The Feast of Devereux Manor

By Jon Ward

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

Jon Ward on Smashwords

The Feast of Devereux Manor

Copyright © 2011 by Jon Ward

Cover Image Photographer: Nichole Scholz

Cover Image copyright 2011 nicolescholzphotography

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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental.  The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Adult Reading Material

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Pierce Devereux sat comfortably in his study. Relishing the comfort of his favorite Chesterfield chair and sipping a snifter of his favorite brandy. He looked out over the courtyard of his 200 year old plantation, Devereux Manor, gazing at the mangrove trees of the Louisiana bayou on the horizon. Ella Fitzgerald's “Get Out of Town” was playing on the antique phonograph in the corner. The warm, scratchy tone of the needle on the record reminded Pierce of a simpler time. Never before had he longed so for that time to return.

Pierce's family has been living on this land since the building of Devereux Manor; he felt it his duty to stand his ground and keep the property safe. Someone had to keep it safe from the encroaching horde of walking corpses. After all, it may very well have been the final bastion of humanity left in all the world, for all Pierce knew.

“The outbreak had started some eight months ago, at the beginning of the Fall. The television reports said it originated from a medical facility in Texas where research was being conducted on Mad Cow disease. They said it could turn the most civil man into a raving lunatic in a matter of moments once exposed. They never said it would spread so quickly,” thought Devereux to himself.

Pierce, always having had a penchant for the dramatic, mulled over the past eight months in his head, “The initial outbreak at the research facility infected everyone present. The entire population of that town was infected within 24 hours. The National Guard moved in to contain it, which they did successfully for about 18 hours. After that, the troops had all fallen and the infected began wandering the desert in search of... something. They spread out all over Texas, going from town to town. Within 24 hours of exposure, an entire city would be infected and the process would start over again. They were like locusts.”

“As the horde traveled further east, I instructed my construction crew to build a wall around the plantation. I hoped it would be enough to keep these monsters away from us. I think my foreman had his own ideas about this threat. He constructed it from steel and concrete, 10 feet high. The dead started showing up here about 6 months ago. The wall worked. The horde is there, just on the other side of the 3 feet of reinforced concrete, waiting to devour us but they can't get through. Thank goodness we had the foresight to stock up on supplies.”

Just as Pierce's glass ran dry, his butler, Benson, entered the room and offered to pour another glass. Pierce looked up at the aged, but kind eyes of Benson and replied “Yes, thank you, Benson. That would be lovely.” He nonchalantly offered his glass to the rugged, arthritis-ravaged hand of Benson and dropped the glass into it. The snifter fell to the floor and shattered.

Pierce looked away from the bay window with a perturbed look on his face to find no one standing beside him. He quickly turned to look back at the door to the study to see Benson hurriedly stepping towards the hallway. “Benson! Why did you walk away when I was handing you my glass? Benson!,” Pierce exclaimed, shocked that his butler, who he had known all his life, would have done something so foolish.

Pierce jumped up to follow after the old man who had not responded. He thought he saw Benson go down the stairs and turn towards the kitchen so he followed. As he approached the double-door to the kitchen, he began to notice the mess that had been left unattended. “First Benson drops my favorite crystal snifter now my kitchen staff has abandoned their post with work to do. What is going on here?”

“HELLO!” Pierce yelled down the empty hallway before him. “Benson, where are you? Where is the kitchen staff? They need to come clean this mess of a kitchen!” He received no response. He stormed down the hallway towards the kitchen staff quarters, intent on getting to the bottom of this lack of service.

“Perhaps the wall has fallen. Maybe they're all dead!” Pierce thought to himself as he walked past the stairs that led down to the cellar on his way to the door that would lead him to the former slave quarters where the staff lived. He grabbed the pistol out of his pocket just before he opened the door to the outside, just in case. He peered through the window to make sure there were no zombies standing nearby that may attack him. He saw no one.

The staff house was a mere 20 feet away from the door and he made it a point to traverse the distance quickly. He cautiously looked in through the window next to the door to see what was going on inside but he didn't see anyone in there. “Well, that's unusual,” he thought. “There's always someone milling about.”

He opened the door and tried to listen for someone... anyone... anything. “Hello?”, he yelled. His anxious ears were met with silence. He tiptoed through the halls, looking into the bedrooms of his staff members. They all looked as if they had simply gotten up out of a deep sleep and left. No beds were made; Personal belongings were strewn about; closets were left open. Pierce, for the first time, felt unsafe behind his fortified walls.

Pierce ran back into the Manor and locked the door behind him. The silence that awaited him in his home startled him. He was used to the cacophany of his staff working in the kitchen, the laundry room, and the halls as they cleaned, cooked, and kept things tidy. The fear crept up his spine like kudzu.

