Hey guys, it's E. J. Miller with another episode of Fast Food
Horror Classics. I'd like to apologize if I sound a bit off. I've
been under the weather for the last couple of days, which has delayed this
episode coming out. And I am very, very excited by this episode,
most notably by the voice talent mister Jonathan Inbody. Jonathan comes to us from
Gray Matter and Acid Horror Anthology. He writes fantastic adaptations from well known works
that just breathe new life into well known classics. He is also a fantastic
voice talent, and I count myself very very lucky to have him help me
bring this classic to life now. Unfortunately, Igor Froedrich, who normally is
the master of ceremony here at Fast Food Horror, is away with his ghoul
friend for the holiday, so you're stuck with me. So here we go.
One of my favorite Edgar Allen Poe short stories narrated by the one and
only Jonathan Inbody, The Cask of a Montelado, The Thousand Injuries of Fortune
Hoo. I had borne as best I could, but when he ventured upon
insult, I vowed revenge. You who so well know the nature of my
soul. Will not suppose, however, that I gave utterance to a threat
at length I would be avenged. This was a point definitely settled, but
the very definitiveness with which it was resolved precluded the idea of risk. I
must not only punish, but punish with impunity. A wrong is unredressed when
retribution overtakes its redresser. It is equally unredressed when the avenger fails to make
himself felt as such to him who has done the wrong. It must be
understood that neither by word nor deed had I given Fortunado cause to doubt my
good will. I continued, as was my wont to smile in his face,
and he did not perceive that my smile now was at the thought of
his immolation. He had a weak point, this Fortunado, Although in other
regards he was a man to be respected and even feared, he prided himself
on his connoisseurship and wine. Few Italians have had the true virtuoso spirit.
For the most part, their enthusiasm is adopted to suit the time and opportunity
to practice imposture upon the British and Austrian millionaires. In painting and Ingemmoryo,
like his countryman, was a quack, but in the matter of old wines
he was sincere. In this respect I did not differ from him materially.
I was skillful in the Italian vintages myself, and bought largely whenever I could.
It was about dusk one evening, during the supreme madness of the carnival
season, that I encountered my friend. He accosted me with excessive warmth,
for he had been drinking much. The man wore motley, he had on
a tight fitting party striped dress, and his head was surmounted by the conical
cap and bells. I was so pleased to see him that I thought I
should never have done wringing his hand. I said to him, my dear
Fortunato, you I luckily met, how remarkably well you are looking today.
But I have received a pipe of what passes for a montiado, and I
have my doubts, how said he, A montiado a pipe impossible, and
in the middle of the carnival, I have my doubts, I replied,
And I was silly enough to pay the full a montiado price without consulting you.
In the matter. You were not to be found, and I was
fearful of losing a bargain a Montiado. I have my doubts, a montiado,
and I must satisfy them, a Montiado. As you are engaged,
I am on my way to Luceesi. If anyone has a critical turn,
it is he. He will tell me, LUCHESI cannot tell a mantiado from
sherry, and yet some fools will have it that his taste is a match
for your own. Come and let us go whither to your vaults, my
friend. No, I will not impose upon your good nature. I perceive
you to have an engagement. Luceesi, I have no engagement. Come,
my friend. No, it is not the engagement but the severe cold with
which I perceive you are afflicted. Vaults are insufferably damp, they are encrusted
with nier. Let us go. Nevertheless, the cold is merely nothing,
Montiato, you have been imposed upon. And as for Lucceesi, he cannot
distinguish sherry from a montiado. Thus speaking, Fortunado possessed himself of my arm,
and putting on a mask of black silk and drawing a roau Claire closely
about my person, I suffered him to hurry me back to the plazzo.
There were no attendants at home. They had absconded to make Mary in honor
of the time. I had told them that I should not return until the
morning, and had given them explicit orders not to stir from the house.
These orders were sufficient, I well knew, to ensure their immediate disappearance one
and all. As soon as my back was turned, I took from their
sconces to Flambeaux, and, giving one to Fortunado, bowed him through several
suites of rooms to the archway that led to the vaults. I passed down
a long and winding staircase, requesting him to be cautious as he followed.
