I have endured a hundred heartbreaks in my life, but none more painful than the one inflicted upon me by my love, The Lord Forche. The Lord Forche has been my one true love since he found on streets of Tours, an ocean away from home and a failure at stone craft, yet he took me in and became my everything, my salvation, and my muse. For years our love was powerful until one night, during our tenth year, I returned from my studio only to be met with sounds of passions. Through the crack in the door it was then I gazed upon my love the Lord Forche in a passionate embrace with the Lord Bastian. Though our years together have not been without slights, this was unforgivable and I swore revenge. For those who know my temperament well, know I continued to carry on with my duties as confidant and lover consistently and with earnest giving no inclination as to my intentions, not during drunkenness, and not during passion. Let there be no doubt that scope of my retribution would be vast but must be skillfully prepared as to achieve impunity of suspicion from the Lord Forche, for even though he is a jovial and benevolent man, he was someone to be feared.

Like his contemporaries within the circles of wealthy landowners and businessmen, the Lord Forche has a weakness for flaunting his wealth with lavish galas where they ramble with excitement about trades in which they have little care and expertise to impress other well-to-do people, however in the artisan craft of stone sculpture the Lord Forche was sincere and found pride in the examining of fine sculptures.

During my years long leave in Paris, at the time of the annual fall carnival where the Lord Forche was to announce his retirement is where I would take my revenge. I surprised him with an unexpected return from Paris. Upon arrival I could tell that he was inebriated from excessive wine as he accosted me in a boorish manner but on this night he seemed especially intoxicated.

“Dieu, mon amour!” he said

“Yes, my love!”

“I expected to see you at coast! He said.

“It is your birthday my Lord! Plus I wanted one more night with you in the House of Forche!” 

“You’ll find it in disarray the movers haven’t been delicate.”

“Disarray or not cannot tarnish the grander of The House of Forche!” I exclaim

“Also, I come bearing a gift!”

“Oh?”

“Brandy, matured 5 years! From Marcellus LeConte!” 

“Ha! The Lord LeConte has the finest of Parisian spirits, I should have more business in Paris so I can indulge. With a gift this fine it’s only right that I partake!”

All at once he poured the brandy into his gold trimmed flask.

“Yes indeed.” I Replied; “I have prepared our bed, shall we retire at once! I will stay my other gift for dawn”

“Other gift?”

“Yes my other gift, a sculpture born from my love of you, I had it prepared with the finest stone and delivered to the family crypt”

“A sculpture! Passion and drink can wait! You have prepared me a gift of fine art, I must lay eyes upon it!”

“But my lord, we must descend into the woods behind the estate and down into the crypt. Surely you cannot in your condition!”

“No arguments. I will lay eyes upon this creation. So come!”

“But my lord, the descent!”

“Do not contest! You shall guide me, now onward!”

He seized my arm and through the garden and into the woods behind The House of Forche we went. After some time walking we arrived at the crypt, I took a lantern and we descended. Halfway through the descent I implored the lord to retreat back up to the house, to the bed, but he refused. At last we reached the bottom, the stone floor and walls were slick with moisture.

“Hold me tight,” I said.

“Ah yes!” He said locking his arm into my arm.

It became perilous to proceed deeper into the understructure rummaging through dark rooms, the lord deep in drunkenness nearly falls.

“My lord!” I said to him in a firm voice

“I’m Sorry, The spirits have worn my balance.” He said letting out a bellowing laugh. 

“Perhaps should turn back, you can lay eyes upon creation on the morrow”

“Non-sense! No relenting now.”

“But” I protest

“Onward!” He said.

In earnest he produced from his pocket the flask of LeConte and drank at length. He turned to me and looked into my eyes; his eyes watered and glassy.

“To the sculpture!”

We traveled deeper into the understructure and at long last we came upon the entrance of the tomb.

“Shall you open the door and see your gift?” I said.

