Effigy of Death

Effigy of Death

Sir Charles Denby slowly put the cigar to his lips and took a long draw
on it, held his breath for a few moments while he stared with covetous
eyes at the statuette that stood on his study desk. He exhaled through
his nose, the blue smoke enveloping the figure, fogging it briefly. As
the smoke for the tip of his cigar curled and spiraled upward in the
half-light of his study, a log cracked and spat in the fireplace. A
spark flew against the brass fire mesh then fell to the hearth. The
ember glowed bright then died. Leaning forward, stooping slightly, he
picked up the figurine to examine it more closely. After several
minutes he placed the statuette back firmly on his desk and standing
erect, turned and faced the young man sitting in an armchair by the
fire. He was half turned towards the fire, one half of his face
illuminated from the glow of the flames.
"How much did you say you were asking for it?" he asked in a soft
voice. Denby's voice was hoarse, his breath straining against his vocal
chords with emotion so that his words almost choked before they reached
his mouth.
The young man took a sip from his brandy glass then rested it in his
lap. Holding the short stem in one hand, he trailed a finger from the
other slowly around the rim. Denby caught sight of a gold ring that
glinted as the young man's finger circled the glass. The ring flashed
with each tick from a clock that stood on the mantelpiece. Denby
watched and waited.
Taking his gaze away from the glass he looked at Denby. "Fifty-thousand
American Dollars," the young man drawled, his finger motionless.
Sir Charles Heart leapt. That was much less than he had anticipated.
Turning back to the statuette he gawked at the Inca god of destruction,
his mouth salivating. It was the most magnificent example of
South-American craftsmanship he had ever seen, precise in every detail.
The entire figure had been intricately carved. He had to have it!
Looking closely, he took in the large fanged jaw that jutted from the
head and the fierce, penetrating eyes that appeared to leap out of
their sockets. The skull on top of the effigy's head, a human skull was
ringed with brightly coloured feathers. With a trembling hand he once
again lifted it up. The piece would be the crowning-jewel in his
collection. In an attempt not to appear to eager he turned back to the
young man and half smiling said, "That's a great deal of money. Tell
me, why is your client so keen to sell it?"
The young man's countenance altered slightly. "A woman," he blurted,
"my client is a woman. This figure," he said with sudden disgust,
"belonged to her husband, my step-father. He met with an untimely death
recently." The young man's gaze fell back to his glass, and his finger
resumed its circular trail.
Denby's own expression fell. Putting the figure down, he crossed the
room and sat in the chair opposite the young man. Instantly he felt the
heat from the fire on his legs. Regarding the young man's face
carefully he said, "My instincts tell me you have quite a tale to tell
sir. Please, continue, I wish to know more before I make my final
decision." Silently Denby had hoped that the young man had not noticed
his earlier rapture. Denby's mind and heart were already decided but he
felt there were more about the figure that he could use to his
advantage, a tale or two he could tell other collectors. Stories, he
knew, especially if they could be authenticated, would undoubtedly
increase the value of the piece. Easing himself back into his chair,
the leather creaking under his ample weight, he folded his hands in his
lap and waited, puffing on his cigar.
The young man shifted awkwardly in his chair he looked into Denby's
eyes. His nose caught of whiff of his whisky and acting on impulse,
gulped down the contents of his glass.
Denby shifted forward and reached for the decanter. "Another?" he asked
smoothly as he extracted the crystal stopper.
The young man gave a nervous smile. "Sure, why not."
Denby smiled and flashed a glance at the young man's face as he
refilled his brandy bulb, a generous measure that reached two-thirds up
the glass. Denby's curiosity deepened. As he was filling his glass, he
noticed the young man's hand was trembling. Watching his closely, he
saw the young man lift the glass to his lips and take small, rapid sips
before returning his glass to the small table at the side of his
chair.
"The statue has a history," the young man began, " one that would make
the blood of even the most courageous and forthright man run cold
through his veins."
Denby snorted a laugh. "You can't be serious."
"Sir, do not scoff. I am deadly serious. You see, when this statue was
discovered it was said, by the natives, to be cursed and would be death
and destruction to who-ever held it in their possession."