“Benson!” Pierce yelled out for his butler. Benson had been hired by the Devereux family 53 years ago, when Pierce was born. He had served as Pierce's caretaker, tutor, butler, and friend ever since. Benson was now in his eighties and was finally becoming frail. Benson, who had always been a proud man who never admitted any weakness, was becoming a bit feeble in his old age, though still able to perform his duties. Pierce had attributed the earlier dropping of the glass and Benson's subsequent withdrawal to this personality trait. After all, there weren't many people in the world who knew Benson as well as Pierce did.

Pierce was, once again, met with complete silence. He walked back upstairs to his study, where he had a good view of the wall and courtyard, to look and see if the wall had been compromised. He looked around but saw nothing. No breaks in his defenses; no zombies in the courtyard; no staff members; no nothing. His fear was palpable as he knew something wasn't right.

Pierce suddenly became aware of someone else in the room. His fear locked him in place. He couldn't even turn around to see who it was. His heart nearly beat out of his chest as he felt arms wrap around him from behind. His fear subsided just long enough for him to wrestle himself from his assailant and aim his pistol. He fired a shot.

“Holy Christ! What the fuck are you doing?” exclaimed Eleanor, Pierce's wife, as the .40 caliber bullet narrowly missed her head. Her nerves, being a woman of the hard South, were like steel. She didn't even flinch at the gunshot and subsequent “whir” as the bullet whizzed right by her ear.

“Oh my God, Honey! I'm so sorry! Where have you been? Where is everyone?” the apologetic, and somewhat embarrassed Pierce, asked.

“What do you mean, Pierce? Where is who?”

“Benson, the kitchen staff, the housecleaning staff, everyone! I've been all over the place and I haven't seen a single soul!” Pierce said with a worrisome look in his eye.

“I just saw Benson. He's downstairs. Come on, let's go find him,” Eleanor said, her kind eyes and beautiful smile filling Pierce with a renewed confidence and comfort.

“Alright, love. He dropped a glass earlier and bolted out of the room. I'm not angry with him. I just wanted to know why he left the room.”

The couple started to make their way down the stairs towards the foyer. The large French doors poured light onto the marble tile floor and Victorian decorations that made the entrance to Devereax Manor such a welcoming sight. Pierce turned to his beloved wife Eleanor to take her arm and accompany her like the gentleman he was raised to be but as soon as he turned his head to look, she was gone. Pierce stopped in his tracks. Bolted to the stairs like a statue, Pierce's mind began racing.

“Eleanor?” he whimpered.

Pierce was sure he was losing his mind. First it was Benson's odd behavior. Then he was unable to find a soul on the Manor grounds. Now he had just seen his wife, the woman he had loved for thirty years, disappear right before his eyes. It was at that point that he heard something from a hallway behind him.

Pierce withdrew his gun from his pocket and slowly continued down the stairs and towards the sound. “Hello,” he questioned. There was no answer. The sound came from the hallway that led to the staff quarters.

He started down the hall and was assaulted with an odor so tremendous that he couldn't help but wretch. The smell of bad meat assaulted his senses like a punch in the face. The foul stench became worse as he got closer to the source of the sound. He was nearly to the door he used to reach the staff quarters when he heard a loud bang to his left. He turned to look. It was coming from the cellar.

He readied his pistol as he began his descent down the stairs toward the old, wooden door. He put his ear up to the cellar's entrance to listen for what might be behind it. He called out, “Benson? Eleanor,” but got no response. He grabbed the handle to the door and swung it open.

In that instant, Pierce felt as though his mind exploded as what seemed like a thousand horrid memories came flooding back to him. As he opened the door, the stench came pouring out like a levee had broken. However, Pierce didn't even notice the stench of rotting flesh as he saw what was behind the door. It was his wife, Eleanor, with whom he thought he had just shared a loving exchange before she vanished into thin air.

Eleanor was sitting in the middle of the cement floor of Devereux Manor, covered in blood, eyes white with death, feasting on what remained of one of the members of the kitchen staff. She looked up at Pierce as she bit into the severed arm she held in her hands. Pierce looked down at her in horror as he began remembering what had happened over the course of the last two weeks.

Eleanor had been in the garden taking a late afternoon walk. Unbeknownst to her or anyone else at the Manor at that time, a single zombie had somehow managed to breach the walls of the compound. It had probably been able to climb over a group of undead that had tripped over themselves, creating a ramp of zombies. It was standing beside a rose bush in the northeast corner of the garden, shaded by the Manor in the waning light of dusk. She never saw her assailant before she was in its grasp, her arm in its teeth.