We came at length to the foot of the descent, and stood together upon
the damp ground of the catacombs of the Montressors. The gate of my friend
was unsteady, and the bells upon his cap jingled. As he strode the
pipe. He said, it is farther on, said I, but observe
the white web work which gleams from these cavern walls. He turned towards me,
and I looked into his eyes with two flimsy orbs that distilled the room
of intoxication. Niter, he asked. At length, Niter, I replied,
how long have you had that cough? My poor friend found it impossible
to reply for many minutes. It is nothing, he said. At last,
come, I said, with decision, we will go back. Your
health is precious. You are rich, respected, admired, beloved. You
are happy as once I was. You are a man to be miss for
me. It is no matter. We will go back. You will be
ill, and I can not be responsible. Besides, there is LUCHESI enough,
he said. The cough's a mere nothing. It will not kill me.
I shall not die of a cough. True, true, I replied,
And indeed I had no intention of alarming you unnecessarily, But you should
use all proper caution. The draught of this mattock will defend us from the
damps. Here I knocked off the neck of a bottle, which I drew
from a long row of its fellows that lay upon the mold drink, I
said, presenting him the wine. He raised it to his lips with a
leer. He paused and nodded to me familiarly, while his bells jingled.
I drink, he said, to the buried that repose around us, and
to your long life. He again took my arm, and we proceeded.
These vaults, he said, are extensive. The Montressors, I replied,
were a great and numerous family. I forget your arms. A huge human
foot door in a field azure, the foot crushes a serpent rampant whose fangs
are embedded in the heel. And the motto nemo may impune lessesss it good?
He said. The wine sparkled in his eyes, and the bells jingled.
My own fancy grew warm with the medoc. We had passed through the
long walls of piled skeletons with casks and puncheons, intermingling into the inmost recesses
of the catacombs. I paused again, and this time I made bold to
seize fortune out of by an arm above the elbow. The nier, I
said, see it increases. It hangs like moss upon the walls, wheel
below the river's bed. The drops of moisture trickle among the bones. Come,
we will go back ere. It is too late. Your cough,
it is nothing, he said. Let us go on, But first another
draft of the meadock, I broke and reached him a flagon of de grave.
He emptied, it had a breath. His eyes flashed with a fierce
light. He laughed and threw the bottle upwards with a gesticulation. I did
not understand. I looked at him in surprise. He repeated the movement,
a grotesque one. You do not comprehend, he said, not I,
I replied, Then you are not of the brotherhood. How you are out
of the Masons? Yes, yes, I said, yes, yes,
you impossible a Mason. A Mason, I replied. A sign? He
said, A sign? It is this, I answered, producing a trowel
from beneath the folds of my rou claire. You jest, he exclaimed,
recoiling a few paces. But let us proceed to the MANTIATO be it,
so, I said, replacing the tool beneath the cloak, and again offering
him my arm. He leaned upon it heavily. We continued our route in
search of the Amantiado. We passed through a range of low arches, descended,
passed on, and descended again. Arrived at a deep crypt, in
which the foulness of the air caused our flambeaux, rather to glow than flame.
At the most remote end of the crypt there appeared another, less spacious.
Its walls had been lined with human remains piled to the vault overhead,
in the fashion of the great Catacombs of Paris. Three sides of this interior
crypt were still ornamented in this manner. From the fourth side the bones had
been thrown down and lay promiscuously upon the earth, forming at one point a
mound of some size within the wall. Thus exposed by displacing of the bones,
we perceived a still interior crypt or recess, in depth about four feet
in width three in height six or seven. It seemed to have been constructed
for no especial use within itself, but formed merely the interval between two of
the colossal supports of the roof of the catacombs, and was backed by one
of their circumscribing walls of solid granite. It was in vain that Fortunado,
uplifting his dull torch, endeavored to pry into the depth of the recess its
termination. The feeble light did not enable us to see proceed I said herein
is the amontiato. As for Luceesi he is an ignoramus, interrupted my friend,
and he stepped unsteadily forward, while I followed immediately at his heels in
niche, and finding an instant he had reached the extremity of the niche,
and, finding his progress arrested by the rock, stood stupidly bewildered. A
moment more, and I had fettered him to the granite, and its surface
were two iron staples, distant from each other, about two feet horizontally.