Denby shook his head with derision. Often he had heard of such
maledictions being attached to ancient artifacts but none, as he was
aware, had ever been proven beyond reasonable doubt. His own mind was
one that was founded on logic, based on sound knowledge. Savage,
primitive superstition carried no weight with him. Never the less, he
was fascinated by such tales of folklore and so urged his companion to
continue.
"About a year ago my . . ." he hesitated, his gaze travelling nervously
around the room that was lit only by the fire in the hearth, ". . .my
step-father bought this statuette from a dealer in Buenos Aires. Before
concluding the purchase, he, like you, wanted to know a little of its
background." The young man took more nervous sips from his glass. "The
dealer was only too happy to oblige and told of the curse and the
misfortune that befell its owner. Also, like you, he passed of the
stories as be of little or no consequence. But I tell you Sir Charles
this thing has the very devil inside it."
Denby tried to suppress a smile. "Come my deal fellow. There is nothing
that happens on the face of this earth that cannot be easily
explained." He lifted his glass to his lips and took a large draught
and an equally long draw on his cigar. Continuing. He said, "I've no
doubt that there are people who strongly believe that pieces they own,
especially of native origin, have, shall we say, supernatural
connotations. But I for one believe that if ill does befall them, then
it is pure coincidence and nothing more."
The young man met Denby's gaze. "Sir, I think you are wrong. I can
assure you that my step-father held the same solid convictions, but I
can tell you now sir, that his ignorance and defiance of such things
were the very root of his death."
Denby's expression grew cold as he scrutinized the face of his
companion. "Very well. You have my undivided attention. Tell me your
story sir, and leave out not a single detail."
The young man strengthened his resolve with more brandy and
straightening his back clasped his hand firmly together in his lap. "My
father sat in the anti-room of this dealers establishment, much as we
are doing now when he purchased the effigy. He had on his face the same
wondrous look that you yourself had when you first set eyes on it." He
caught Denby's sullen expression and half smiled. "You think I didn't
notice." He continued. "The dealer, who's name I'll omit as an
un-necessary detail, if you will permit me, told my step-father how its
previous owner had met with an horrific and violent death with a week
of purchasing the statue. This man, a nobleman in those parts, was out
riding, hunting in the forests around his home when he became separated
from his party. People were unconcerned because he was familiar with
the grounds having been raised there all his life and his horse was
known to be a strong one. However . . ." The young man paused.
While he did so, Denby turned his head slightly and caught a glimpse of
the figure on his desk out of the corner of his eye. Instantly he felt
the hairs prickle on the back of his neck as he looked at the eyes of
the effigy. Turning back to the young man urged him to continue. "Well,
what happened?"
"The man, it was assumed, continued to ride alone, thinking he would be
able to rejoin his party. No one knows just exactly what occurred but
his body, when recovered was in an unfamiliar part of the forest. The
trees were strangely twisted and gnarled, but it was the manner of his
death that bought alarm to those who found him. You see, his body was
found impaled on a broken branch, the limb haven been driven through
his chest by the force of his horse rushing into the trunk. Both rider
and horse were dead. The horse's neck was broken, snapped like a twig.
The entire atmosphere of the area where he was found was most
disquieting. Nothing could be heard except for the wind through the
branches of the trees. No sound of birds even." The young man paused
and swallowed hard. "It was the countenance of the man's face which
bought the greatest consternation. It looked for all the world as
though he had been pursued by the legions of hell itself."
Denby sat rigid. The room appeared to close in around them both as the
young man finished his sentence. It seemed like an invisible shroud
were enveloping them both, cloaking them from the outside world so that
nothing else seemed to exist.
The young man shuddered. "As I have said, no one knows what it was he
saw, but clearly it was something that made him lose his senses
entirely." He drained his glass and held it out to be refilled.
Denby leant forward as he removed the stopper to refill the bulb held
out to him. As he did so, he noticed with some trepidation that his own
hand was trembling, the crystal decanter clinking against the glass.
Denby tried to laugh of the episode but he was unconvincing. Studying
the young man's face, he waited for him to continue, asking, "What
about your step-father, what happened to him? You said that he had met
with an untimely death."
