The Merchant

When a con-artist finally meets his match....

Charles Winston enjoyed his time at The Marshalsea, the infamous prison that largely housed London's debtors. Four years he served there until he paid his creditor in full. And pay him well he did. He viewed his time in prison as but a mere setback and harbored no ill will towards his creditor.. perhaps the only individual ever to avoid any of his treachery.

He spent a lifetime of taking advantage of others with his insidious behavior and making a good fortune all the while. It was only natural that these "skills" served him well in The Marshalsea as he adapted quickly to the environment.... avoiding the intellects and deceiving those who were mentally inferior to him for everything they are worth as in such a prison, un-conventional favors and privileges were allotted. He thought nothing of fellow debtors,,, many of which were hardworking, honest chaps who simply fell on hard times. The ones who were fortunate enough to leave the prison for a set time in attempt to work off their debt usually lost what little they earned to Charles in one way or another.

He was released on the evening of October 1st. Holding his head up high, the con-artist passed through the prison gates and into the chill of the early night. He was alone for the most part and had difficulty seeing the path ahead of him as a dense fog had recently fallen. He was able to make out a figure in his path as he got closer to it. A few more steps and he was able to deduce that it was indeed a person in some sort of... cloak maybe? His curiosity got the best of him but couldn't help but feel a trifle nervous. Nonetheless he advanced quickly...dismissing his reservations with a sigh.

The figure appeared to be an old woman. She was clothed in what appeared to be a shabby black robe. It covered her head, which she held low as was her hunched back. She was still and remained almost statue-like. Only a crooked, oily protrusion of a nose could be seen under the hood. Charles quickly took notice that she didn't recognize his sudden arrival or address him in any manner. His attention shifted towards a small stand of some sort. Rotten was the appropriate definition of everything about this humble little display. Rotten wood, fruits, vegetables, deteriorated well beyond recognition and the stench was overbearing. Charles winced at the first draft he caught.

"Heavens.. Merchant!! What in God's name are you hoping to sell with this,, this abomination? And on a night like this? Next to a prison of all places??" She kept her head down but finally moved only to pull her robe more tightly around her revealing wiry long fingers and fingernails that embraced each other and disappeared into the dark wool fabric.

Beholding this returned Charles’s sense of concern and he looked around to re-affirm that no one else was within eye or ear. Fear didn’t take him often and usually it served him well to adhere to his instincts. But the opportunist got the best of him. Surely he can out-wit this raggedy ol hag out of a shilling or two,,, if she had any. And it’s been awhile since he worked his “short-change” trick.

“Ok lass! How much for the…” He caught himself. The merchandise was horribly disfigured. He couldn’t possibly identify anything for a potential sale. But nonetheless, as if his inquiry were some sort of secret passphrase, one of her filmy hands re-emerged from the robe towards him, palm-up. Charles was startled by this and took a step back. Looking around and once again realizing that he was alone with this woman he cleared his throat and spoke again. “I presume you mean business of some sort doncha lass…. well what am I to pay if I don’t even know what I am purchasing?”

The wretched woman’s hand remained still and outward. Charles peered down at it and back up at her, repeating several times, utterly perplexed. “Woman, what sort of game is this?” He caught himself again. After all these years, HE was the con. HE was the hustler. HE was the one that perplexed his poor victims wondering where HE went along with their hard earned wages. The role has never been reversed and he was determined to maintain such a notion.

“Woman, hear me now. I am of appropriate mind to call a bobbie here right this instant and have him take you away for attempting to-“ She cut him off,,,, “……………Pay or die peacefully” The words sent a chill coursing through his entire body. Charles was beside himself. Fear had overcome him once again and he had to turn his head to collect himself.

Surely she didn’t see me. Her head is still hung low. I haven’t gazed upon her face,, thank heavens. So certainly she hasn’t seen mine. Get it together. Just some old hag! An escapee from Bedlam she must be with all this grotesque nonsense she is trying to peddle!.... The thoughts were running rampant. The man was struggling to compose himself. Something was definitely wrong about this entire situation. How could something apparently so humble in appearance weaken him so?

He turned to face her again. “Pay or die peacefully”. She still remained in the statue like state. Just the nose and gruesomely wrinkled and slimy hand was all he could see. Charles had a occurrence. His own voice of reason. At first it told him to simply leave. Scoff at her. Hell, spit on her and leave! You have far greater worries. You’ve just served four years in The Marshalsea! Step around the witch and carry on!

He liked that notion but then no sooner than the calm came was it replaced by more weakness and confusion. He stared down at her hand a little longer,,,,, Give the witch a bloody coin! Hell NO! Don’t give her a blasted thing!

“PAY!..... Or die peacefully…….” The demand in her withered voice made him jump and let out a small shreik. He pulled out a handkerchief and smeared it across his forehead and fumbled it back into his side-pocket. “Alright woman, you’ve made YOUR decision to carry on with harassment and a threat of death nonetheless!!. Very soon now the law will be here and-‘

She rose. With a slow and fluid motion the black figure rose, and turned toward him, hand still extended. “Great Heavens!!”, Charles cried as he fell backwards. The Merchant was looming over him now as he scampered on his elbows, gazing up in utter terror. He couldn’t see the nose anymore as the moonlight, what little moonlight that bled through the fog, manifested her as a pitch black silhouette of a vision. All he could make out was that the palm was still extended.

