Scribbles:Into the Chapel Perilous

I stepped up to the massive wooden doors to the southern gate. I stumbled through the muck along the dirt road that lead up to it. The rain had already plastered my clothes to my skin and continued on to chill by bones. The walls and ramparts of the Chapel Perilous towered over me.

A figure stood at there in front of the gate, wearing a large cloak that covered his face. The rain rolled off him as he stood motionless in front of the doors.

"State your business," came out from under the hood of the cloak.

"I wish to enter the Chapel," I called back through the rain.

"What is your purpose in the Chapel?"

"I'm not certain, but I know that what I need is in there."

"What weapons do you carry?"

I shrugged. "Weapons? I have none."

"What do you carry, then?"

I stopped to think. "My pockets are empty. All I have are fantasies, desires, assumptions and fears."

"Do you know what waits for you herein?"

"No." I paused and scratched at my beard. "I have no idea."

The figure nodded. "Uncertainty is the bread of the pilgrim." He turned and opened the door for me.

And I stepped into the Chapel.

The courtyard seemed endless in all direction. However, it did not seem to be raining. I continued to wander.

Eventually, I came upon a little shriveled old man pulling a cart. It was an open cart with shelves, like a craftsman might use to display his wares at a carnival or fair. The shelves were filled with dozens of small bonsai trees, in various shapes and stages of growth.

He pulled the cart past me and then looked me over. "Your skin isn't sitting on you right, m'boy. I can fix that fer ya, if you'll let me."

"Is that really important?" I asked.

"Of course it is. If yer skin is wrong, then yer got yerself all sorts of problems. I gots just the thing for that. Come here." He began to rifle through a bag in his cart. As I came closer, he called to me, "Open yer shirt a bit, I'll be needin' to get to yer chest." I complied.

He let out a little cry of triumph as he seemed to find what he was looking for. He pulled his hand out the bag. It had a glove on it, with long razor-sharp knives coming off the fingers in a Freddie-Kruger sort of contraption. He smiled and quickly thrust his hand into my chest.

I screamed. I beat at the little man and tried to get away, but he seemed to have a hold of me, like he had his evil gloved hand wrapped around my spine. He raised his other hand to reveal another glove of similar design and began to cut away my clothes. "Don't worry m'boy... this will hurt less than you think it will." And that's when I passed out.

All I remember are flashes of sensation and random images. I felt the scrape of metal against my bone. I remember the tears flowing down my face into open wounds. I remember looking down at my stomach and seeing the evil man pulling something large out of the hole he'd carved out. I remember the sound of handfuls of flesh dropping to the earth with disturbing thuds. And I remember the feel of those long knives, smoothing out my skin like a spatula smoothing out frosting on top of a cake.

When I regained my senses, I was on my knees, face to the ground, still crying, panting like mad and naked as a jaybird. I felt hands working at my hair, like it was being braided. Then the little man walked around in front of me and looked over me with an appraising eye.

"Not bad work, if I d say so meself. An' o'course, I do." He winked at me. He pulled off his gloves and wiped them clean with a rag. "Yer a tough one, that's fer sure."

I struggled to my feet and swayed, the balance of my body far different than I ready for.

"Whoa there. It'll take a little bit to get used to, doncha know." He tossed the gloves into his bag and then tossed me a rag which I used to wipe the dirt off my face and hands. "But I think it'll help. An' I've taken me payment already." He pointed to a bushy bonsai tree on one of his shelves, dripping with blood. "Was tough to get out."

He looked at me. "Don't worry, another one will grow. There are more seeds of discontent in one body than I could ever harvest. You'll have more." He began pulling his cart and gave me a slap on the ass has he passed. "You better get yer feet movin', lass. You've got a long way to be goin'."

I watched him pull the cart away in silence, until he disappeared over the horizon. I looked at myself, brushed the dirt off of my legs and my breasts with the rag. I resumed my trek in the other direction.