The young man nodded. "This is true. Upon possession of the statue,
almost immediately matters began to go wrong. Investments he had made,
usually with sound judgment, began to falter and lose money. Property
that was sound when it had been purchased was found to be defective. A
textile factory that he had bought, within days it had burned to the
ground with a massive loss of life. He was distraught. It was as though
his entire fortune were evaporating from before his eyes. I tell you
now Sir Charles," he said, throwing a contemptuous glance at the
effigy, "this thing is possessed and was the root cause of it
all."
Denby leaned forward, his jaw set firm. How did he die?" he asked
directly.
"It was one evening, after dinner. He went for a sojourn, which was his
custom. He often walked alone, he said it helped him to clear his head
and put his thoughts in order. These were difficult times for him and
my mother was, with due cause, deeply concerned for him. It was as
though he felt directly responsible for the deaths of all those people
in his employ and it weighed heavy on his conscience. It while he was
walking that the accident befell him. The path he walked was one that
he had walked a thousand times before, so everyone is at a loss to
explain how he managed to fall into the disused well that was close to
the pathway." He paused and ran his tongue around his lips, wetting
them with the tip. "We heard his screams and came running but it was
too late. Although the well was not deep, eight, nine feet perhaps it
was the metal spike that killed him. It had passed straight through his
throat. But his face, it was unworldly. His own expression was like he
had received the biggest fright of his life and it had been forever
etched on his features. I tell you now Sir Charles it was the most
gruesome thing I have ever seen. I shall never forget it, not for as
long as I shall live."
Both men fall into silence. The young man's face showed that he wanted
to rid himself and his family of the object that he believed to be the
foundation of his family's woes.
Sir Charles, for all his stern beliefs found his resolve shaken. Denby
glanced at the statuette. Had it moved? He shook his head with
contempt. Impossible! He thought madly to himself. This young man's
nonsense had unsettled him. Wood and metal cannot move by themselves.
They are inanimate, objects totally incapable of movement alone. Sir
Charles was struck by a curious thought, and so he posed the question.
"If this thing is cursed, like you say it is, the sensible thing to do
would be to destroy it completely so that no other person could be
harmed by such a fearsome object. Would not agree?"
The young man tried to suppress a grin. "Yes, you're right. But I had
heard of your name and that you too were an avid collector and I
thought," he said, his grin spreading, "it might be a good opportunity
to rid my family of this abomination and make a few bucks on the
side."
Denby looked through narrowed eyes at the young man and then erupted
into loud laughter. The young man might be serious and sincere in the
tales he had related but at the end of the day he was like any other
man, out to make money form what ever opportunity presented it self.
This convinced Denby what he had believed all along, that these stories
and others were nothing more that supernatural poppycock. Childish
hocus-pocus. Denby was convinced that these tales were designed to
titillate the senses and to drive higher the prices of less
unfashionable objects.
"My good man," Denby said solidly, "I fully accept that you are indeed
sincere in what you have related to me and I accept fully the
consequences. But I have to tell you now, I believe none of it. I shall
purchase your statuette and without reservation. Meet me here tomorrow
morning and we shall both go to my bank and make the necessary
arrangements."
The shoulders of the young man seemed to lift with relief, as though an
immense weight had bee lifted from them. "Very well, as you
wish."
"This arrangement could not have come at a more opportune time," Sir
Charles said, admiring his new acquisition."
The young man's face was quizzical. "Really! And why should that
be?"
Sir Charles was beaming. "Well, I'm off to New York in a few days. I'm
to attend and exhibition there, one on South American Antiquities. This
will be a wonderful opportunity to show of this latest addition to my
collection. It'll be the talk of the entire show, don't you yourself
think?"
The young man smiled ruefully. "I guess so. I'm sure it will bring much
interest," he replied courteously.
Denby rose to his feet and the young man rose with him.
"Tell me sir, when do you propose to go to America?" the young man
asked.
"April the eleventh my ship sails, to be precise."
The young man's face lit up with recognition of the date.
Really!"
"Yes, from Southampton. First class on the latest addition to the White
Star Line."
"You are indeed fortunate sir, to be sailing on board the Titanic. I
have heard it said to be a magnificent vessel."
"That is true sir. The Titanic, the pride of the fleet is said to be
unsinkable." Sir Charles smiled knowledgably. "But before I leave I
hope to be able to convince you that this curse nonsense is nothing
more than that, all nonsense."
He offered his hand and the young man shook it. The deal set