“Final chance, faulty debtorrrrrr…..” Charles’s face was in extreme horror but managed to dig into his pocket to pull out whatever coin came first,, surely from some honest jailbird. He flipped it in her direction and it landed in her hand. She froze. Mr. Winston looked up in wonder, barely able to catch his breath. The woman again held her eerie statue like state for a few more moments then began to retract her position, as if some sort of mechanical display. Once again in the same fluidity that showed to come towards him, she backed away, her hand slowly disappearing under her robe. She stepped back or more or less floated back,as if to allow him to pass.

Charles picked himself up and brushed himself off, his eyes never leaving her. He figured it best to leave now while she apparently lost interest in him. “Th,, thank you kind lady.”

A few more moments passed where a hesitant Charles began to proceed with caution, the merchant totally still. Upon passing her his pace quickened totally blind to the fact that the fog had become far more dense throughout this bizarre encounter. He walked faster still,,sporadically looking back. His briskness evolved to a steady jog. He didn’t even know where he was headed, nor did he care. Anywhere away from her would suffice. But he never questioned himself why he ran faster as he got further away…why the fear seemed to have more of a grasp on him now than it ever had. Faster yet,,, he was now in a full sprint. No need to look back as he knew enough he wouldn't see anything… nor would it matter as it had seized him.....

Massive jaws of dominating quickness clenched his entire neck followed by a brute force that planted him on the ground once again. Charles didn’t have the chance to scream, not even a grunt as every tendon, joint, bone was crunched together with everything else. His torso on down was almost flattened by the massive weight. His arms didn’t have a chance to clasp around his captor to even constitute an attempt to struggle.  By the time his arms brushed the ends of the massive creature’s fur they jutted out at the popping separation of Mr. Winston’s head from body….

Apparently it was all the hideous thing wanted. Charles’ head had about a second and a half to roll until the beast gave a gravity-defying leap over his convulsive body. Once again the gaping maw clamped around it with another violent crunch but not so much as to mutilate it beyond recognition, not even to eat it. It appeared the giant wolf-like savage had other intentions.  It gave another leap in the opposite direction and that was enough for the monster to vanish from plain view…..

 

…..later that evening…..

 

……… “I’m just bloody beside myself to be out of this blasted mound of corruption!”, Derek Hampton spat as he was granted an early release from The Marshalsea. He served but a year for falling behind. An honest hardworking man, Derek did the best he could for his humble family. All his mates ribbed him for his kind and meek nature, likening him to that of Dickens’s Bob Cratchett. Everyone knew he wasn’t a criminal but merely had hit a bad passel of luck with the wrong creditor. But he paid his debt, avoid the likes of Charles Winston and served his time respectfully. But it didn’t make him any less bitter upon leaving day.

There was a dense fog out that night and a chill came about Derek so he tightened his coat around him as he made his way home. But he noticed what appeared to be a woman next to some sort of fruit stand. “What peddler would be out and about at this hour?” He nonetheless carried on her direction, maintaining his locked view of her. He was just about to pass the merchant when her hand emerged from her cloak, giving Derek a jolt. It was then he noticed the putrid stench of rotten goods but that only held his attention for so long as the merchants other hand emerged holding something else a little more fresh than the fruit.

Derek looked down in utter shock. Surely this was some sort of prank! No,,it was by heavens Charles Winston’s severed head!!! His eyes darted up to try and meet the woman’s but there was only the hood and pitch blackness to behold. Eventually the merchant spoke…….

“Pay,,, and die horribly…..”

Derek swallowed and eventually squeaked out,,, “no…..um… no…. I’d much rather pass if that suits you just fine Lass?” He stumbled sideways as his eyes bounced between the two heads…not knowing which terrified him more. But the figure retracted her hand and said nothing else.

Derek too, increasingly quickened his pace the further he got away from the wretched manifestation…..and was able to run safely into the night.

Author's Note

Enjoy. All comments welcome.

Reviews

[quarintine_deathangel]

one else with within eye or ear- you might want to change that to 'one else was within'
As far as I read, the story seems more like an unfathomable trial of the soul that's unrealistic, fantasy in this case. It wasn't bad but I'm not much into british literature so I wasn't really captured by it. It's a good piece though, and the end has a good twist, nice job! ^.^

[Jason Dyer]

Good eye! Change made. I wrote this three years ago on the fly with hardly any proof reading and I just posted it to see what kind of interaction I'd get on this site. And yes, I was just going for a cheap thrill (as unbelievable as possible). I come to this site, however to mingle with other writers and begin promoting a full-length novel I hope to release in August. Some excerpts have already been posted here. Thank you so much for reading as well as your honesty! Cheers!