A Charming Evil

Nearly wrote this entire thing to Debussy's Clair de Lune the shear beauty of this purely delightful music combined with what I find to be a colossally edgy touch helped set the tone for this story.

The wind blew strongly through the small highland town of Bannkirk, the town in which Emma had lived all of her life. She was newly eighteen and for the first time felt the grinding dullness of life in her isolated hometown, working the desk at the post office Monday to Friday, the weekends spent walking her dog in the surrounding countryside, and the consistent misery that was the Scottish weather. He was clean-cut, educated and well spoken. From the city, he was in the third month of life in Bannkirk. Emma stared at him over the road through the front window of her workplace, he wasn’t like the local men, refined, quiet and polite, the way he carried himself was dignified and firm. She was captivated by him, even the fact that he was at least ten years older than her did not throw her admiration, he was mature and intriguing. The highlight of Emma’s working day would be seeing him if only for a moment, he would regularly enter the Post Office with parcels and letters addressed to and from exciting places all over the world; Canada, Peru, Germany,  Japan. Emma was particularly bemused as to why a man with such exotic connections would choose to settle in dreary Bannkirk. He came in early September on an unusually sunny day, all that anyone knew was that a well spoken Englishman had bought McAndrew’s old cottage by the river about a mile out of town, at first the locals where suspicious of him but as he went about his business paying no attention to the gossip and sour looks he came to be accepted within a month of moving to Bannkirk, after which nobody asked questions about his past or why he had chosen to leave wherever he had come from; it was assumed that he had previously enjoyed a lifestyle of wealth and luxury in London and had left for the Highlands to escape the crowded, fast paced stresses of city life. But to Emma, Michael Pritchard was still an enchanting enigma.
It was Thursday morning and Emma was sat fiddling with a rubber band at her desk, the Post office was quiet; outside you could hear the wind howling, a daunting and tedious noise occasionally interrupted by a passing vehicle. She began to daydream, staring blankly out the window when her deep thoughts where broken when Michael entered with a loaf of French bread under the arm of his long coat,
“Good morning Mr. Pritchard” Emma said delighted,
Michael smiled in reply “Anything for me Emma”?
“Yes, one moment please” Emma went into the backroom where all post was kept, she picked up a long and thin parcel addressed to Mr. Michael Pritchard, the return address as usual did not fail to impress her as this time it had been sent from Paris, this furthered Emma’s curiosity as Mr. Pritchard had never received anything from France before. She brought it through to the desk, he thanked her and was about to leave when Emma’s intrigue finally got the better of her “Mr. Pritchard”
“Yes”?
“I hope you don’t think me rude for asking but I’ve noticed you often have mail from all over the world and I find it most interesting.” He began to smirk in an almost playful manner, she had tried to sound sophisticated and fluent when asking this but hadn’t pulled it off to a convincing standard making it obvious to him what she had tired to do.
“I have travelled to many places and made many friends if you must know” he said relaxed. Emma was embarrassed , she could feel herself blushing. This was the first time she had made any attempt at conversing properly with him and she felt foolish, yet she thought it best to persist in speaking to him, anything to alleviate what she felt was colossal humiliation, “How interesting , so what was it you did before you came to Bannkirk”? In an instant Michael’s expression of mirth changed to a heavy set frown
“I think that’s my business Emma thank you very much, I’d prefer to keep it as my business” he said angrily. Emma’s heart sank at his reaction and as he left for the door she couldn’t help herself in a last grab at redemption with the man she was mad for “Wait Mr. Pritchard I’m sorry”, Michael turned to face her, still looking unimpressed,  “I meant nothing by it honestly, I was just making conversation and I wasn’t being nosey and I do truly find some of these places deeply interesting”. His face returned to a smiling expression and he came back to the desk and placed his parcel in front of her. He opened up the packaging and to reveal a wooden case of which he lifted the lid, inside was a strange looking woodwind instrument “Is that some kind of flute”? she asked.
