The Grimswell Curse Read Free Page B

and be shriven first.
    After the Earl had spoken, the crowd stood silently, watching the white face of the man standing atop the tor. The moan of the wind, suddenly icy cold, was the only sound, then came again Hellish laughter. The Viscount cursed them with blasphemous and foul oaths, promising that terror would henceforth be their companion each night. He bared his teeth in a final, hideous grin, then hurled himself forward. Some say he briefly flew like some dark bird or bat, but soon enough he fell and dashed his brains out on the rocks below.
    The Earl advanced and turned over his fallen foe. The full moon had risen higher by then, and its blue-white light revealed the shattered skull and leering face of the Viscount, his teeth locked in a fierce grin. All present felt the horror, and then in the distance rose the desolate cry of a wolf. They fled, leaving the shattered corpse lying there bathed in the moonlight.
    Would that were the end of my tale, a sinner punished for his evil deeds!
    The next day, some men returned to Demon Tor. They found the blood-stains on the granite, but the body was gone. That night, a herdsman returning late noticed a single light burning in a window at the abandoned hall. Many also again heard the terrible cry of a wolf.
    The Earl of Chadwick heard it and went pale. He retired late, but no sooner had he closed his door, than a terrible scream came from his chamber. The oaken door held briefly, but when it was burst asunder, the men had a brief glance of a black figure with a dead white face, its mouth smeared with blood. The creature fled to the window and escaped, even though the window was high above the rocky ground. The men saw the Earl’s murderer crawl head first down the stone wall, then run across the moor. None dared follow.
    Thus began the reign of terror. No man or woman dared go out after dark. Windows and doors were barred at dusk, but still the people were slaughtered—men, women and children— throats torn open and the blood drunk from their veins.
    Many saw the light burning in the high tower of Grimswell Hall, and others spoke of a man in black wandering alone on the moor or accompanied only by an enormous wolf. Others claimed to have seen the man transform into a wolf.
    A poor herdsman was caught in a snowstorm, and when he came home, half frozen, he found his wife dead and their babe gone. At this, a great fury came over him. The next day, he rose up at the church and begged the people to help him, lest they all perish one by one.
    Accompanied by the priest, they went again to the hall. In the courtyard they found the herdsman’s child, a mere babe, frozen and drained of blood. Outrage seized the good people. They searched the dwelling, but a great oaken door reinforced with iron blocked the way to the tower. They tried long and hard to break in the door, but to no avail. Soon the sun began to sink, and their fury changed to dread.
    The stricken herdsman gnashed his teeth and beat at the door until his fists bled. At last he seized a torch and set the door on fire. Soon the entire hall was ablaze.
    The people surrounded the edifice and waited. They had armed themselves as best they could. As the sky darkened, the orange flames rose higher and higher, the great conflagration lighting the moor for miles around.
    Finally, even as the flames reached the tower, a face appeared at the window. A cry of dismay went up. There could be no doubt: it was the Viscount Reginald Grimswell. He bared his long teeth, and then his fearful laughter rose over the crackling of the flames. He seemed about to hurl himself from the window, when the herdsman loosed an arrow from his bow. The priest had blessed the arrow.
    It struck the Viscount square in the throat. With a terrible howl, he clutched at the shaft and fell back into the waiting flames. His cries were dreadful. They were the cries of the damned, this conflagration only a prelude to eternal perdition.
    The people watched until the