Time that has swept away, with its busy straw broom, so many picturesque cobwebs, has not inferred much with Zennor Chalet, a black granite manor set in a corner of the French Republic. From that ancient keep, legend and superstition that grimly defied logic and played the round for some weird scene or other to come forth. And one eerie scene came to pass on a winter's day in the distant past that was a horrific factor for all ensuing generations.
Words whispered from mouth to mouth told of a mysterious room in the chalet, which everyone claims to know existed at one time. It was a chamber set apart in the uppermost floor that was reserved for the Devil to join in a came of cards with the resident of the chalet, a Count Gabriel Grubb. The count was a nefarious villain, trading in all sorts of all principles of evil to attain his fortune; a major act of gain was through the wicked rulings through the fear of witchcraft of all sorts. Count Grubb was a magistrate for the Crown during the era of the Inquisition where he reveled in the punishment of the so-called witches and sorcerers; their property were forfeited in supposed guilt and it fell into his hands. Of course, he shared in the spoils with the royal toadies and church heads, taking the larger share for himself. He was fierce and wild and wicked, and he feared neither god nor man. As a consequence, everyone was afraid of him and his will and judicial judgment was a thing to accept or else. Those who had the dubious pleasure of seeing his features set with hollow cheeks, sunken brilliant eyes, his grim thin lips and his grizzled hair hanging like black tendrils, trembled at the sight. His black-attired clothing, although well-knit and well-proportioned over his powerful figure added to the fear of the black-hearted count. But one memorable Sunday, the day of the Sabbath, he met his fate at the hands of the Devil. His notion of religious duties was rather vague, preferring gaming or hunting to listening to the tracts of religious rites. Outside of religious observance on face value to please the holy orders he could not 'remember the Sabbath Day', but it was only for him to keep it unholy. Thus, according to the tales spoken through tongues, it was on a stormy winter's day when the cruel count met his fate. His family was at prayers on that Sunday morn, an exercise at which not even the wicked count cared to disturb them. Card playing was on his mind and his only problem was to find a partner at the game. One after another the domestics were summoned, but not even their feared master could bully them to desecrate the Holy Sabbath. The raging Count of Zennor cursed and then stomped from their sight and made his way to that room in the turret room of the keep. As he slammed the door behind him, he vowed he would play with the Prince of Darkness himself, rather than relinquish a game of cards. The evil Fates were kind to him that cold day. Who could have seen his surprise on his florid face as his sat near the warm hearth when a loud tapping came on of the oaken door. Who could have observed his manner when a tall stranger, cloaked in darkness, presented himself to the count in eerie tones. The Count of Zennor cared little when he learned that the stranger was Lucifer himself. He got what he wanted, namely a partner at the game of cards, and asked no questions. The unholy pair then seated themselves opposite each other at a small table set near the warmth of the fireplace. The cards were shuffled and dealt, and the game began. Soon the trembling family and servants alike heard oaths and altercations issuing from the locked door as they passed the room. They knew he was losing in the game from past experiences when foul words were uttered by the count in the deal of cards. And losing he was, so heavily, that he had nothing to stake. Suddenly a loud cry from the count was issued forth that shook the very foundations of the room. "Make out what bond you will," he screamed out recklessly, "and I will sign without regarding it!" The stranger did as was bid, and Count Zennor signed, and with oaths and curses the game proceeded. The raucous din inside the chamber grew in heated sound, so that his poor wife felt compelled to peep through the keyhole. The action was quite courageous but rather unwise. She fell back howling, as the next instant the door was flung open, and the angry count appeared with a primed pistol in his hand. "Stop him! Smite him down!" he yelled but to no avail, as the stranger was gone, and gone was the signed bond likewise. All the count could remember was that his partner had glanced up during the bidding and exclaimed, "smite that eye!" Then he disappeared in a streak of lightning through the keyhole. His poor wife bore the evidence of the tale through a bruised eye with a black-blue socket rim. It was five year before the bond was due and to be paid out. Then in the storms of another winter's Sabbath day, the Devil came to claim his own. But though the body of Count of Zennor ceased from troubling the residents of manor even when his soul was given in payment of debt, his spirit was busy as ever. Each Sunday morning, as the ghost came round, its ranting was heard hideously by the ghostly carousals coming from that room in the upper floor. When the residents in the Zennor Chalet could endure the terrible noises no longer, the room was stoutly sealed and walled securely. The room was sealed solitary, but from the vault-like chamber when all was still and quiet, one could hear the hushed drone of screams and cursing, only on the early morn of a Sabbatical day. Inside the Count of Zennor sat together with his partner the devil opposite to each other at the deal table playing cards till the crack of doom.
Norman A. Rubin of Afula, Israel is a former correspondent for the Continental News Service, USA. He's written on Near East culture and crafts, archaeology, history and politics; religious history and rites, etc. He's been featured in publications world wide - Jerusalem Post, Israel - Coin News, Minerva, Oriental Arts, etc. England - Ararat, Letter Arts Review, Archaeology, etc. USA - Spotlight, Japan - International B, Hong Kong. He's been a freelance writer for the past sixteen years of short stories of all genres - mystery, horror, humour, sexual customs, etc.