Trembling With Fear 01/27/2019

Self-reflection

Hutter climbed the narrow, helter-skelter stairs in, lurching from one pool of torchlight to another. It was a proper lurch too, being almost a hopping from foot to foot. This was due in part to the large hump on his back and spindly, splayed legs. In fact, all of Hutter looked as though a caring if skint god put him together using factory rejected parts; a face that Marty Feldman would take one look at, shake his head sadly, and offer the owner a drink. The other reason for the difficult movement was the large package he carried.

It was easily taller than a full grown main and more than twice as broad. It was three-dimensional but not by much, being hardly thicker than the plain brown paper it was wrapped in.

At last, Hutter reached the wooden door the steps lead to. He gently set the package down and took a moment to mop his forehead with his handkerchief. Hutter then turned the latch and pushed the door open.

Beyond was an opulently appointed room, even if it was like being inside a coal briquette. Glass-free windows were covered by black curtains that billowed slightly in the cool, gentle night breeze that made the candle flames on nearly a dozen wall mounted holders flicker. Several tall wardrobes made of ebony wood nearly obscured one of the black stone walls. Dominating the center of the room was a shiny, black lacquered coffin sitting on a matching table. The only concession the 19th gave to the 20^th century was a black Bakelite phone next to the coffin, its wires running across the floor and out of one of the windows.

Hutter carefully leaned the package against the wall next to the door and approached the coffin. Using a gnarled knuckle, he wrapped lightly on its lid.

“Master,” he said. His voice, like his body, seemed to have been thrown together with whatever larynx pieces could be found and glued together. “Master, it’s here.”

With glacial slowness, the coffin lid creaked open. It was a proper creak too, the kind only achieved by hinges rusted to the point of flaking. Hutter bowed low and winced at the floor as he once again fervently wished the Master would allow him to oil the hinges. He had gathered up his courage once to ask the Master just that, but was curtly told the screeching was a part of the image. How sound could have been an image, Hutter didn’t know, but he let the subject drop.

From out of the poofy, black silk lined coffin, the Master rose as though his feet were attached to hinges (albeit silent ones) of their own. The Master wore a dusty black cassock that looked to have been taken from a priest’s buried bones which, in fact, was the case. He ended up standing upright, arms crossed over his chest, while Hutter crossed his crooked fingers that the nails he had driven through the bottom of the coffin would hold this time – he still had bruises from last week’s little slippage incident.

The Master opened his eyes and looked down at Hutter, who remained bowed.

“Rise,” the Master rasped in mausoleum tones. The word, however, was slightly mangled, the reason for which will be touched upon later.

Looking up, Hutter said, hardly able to contain his excitement, “It’s here, Master.”

The Master took a deep, whistling breath through his nose. “Show me,” he said.

Hutter loped as best he could across the room to where the package leaned. He pulled it up so it was a little more upright and turned back to the room. The Master already stood behind him, his tall body looming. The silent movement had long ago lost the ability to startle Hutter, but he suspected that such a lack of reaction saddened the Master, so he made a point to seem startled. The Master scrutinized the package with narrowed eyes.

“Are you sure of this, Hutter?” the Master asked, sounding suspicious.

“Certainly, Master,” Hutter replied, not at all as confident as he made his voice sound. “A mirror made from aluminum using a new technique called evaporation coating.” The artificer had patiently explained what evaporation coating was several times, but Hutter still didn’t quite grasp it. Hoping that he wouldn’t be asked any questions about it, he pressed on quickly. “Absolutely no silver in it at all. You’ll be able to clearly see yourself for the first time in almost a century.”

“Finally,” the Master said with satisfaction. “We shall see how Domina Tempore has treated me.” Hutter didn’t know who the Master was talking about – they hadn’t had any visitors in quite some time – but he made no comment. “If I am to have more interaction with the world in this infant century, I shall need to be able to maintain my image. Reveal it to me.”

With a proud, anticipatory, lopsided grin, Hutter ripped the paper off the package and tossed it aside. Beneath was indeed a mirror. It clearly reflected the room around it and, to Hutter’s masked relief, it also reflected the Master.

Hutter turned to the Master, beaming at a job well done. His smile immediately inverted when he saw the Master’s horrified expression.

“Is this what I truly look like?” the Master viciously demanded.

“Well, yes, Master,” Hutter said, on the verge of fearful tears.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What, Master?”

“That I’m hideous!”

“I don’t think you are, Master.”

The Master snorted and spat, “Compared to the reflection you must see, Hutter, a sea urchin must be Athena.”

“There’s no need for that, Master,” Hutter said, reproachfully.

The Master’s long-nailed fingers hesitantly touched his dusty bald head and explored his ruined, corpse-like face. “No wonder I have to bespell women with my gaze,” he said. “I almost have to do it to myself!”

“Now, Master –“

“And these!” the Master said, interrupting as he reached his two front teeth. “I had no idea that these were that long! Do they affect my speech?”

“Not so much, Master,” Hutter quietly admitted.

“Oh damnation!” the Master wailed, burring his face in his hands.

Hutter was silent for a moment, uncertain of how to console the Master. He may have been cruel at times, but he was an aristocrat in life – they were just like that. It wasn’t his fault, really.

Then inspiration came to him – a solution to all of the Master’s problems.

“Not to worry, Master,” Hutter said, smiling as appealingly as a broken gravestone. “Over the past few years, something called radio has started becoming wildly popular…”

 

End