A gust of cool wind blows and gives way to the dead smell of the Forche family tomb. The tomb itself was rather large 20 feet to either wall from the door to a small room in the back. He proceeded forward in a very unsteady manner, I followed tight on his heels holding his waist to keep his balance. Inside the room sat two brilliant basalt sarcophaguses. The black finish of the polished stone gleaned from the light of the lantern and the Lord Forche eyes lit up with awe.

“Oh how magnificent” says the Lord Forche as his hands inspect the tomb.

“My gift to you!”

“Oh my love, how magnificent these creations!”

“This one is a companion, my lord. So that you may rest with your beloved!” I said

“My love, you have many years to live after my life ends.”

“Their is no life without you!”

In one swoop the Lord Forche grasp me and we kissed, the taste of brandy still heavy on his tongue. 

“This is truly a masterpiece. You have even recreated the family seal with true precision!”

“A creation borne of your love and tutelage, but it is with pain that I must admit I’m not sure about the designs in which I have carved on the inside of your tomb, my life has been pale in comparison to yours so designs for myself were easy, plus time was low and I wanted this to be ready but I’m unconvinced you will like it.

“Ah, well come and help me remove the lid so I shall see inside”

“No the designs are not that important my lord, I’m sure they will be fine.”

The lord Forche push the stone lid failing to move it at all until I assist. 

“Help me to climb within, I want to see inside this magnificent box.”

“But Lord Forche, why should you lay in your tomb? You are very much alive! It is bad luck!”

“This is true! But to make a tomb for yourself in the springtime of youth  is even more bad luck I say!

“But my lord” I protest.

“Hurry, the hour is late” he insists.

As I helped the Lord Forche into the tomb he took one more large drink from his flask and laid down. I handed him a lamp so he may see whilst in the darkness and struggled to slide the lid of the tomb back in place. After a few moments a low muffled voice came through.

“Aw, how magnificent! These designs are fantastic! These words of two lovers resting side by side forever are great.”

“Yes, they are” I said

“Well I have experienced the inside of this box long enough my dear boy will you remove this lid for me so that we may retire together to the bed of The House of Forche one last time.”

“But you are together.” I say

“Pardon?”

“You are together in bed, my lord!”

“Have you developed a sudden fever my boy?”

I suddenly bang on the lid of the other tomb.

“What has happened boy?” Lord Forche says startled

A low gargled moan fills the room from the other sarcophagus.

“Que m’a-t-on fiat?” the voice says.

“Lord Bastian, c’est vous?” Lord Forche says

Lord Bastian lets out another low moan, quieter this time.

“My boy?

I did not answer and proceeded to recover a sledge hammer.

“My boy, come and remove the lid, it has become quite uncomfortable in this tomb.” He says as I hear his futile struggle to move the lid of the tomb. 

“Let me tuck you both in!”

The sledgehammer pounds the stone locks in place on the Lord Bastian’s tomb, his low wet moan became weaker and weaker until it stops as the last lock is in place.

“My god, Que fais-tu?” Lord Forche shrieked with pure terror in his voice.

I could hear the panic escalate in the Lord Forche’ screams when I started on his tomb.

I continued my work silently to his screams, and once all the stone locks were in place except for one I stopped and looked through the aperture of a small hole on the top of the tomb and there I met his eye sapped of all drunkenness and replaced by sheer horror and let out a little hissing laugh. The Lord Forche responded with his own nervous laugh

“Okay, you got me pretty good for my misdeed. Now will you hurry to remove these lids?

With the lantern dying I stood there, my eye still fixed on his eye and I watched as the last bit of light went out in the tomb.

“For the love of god, open the box!” he screamed.

As the last lock was fixed in place, the Lord Forche’s screams turned to moans and then nothing. With the night growing late I loaded the tombs on the crank and placed them beside each other inside the distress in the wall. As I sealed over the hole, not one more sound came from the tomb of Lord Forche and for the decades to come not one soul has stepped foot in the House of Forche.