James Becker - The Nosferatu Scroll

He was clad in a very dark robe, tied at the waist with a cord, a hood covering his head. It was a foul parody of a monk’s habit, but Marietta had no doubt his thoughts were anything but godly. The man held a lighted candle in his right hand, and the flickering flame cast a fitful light over his features. Staring at him in horrified silence, Marietta made out a large, bulbous nose, a heavy jaw and dark, sunken eyes.

Then she looked behind the man and saw that he was simply the first in a procession of figures, perhaps a dozen in total, all dressed in the same dark hooded robes, and each carrying a large candle. The tiny, dancing yellow flames — the only illumination in the room — cast an eerie glow over that end of the cellar. The third man in the line was also carrying an ornamented wooden box, about the size of two shoeboxes, and apparently not very heavy.

From her door-less cell, Marietta had a good view of what they were doing. The line of men — and she was sure that they were all men — filed slowly from the staircase entrance over to one end of the cellar, where they formed a circle around the stone table positioned there. For a few seconds nothing happened, then the figure holding the box took a pace forwards, lowered it carefully on to the table and stepped back again. The other figures stood in silence, waiting expectantly.

A familiar rumble echoed through the cellar. The door at the top of the stairs was closing. Then Marietta heard another sound, and literally shook with terror. The slithering noise coming from the spiral staircase could only mean one thing: the man who had so frightened both her and Benedetta was coming back into the chamber. Moments later, he appeared in the cellar, and a pungent odour suddenly filled the confined space.

The figure paused, looked over towards the cells where the two girls were imprisoned, then made his way towards the hooded men, who each bowed low as he passed.

The man took up his position at one end of the circle, looked around at his companions, then raised his left hand in a casual gesture towards the man who’d been carrying the small box. He, in turn, bowed low again, stepped forward to the table, and carefully lifted off the box’s lid.

That action seemed to act as a catalyst for another of the men who left the circle and walked behind his companions, lighting another half-dozen or so large candles mounted in freestanding candlesticks, each about five feet tall, illuminating the table, and allowing Marietta to see more clearly. His task completed, the figure returned to his place in the circle. Then four of the other figures moved, each removing what looked like a length of rope from their robes, and stepped forward to thread it through one of the holes driven through the four corners of the table. Then they too moved back into position.

Marietta found the silence that had accompanied these actions unnerving. Clearly, the men were following a well-rehearsed and predetermined sequence of actions. No orders or instructions needed to be given, because every man knew his place and what his function was.

The man who had carried the box down the stairs now reached into it and extracted what looked almost like a deep soup bowl, which he placed on the table in front of him. He then took out a short object with a rounded end and placed that inside the bowl. As he did so, Marietta heard the characteristic sound of stone striking stone and, rather to her surprise, realized that what she was looking at was a mortar and pestle.

The figure closest to the box raised both his arms high above his head, and Marietta could sense the anticipation from the other men around the table.

Slowly, he lowered his hands, put them inside the box, and took out a small, round object, brownish in colour. This he lifted high above his head, holding it aloft for a few seconds, then replaced it on the table directly in front of him.

Suddenly Marietta saw exactly what it was. The vacant pits of the eye sockets, the twin vertical lines marking the position of the nose, and the white line of the teeth were unmistakable. The object they appeared to be worshipping was a human skull.

What happened next was even stranger. The man holding the skull took a pair of pliers from the pocket of his robe and used them to snap off a small piece of bone, which he lifted up and showed to the assembled group. Then he placed it in the mortar and began to grind it up, the noise of the operation echoing around the room.

After a few minutes he removed the pestle and handed it and the pliers to the man standing beside him. Then he picked up the mortar with both hands and lifted it high above his head, and as he did so the other men around the table bowed their heads. Next, he walked round the circle to the man who’d been the last to arrive, the apparent leader, bowed low and showed him the mortar. The man looked closely at its contents and inclined his head, whereupon the man holding the mortar bowed again, walked slowly back to his original position and placed the object on the small stone table behind him, a table which Marietta had noticed when she’d first entered the cellar.

Now, the atmosphere changed, and an almost palpable thrill of excitement, of anticipation, seemed to emanate from the silent figures. The hooded ringleader bowed his head briefly and stepped back from his position. All of the other men bowed in their turn, and stepped back, away from the table. Then the hooded man hissed a single instruction, which Marietta heard clearly: ‘Bring the first girl.’

Two of the men bowed, left the group and walked towards the cells where Marietta and Benedetta were being held. Marietta retreated as far as she could and gripped the wooden head of the bed firmly with both hands, determined not to give up too easily. But the men ignored her and entered Benedetta’s cell.

The other girl howled in fear, her scream echoing around the cellar. Marietta half expected to hear the crackle of the taser, but the two men simply manhandled the girl out of her cell. As they dragged her, wriggling and screaming, past the open entrance of Marietta’s cell, Benedetta stared with terrified eyes at her fellow captive, begging her to come to her rescue. But Marietta could do nothing for her.

The two men stopped at the table, holding Benedetta firmly by her wrists and upper arms. Two other men stepped forward, one in front of the girl and the other behind her, and seized hold of the white robe she was wearing. Simultaneously, each man tugged the material, and the two halves of the garment parted, leaving Benedetta completely naked.

There was a sudden collective intake of breath from the men surrounding the table as they saw Benedetta’s naked body for the first time. She was, Marietta saw immediately, very beautiful.

Trembling, Marietta felt the seams of the robe she was wearing. They were thick and bulky, and when she pulled at one, it emitted a characteristic ripping sound. She realized that the seams were made from Velcro, precisely so that the robe could be torn apart in this fashion.

Marietta looked back at the scene in front of her. Benedetta was screaming even louder now, the sudden shock of being stripped naked adding immeasurably to her terror. But the other participants in the ritual were proceeding in silence, their movements measured and organized, despite the girl’s yells and struggles. Benedetta was forced forward until she was standing at the end of the table. Then the men turned her round until her buttocks were pressing against the stone. Two other men stepped forward and grabbed her ankles, and then she was lifted bodily and deposited in the centre of the table and held there, squirming helplessly.

Then the reason for the ropes on the table — which Marietta could now see were actually leather belts — became obvious. Working with practised ease, the men holding Benedetta in place swiftly lashed the belts around her ankles and wrists. In seconds, the girl was strapped down on the table, spreadeagled across it, as helplessly as a butterfly pinned to a display board. But still she writhed and screamed, tugging helplessly at her bonds.