. A voice that did not sound like Fortunato at all.
    “Ha, ha, ha!” it croaked. “What a clever joke. You are a witty fellow. I am sorry forever thinking the opposite. We’ll have a good laugh about it back at Carnival. Over a good bottle of wine.”
    “Yes,” I said. “Over the Amontillado.”
    “He, he, he!” Fortunato cackled. “Right. Over the Amontillado. But it’s getting late. People will wonder where we are. My wife will start worrying. Let us be gone.”
    “Yes,” I said. “Let us be gone.”
    “For the love of God, Montresor!”
Fortunato