Pierce heard the scream from his study, which is situated directly above the garden. He rushed down to help but by then it was too late. The zombie had already eaten most of her left forearm and she had nearly bled out already. Pierce shot the zombie with his pistol, the same pistol he now holds in his hand, right between the eyes. His grip tightened on it as the memories kept flooding his mind.

Benson had heard the commotion outside and came to help. He was horrified by what he saw. Pierce pleaded with him, “Help me get her inside!” They carried her inside and laid her on the bed. She was barely conscious when Pierce looked into her eyes and began to speak. At that moment, he saw the life fade from her body as she went completely limp and her eyes rolled back in her head. Pierce took her in his arms and began to cry.

Pierce sat there in complete disarray. His beloved wife had just fallen victim to the plague that had infected the United States. After all he had done to keep her safe, he had failed. Benson looked on with a sorrowful look in his eye as the man he had helped groom from birth had just experienced a tragedy that no one should ever have to endure. The rest of the staff, now aware of what had happened, stood silently outside the door. Some were crying, some were sobbing so badly that they had to retreat to their quarters. Others with more steady nerve stood waiting to serve should their patron need them.

After a short while, the crowd of servants and maids around Pierce's bedroom door subsided, though Benson remained by his friend's side. Pierce looked up to Benson and said “How did it happen, Benson? How did it get in here?”

Benson replied with a sorrowful shrug, “I haven't the slightest, Mr. Devereux.”

“Benson, call me Pierce. I should have put a stop to this Mr. Devereux business years ago.”

At that moment, Pierce felt his wife move in his arms.

“Eleanor! Eleanor! Can you hear me?” exclaimed Pierce, who now thought his wife may actually still be alive. Unfortunately, Eleanor had joined the ranks of the undead and had reanimated. She lunged for Pierce's neck but the exchange threw them both off balance and they fell from the bed onto the floor. Pierce managed to push her off and restrain her.

Pierce looked to Benson and grimly asked, “Benson, you are my greatest friend. Will you help me?”

Benson only nodded and stooped to help Pierce get the restrained revenant off the floor.

Pierce and Benson took Eleanor down to the cellar where she would be kept. Neither Pierce nor Benson could bring themselves to kill what was once Eleanor. In the coming days, it became clear that Eleanor would eat nothing they offered her. Pierce brought her various meats and vegetables but she refused to eat. It then occurred to Pierce what must be done.

The next evening, Pierce took a heavy pipe and found one of the ladies who worked in the laundry room working alone. He struck her over the head and knocked her unconscious. He then dragged her down to the cellar. The woman's limp body made a sickening thud as it was laid before Eleanor who immediately began devouring the woman. Pierce became sick with what he had done and evacuated himself in the corner as wet, slurping sounds came from his now cannibalistic wife.

Something inside Pierce died. He had fed someone to the darkness that now shrouded the world and he knew that he would do it again. Over the next few weeks, Benson noticed fewer and fewer of the people he normally saw on a day to day basis. He feared he knew why.

To confirm his suspicions, Benson hid in the closet beneath the stairs that led to the laundry room. He knew that one of the ladies would be there working tonight and he suspected that she would be Pierce's next victim. Within minutes, he heard careful footsteps on the stairs above his head. He couldn't see anything and he didn't want to risk being discovered so he relied on his ears. He never heard anyone speak a word. There was only the end of the footsteps at the bottom of the stairs, a pause, and a thick thud. He could tell Pierce was burdened as his footsteps were much heavier and slower as he ascended the staircase, returning to feed his undead wife.

Benson confronted Pierce with his accusations. Pierce was driven mad at this. He took the old man's head in his hands and snapped his neck. He then loaded his pistol and hunted down every last member of his staff. He thought to himself, “Now, my love will have the feast she always deserved.” No one was spared.

As he watched his beloved wife feast on the remnants of his once faithful and loving staff, delirium set in. His mind simply could not cope with the atrocity that he had committed. He blocked the memory of what had just happened out of his brain and, as such, was unaware that all the people for who he would soon be searching were already dead by his hand. His memory, of course, would return to him in time.

Now, as Eleanor sloppily shoved pieces of muscle tissue into her mouth, Pierce's repressed memories had completely relapsed. He was shocked at himself for what he had done. He murdered Benson, the man who he had known and loved as a father figure since birth. The always kind and dutiful maids, cooks, and groundskeepers that had served him and his family for as long as he could remember were dead and he had killed them. Suddenly, that death beyond the concrete wall outside seemed insignificant to the death in his own mind.

Pierce gripped the handle of his pistol with what felt like the strength of a thousand men. He raised it to his temple and pulled back the hammer. With a spray of blood, his sins were wiped clean. With a puff of blue smoke, the nightmare was over.