From one of these was depended a short chain, and from the other a
padlock. Throwing the links about his waist. It was but the work of
a few seconds to secure it. He was much too astound it to resist.
With drawing the key, I stepped back from the recess. Pass your
hand, I said, over the wall. Cannot help feeling the night.
Indeed, it is very damp. Once more, let me implore you to
return. No, then I must positively leave you. But first I must
render you all the little attentions in my power. The Amontiato ejaculated my friend,
not yet recovered from his astonishment. True, I replied the Amontiado.
As I said these words, I busied myself among the pile of bones,
of which before I have spoken, throwing them aside. I soon uncovered a
quantity of building stone and mortar. With these materials, and at the aid
of my trowel, I began vigorously to wall up the entrance of the niche.
I had scarcely laid the first tier of the masonry when I discovered that
the intoxication of Fortunato had in a great measure worn off. The earliest indication
I had of this was a low, moaning cry from the depth of the
recess. It was not the cry of a drunken man. There was then
a long and obstinate silence. I laid the second tier, and the third
and the fourth, and then I heard the furious vibrations of the chain.
The noise lasted for several minutes, during which then I might hearken to it
with more satisfaction. I ceased my labors and sat down upon the bones.
When at last the clanking subsided, I resumed the trowel and finished without interruption
the fifth, the sixth, and the seventh tier. The wall was now
nearly upon a level with my breast. I again paused, and, holding
the flambeaux over the mason work through a few feeble rays upon the figure.
Within a succession of loud and shrill screams, bursting suddenly from the throat of
the chain form seemed to thrust me violently back. For a brief moment,
I hesitated, I trembled, unsheathing my rapier. I began to grope with
it about the recess. But the thought of an instant reassured me. I
placed my hand upon the solid fabric to the catacombs, and felt satisfied.
I reapproached the wall. I replied to the yells of him who clamored.
I re echoed. I ate it. I surpassed them in volume and in
strength. I did this, and the clamberer were still. It was now
midnight, and my task was drawing to a close. I had completed the
eighth, the ninth, and the tenth tier. I had finished a portion
of the last, and the eleventh. There remained but a single stone to
be fitted and plastered in. I struggled with its weight. I placed it
partially in its destined position. But now there came from out the niche a
low laugh that erected the hairs upon my head. It was succeeded by a
sad voice, which I had difficulty in recognizing as that of the noble Fortunado.
The voice said, a very good joke, indeed an excellent chest.
We would haven't many worse laugh about it at the palazzo over over all wine
the Amontiado, I said, yes, the Montiano, is it not getting
late? You will may not be awaiting this at the palazzo the lady Fortunato
in the reds. Let us be gone, yes, I said, let
us be gone for the love of God montresor yes, I said, for
the love of God. But to these words I hearkened in vain for a
reply. I grew impatient. I called aloud Fortunado. No answer. I
called again, Fortunato. No answer. Still I thrust a torch through the
remaining aperture and let it fall within. There came forth in return, only
a jingling of the bells. My heart grew sick. It was the dampness
of the catacombs that made it so. I hastened to make an end to
my labor. I forced the last stone into its position. I plastered it
up against the new masonry. I re erected the old rampart of bones for
the half of a Century No Mortal has disturbed them in Patchayreck with Scott.
Hey, listeners, I really hope you enjoyed this week's installment of Fast Food
Horror Classics. As voice this week by Jonathan Inbody from Gray Matter and Acid
Horror Anthology. You can find his shows on most any podcast platform. They
are everywhere and anywhere, and most notably, if you enjoyed this kind of
story, they just released The Red Death adopted from Edgar Allan Poe and The
Whisperer in the Darkness adaptive from HP Lovecraft. Great episodes to go check out
that's episodes fifteen and thirteen, but most truly and sincerely you can check out
any episode. I know you'll really enjoy them. So from everyone here at
Fast Food Horror, I'd like to wish you and yours a merry Christmas,
a happy Hanukkah, a happy belated Festivus, and a happy New Year,
and hopefully you'll join us again next week for another episode of Fast Food Horror
Classics, and then join us again in January twenty twenty four when we start
with season two a Fast Food Horror