“It’s an Oboe” Michael replied his eyes fixed excitedly on it. “I lived in Paris about five years ago, there I had a friend with whom I shared a passion for classical music, once every week we would meet and play together; I taught him to play the Oboe and he taught me to play piano. When I eventually left the city I lent to him this very instrument with which to practise. We have been out of touch for a while so it is now that he returns it to me” Michael was smiling. “Do you play any instruments”?
“I can play a bit on piano” Emma overstated.
She began to feel herself blush again as he was still smiling at her, this small connection was broken by the chiming of the grandfather clock which had been in the same spot for over a century. “Twelve o’clock! I better get going, goodbye Emma” Mr. Pritchard said lightly, she smiled with happiness as he left, despite a bad start he had actually taken an interest in her for the first time. Her day was made, the rest of it seemed to fly by as she found herself in a mood that could not be brought down and by the evening she had decided that the next time she met him she would invite him to accompany her to the towns Halloween party being held at the Hag‘s Head pub.
She hadn’t long to wait as the next morning Mr. Pritchard briskly entered the Post office. He walked over to Emma at the desk, looked at her blankly and handed a letter to her, she read that it was for the same Parisian address as the day before and then looked to him “Good morning Mr. Pritchard, a letter for your friend in Paris I see”
“Yes” he replied plainly, then turned for the door,
“Would you like to come to the pub with me tonight? Only it’s Halloween and I think there’s a bit of a party is all”
“That isn’t really my sort of thing, but thank you”
“Then a walk out of town tomorrow afternoon perhaps? I know people around here aren’t very talkative and I’d love to hear some more of your interesting stories”, Michael let out a smile, he seemed flattered.
“Well yes, it sounds nice I suppose, knock at my cottage at one o’clock tomorrow” He left Emma in total excitement, she thought this could be the beginning of a whole new life for her, if things went well he might take her away from Bannkirk to meet his friends in exotic and exciting places, take her to eat in classy restaurants, maybe even teach her the Oboe! To add to this she found him undeniably attractive. Once again she found herself dreaming about Michael Pritchard all day long.
Saturday afternoon and Emma walked briskly alongside the river that gently flowed through Bannkirk; she had travelled along the stony country road that lead out to where the river was wide, deep and slow, where Michael’s cottage sat on its bank surrounded by a Dry stone wall with a gate. She was early by fifteen minutes, all the excitement had meant she had hurried to get ready and leave the house, she did not want to seem over eager so she decided to wait around. The area that was his outside premises was a patchwork of grass and mood except for the strip of stony beach that bordered the wide river. There was an array of rusty farming machinery that she assumed had been left there by the previous owner Hamish McAndrew, next to the house was a stacked pile of chopped wood with an axe leaned against them and to the side was a car covered in tarpaulin. Emma noticed that on the washing line was a half damp pair of swimming trunks, she could not understand what would posses anyone to swim this time of year as the river was extremely cold. From inside the house she could hear an instrument, that she assumed to be the Oboe, being played in what she thought was a wonderful melody, she dared not knock on the door for fear of disrupting it but shortly the music stopped and Michael appeared at the door “Good afternoon, I thought we’d take a walk in the hills down the road”?
“Yes, that’s lovely” she replied
They walked in silence for what felt like an hour Michael awkwardly looking down at his feet, Emma with her arms folded thinking in panic, what if she’d upset him? She didn’t know what to say. To her he looked so handsome even without a smile on his face, whereas she had never felt pretty, she did not know what to say to a handsome and educated man. They came to stop for a rest at the top of a steep hill, they sat on rocks and admired the view. Michael picked a white flower from ground and began to study it “Dryas octopetala,  beautiful isn’t it”?
“You mean Mountain avens”?  Emma said
“These were my wife’s favourite you know, almost as pretty as she was”
“Your wife’s”? Emma questioned
“She left me in Paris, I haven‘t seen her since”
“I’m sorry, is that why you moved away”?
Michael gave her a thoughtful smile and then got up and continued walking, Emma followed. The walk from then on was pleasant; Michael awed her with stories of his life abroad, she spoke about her family and life in Bannkirk, he seemed interested yet she still feared she was boring him. They came to the end of the narrow path that rejoined with the stony country road.  Emma was getting ready to say her goodbyes when Michael asked “Would you like to have dinner with me at the cottage”?
