The Legend of Darklore Manor and Other Tales of Terror by Joseph Vargo, Joseph Iorillo Page A

ungodly purpose her mind dared not imagine.
     From somewhere in the darkness behind her came the sharp squeal of rusted hinges, alerting her that someone was entering the room. The door slammed shut, followed by the sound of a heavy metal latch being thrown. Elizabeth began trembling and her heart pounded in her chest. She wanted to scream but terror kept her voiceless.
     After a long silence, she heard a deep, eerily calm male voice behind her. "The Lord created the earthly realm for his children and bestowed the gift of free will upon them. While the devoted worship the Lord, others falter in their faith, led astray by temptations. But the path we follow must ultimately be one of our own choosing. For Judgment Day shall come, and when we stand before the Lord, we must stand alone."
     A long shadow fell across the flickering candles as the man stepped forward and stood before Elizabeth. He wore a black robe with a hood that left his face cloaked in darkness. He spoke again, this time in a whisper that sent a chill through her body. "Fear not, child, for I have come to set you free."
     Elizabeth tried to scream but all she could muster was a ragged, hoarse sob. "Why are you doing this to me?" she wailed.
     "You were not chosen by random, nor were you chosen by me. The Lord moves in mysterious ways and I am but his humble and ever-faithful servant. My duty is to cleanse your soul of the twisted entity that holds you in its thrall."
     The hooded figure turned and stepped deeper into the darkness. There was the rattling of metal upon metal and the squeaking of old wooden casters as he wheeled forth what seemed to be a small, antique surgery table upon which rested several ominous devices and ornate daggers. Elizabeth's trembling dissolved into a wild thrashing as her horrified eyes stared at the gleaming objects that this monster intended to use on her.
     "In the thirteenth century," the shadowy figure explained, "the Church began a painful but necessary cleansing of the heresies and abominations that have befallen mankind and forced the children of God off the path of righteousness and into the shadow cast by the Father of Lies. Unclean beliefs, erroneous teachings, witchcraft, and even bodily possession by the fallen angels—all of these crimes were given to us, the Inquisitors, to punish and to cleanse, in order to grant deliverance to the weak souls that had strayed from the light."
     He picked up a metal and leather device that resembled a horse's bridle. Tiny, almost imperceptible needle tips protruded from the rusty mouthpiece, and a small winch resided on the front of the mechanism. "This was often referred to as the Confessor. Once it is affixed around your head and the bit is forced in your mouth, a mere turn of the crank will send forth a dozen needles into your gums." He demonstrated by turning the winch, and the tiny steel pinpricks blossomed forth into inch-long spikes.
     "Please," she begged, "just let me go. I'll do anything you want."
     "Throughout the years certain improvements have been made to heighten the effectiveness of our tools." The hooded figure replaced the bridle on the table and picked up a heavy iron device with four metal rings and levers. An indentation in the shape of a hand was molded into its metal base. "The Mano de Verdad," he said, holding the device up so Elizabeth could see it. "The Hand of Truth. As each lever is thrown, a steel ring is pulled downward into the base, forcing pressure onto the finger, breaking the bone backward against the top knuckle. I assure you, the pain is beyond anything your mind can imagine."
     "You're a monster!" Elizabeth shrieked, struggling against her restraints to no avail.
     "On the contrary," the hooded figure replied, with something akin to kindness. "I do not relish inflicting pain, but in cases such as yours it is a necessity. I work on behalf of a Godly