Emma felt excited but she had promised to be home for tea “Sorry I have to be getting back”
“No please” he grabbed her arm tightly, this startled her, realising this Michael let go of her and said calmly “It’s been a nice walk out and I feel it’s only right that we finish the day in such a way”
Emma found it impossible to turn him down, after all she had made unforeseeably good progress, she had told her parents she was spending the day with her friend Maggie so she knew they wouldn’t worry, and what was wrong with a spot of dinner to end the day?
It was dusk by the time they reached Michael’s cottage, he held the door open for her and told her to sit down while he heated the oven. His living room was smaller than she was used to but cosy all the same, almost every surface was littered with books and paper, in one corner was an old looking piano and on top of it was the case in which his Oboe was kept, in front of the settee was a coffee table on top of a rug she thought was Persian in design, above the fire place was the most grotesque of African looking, carved figures, their heads were large and their bodies where thin, their faces were dominated by the fangs decorating them. On the wall was a single kukri knife and a portrait of some kind of angel. Emma wondered if these were some of the items she had handled in the Post office for him and more so, she found it odd that he didn’t seem to possess a television or radio.
Michael came to join her with two glasses and a bottle of whiskey, he poured it for her and then handed it over. Three glasses later she felt comfortable enough to ask him to play her some music, at first he grinned at her in the same way he had done on Thursday morning when she’d tried to sound eloquent but failed and then he stood up and went over to sit at the piano, he paid no attention to the Oboe and began to play gently and slowly, Emma found this touching and curious, as he continued to play the keys were pressed harder and faster to the point where she was certain he had missed a few keys out of the song, she thought that he was maybe trying to rush, that he felt pressured and that she was being intrusive but still, the music was beautiful and she felt overwhelmed with how impressive she found it, he finished and she began to clap as he turned in his seat face her, still smiling “Another drink”? he offered
“Yes please”  she replied “What piece have you just played”?
“That was Debussy’s Clair de Lune” He said with a proud tone
“It was lovely”! She exclaimed, they continued to talk in a relaxed and cheerful manner late into the night, the more he went on the more captivating she found his conversation, she had no intention of leaving, her parents would have to wait! This continued until she found herself fairly drunk, it was at this point that she asked “The knife on your wall, where is it from”?
“Oh this”? he took the kukri down from the wall “This is a Kukri knife, the Ghurkhas from Nepal have used it in battle for centuries, they say it can cut a man in half”
“Have you been to Nepal”? she enquired
“No, I bought this at an army surplus when I lived in Paris, it’s such a peculiar weapon don’t you think”? he held it and studied it with the same expression as he had with the mountain aven earlier that day.
“Yes it’s pretty cool” she replied to which Michael chuckled “So, when are we eating dinner Michael”?
“Oh yes, how silly of me, the oven has been heating for over an hour”
She giggled “What are we having anyway”?
“I was just getting round to that actually”
“I bet your wife used to do all the cooking for you” she joked
“Well yes she did” he laughed “Except for the last time I ate with her. I prepared and cooked the meal, it was delicious” he went to the window and closed the curtains.
“Can I ask? Why did it end”? asked Emma, Michael went over to the door
“She no longer loved me and she was going to leave me” he said in a sincere tone
“What do you mean she was going to leave you” Emma asked, at this point totally confused. She heard the key turn in the lock before Michael turned to face her, Kukri in hand and said in a chillingly cold voice
“I ate her“.

Author's Note

This experimental for me, let me know what you think, criticism is appreciated

Reviews

[Victoria PoetryBunny]

Well what a twist you have there at the end of the story. haha. It fits the nice title well. As soon as he started giving her drinks, and forgot about the dinner I was thinking... something is going to happen to her. hahaha. As well as when he had grabbed her arm on the walk that was a bit of a sign of his attitude. I really love the detailed imagery in this, enjoyed the character names and their conversations as well. A really nice write, I enjoyed this a lot. The way you tie in the song that you listened to while writing this story, was a really nice touch as well.