Firstly, watch the threshold as you step across it... the old flagstones may be heavy, but it's surprisingly easy to feel one shift under the weight of a single footfall, if one fails to be wary. Even if it doesn't move perceptibly, you might hear the scraping that it makes. I always find that sound to appear deceptively distant, as if the manor's very heart is issuing a warning, a hiss that perhaps you should heed. Does that not make you want to turn around? Well, then we shall proceed.
This entry hall has a maximum height of forty feet, which is the distance from the flagstones to the very apex of one of the five groin vaults that form its ceiling. Don't try to visually make them out from down here; even the sconces on our level cannot hope to illuminate something so high up. Besides that, the huge, heavy stones presently hanging directly over your tiny, crushable heads have been blackened by years of smoke damage, back from the decades when the sconces had not yet been electrified, and held only torches dipped in pitch. No one has ever ventured to get up there and clean them since their construction, and that may be just as well. I once heard that there are carved faces up there in the darkest corners, long-forgotten grotesqueries that have been glaring down on everyone who has come through the front doors -- just as you have this night! -- ever since the house was built. I have also heard a claim that same source that one man who procured the tallest ladder and attempted to clean up there, turned right back around and climbed down again -- even falling the last dozen feet or so -- because the first face he wiped the soot away from looked more familiar that he expected. In his delirium no doubt caused by height, he imagined he was looking at a stone facsimile of his own face...
But let's not worry about that. If you're of the more sensitive type, you might be able to actually feel the carven gaze of all those faces on high, their numbers and intentions unknown. Do the hairs on your nape not stand up? Then you are braver than most. If there is no objection, we will turn to our left and step into the smaller of the two grand parlors that this house presents to us.
I take it from your involuntary gasp as you passed into this room that you're beginning to appreciate the sheer luxury of this house. Yes, all these fabrics and colors are the very same as when the house was occupied. Not a stitch has been altered since the last Farberson trod these boards, merely maintained by the very generous endowment reserved for its preservation. It's not that difficult of a job, to be honest. I manage to handle the entire operation myself, and only once every five years do I deem it necessary to bring in an outside crew to give everything a professional turnover. It's something I enjoy, being able to preserve this estate in as close to pristine condition as I can make it. I consider it not only a privilege, but for the common good as well. I can't imagine what sort of rumblings we would hear if we were to let the place slide into squalor.
The central focus of this secondary parlor is, of course, the fireplace. Now, before you inevitably raise the question, you may sense that the floor is subtly sloped in its direction, but I can assure you that at every point, the boards are perfectly level. The wide stone hearth, which by design was built twice as long and deep as you would find in the average house of this period, has that sort of effect on people; it manifests its own sort of gravity. One feels *drawn*. And I have also heard many say that these twin spiral ornamentations here and here, near the edges of the mantel on either side, give the entire piece the unsettling appearance of a face, the hearth becoming a sort of gaping mouth, ready to swallow the unwary. And perhaps even the wary, as well...
The unusual size of the main aperture is actually a practical design, for if you look closely -- if you can lean its direction without inadvertently falling into its maw -- you can see long iron apparati along its insides, which can be rearranged to form a well-fortified spit. In some circumstances, this fireplace could and would be used as a roasting pit. Quite unusual to think of a whole carcass being cooked just feet from such a richly-appointed sitting room, but I think you'll find that the Farbersons had quite unorthodox thoughts, especially when it came to entertaining.
But this is only where drinks would be served after the lavish dinners held in the adjacent dining room, just through these doors here, which presently will lead us into the rearmost parts of the house. But let's just take a moment to linger here, shall we? Perhaps we should first take a look at the various pieces of art that the brothers Farberson chose to confront their guests with after their opulent, elegant dinners.
I can tell from your faces that you already understand the artworks' intent, for the brothers did enjoy a good joke. Imagine what it must have been like for those innocent dinner guests, after having their fill of slow-roasted meat, rich gravy and good red wine, only to have to then make pleasant conversation while having *these* apparitions hanging ever in your peripheral vision? This one here is my personal favorite. You know, there was so much cannibalism in early folklore, Greek gods devouring their children and such, but even if you have read these classics in their original form, as the brothers most certainly had, you are forced only consider it in the abstract, rarely stopping to think about what such a scene would actually look like... I think this artist had a preternatural eye for realism, don't you? His name has been lost to time, but his art has proved him immortal, in its own way.
I see you are also eyeing the larger painting on the opposite wall. It's certainly less subtle, but effective nonetheless. This one plays a certain kind of trick on the mind, for despite its garishness, all the exposed blood and bone, there is a certain familiarity to it. And it comes by this quality honestly, for in fact it does trigger something in the mind, although it often takes a few moments of scrabbling about in the dark to recall why. I assume that you, like nearly every cultured mind in the country, has seen Belmini's fanciful depiction of the interior of Noah's Ark, the prophet illuminated in a sunbeam as he walks among his rescued animals? Such an exquisite work, that one. Such a densely-packed masterwork of light and anatomy, containing no less than thirty-six pairs of distinctly different animals... Ah, now the light of recognition dawns in your eyes! Yes, this painting here bears identical composition as the one you have seen, albeit with a significantly different tact. Here, we see the inside of the Holy Ark turned into a butcher's house, slabs of thirty-six kinds of exotic meat piled on the floor, or hanging heavily on hooks, approximating their positions in the original. Even Noah is here as he appears in Belmini's original version, although in this one he has been caught in the act of being spontaneously flayed apart by a lightning-bolt that has replaced the original beatific sunshaft, a walking exploding autopsy of a man as he wanders rapturously through his decidedly unholy abattoir. In the moments I have spent contemplating this work -- and I assure you, I have tried to keep such a horrific pastime to a minimum -- I have wondered what color of wake such an Ark leaves behind itself as it aimlessly drifts across the surface of the drowned world.
At any rate, on we go to the dining room! Just through these tall swinging doors... yes, they move quite easily for their unusual height and thickness, don't they? It's only one of the many innovations that the Farbersons employed in their personalization of the house. Behind the walls -- which like everything else in this house, are unusually thick and sturdy -- there are massive counterweights, magnifying the movements so that even the little pressure one human can exert carries them wide open. You'll find that there are many such illusory flourishes throughout the house. This is yet another example of the brothers' playful nature. At times, one can be made to feel exceptionally strong, such as the case here, or the mind can be tricked into thinking that one is quite small, or even temporally disoriented.
No such trickery is employed in this room, however. Its magnificence speaks for itself. Your eyes immediately go to the chains, don't they? Yes, each of the three massive chandeliers is held aloft by exceptionally strong, specially-made chains that are affixed deeply into the stone ceiling, which arches some twenty-five feet over our heads. Such structural support is necessary, for each chandelier is a wonder of hundreds of pounds of glittering crystal. Like the rest of the house, these have been updated to include electric lights, but imagine the effect candlelight would have had, as it did when they were originally installed! I imagine it must have been like dining under a brilliant, otherworldly night sky, and the intertwining strands of star-shaped crystals that are strung between the chandeliers themselves must have made such a dining experience something beyond compare! But that, unfortunately, is not our purpose here tonight. In fact, there has not been a proper dinner party in this room since the death of the youngest Farberson, some thirty years ago now. But I like to think that the awe and wonder experienced by those fortunate enough to have spent an evening here are present, the light reflected off their vertiginous upward glances perhaps still caught in some of those amazing crystal wonderworks, forever bouncing and forth between millions of exquisitely carved facets.
Now, if I can bring your attention back down to less ethereal matters, I would like you to take a moment and count the number of chairs arranged around the long banquet table. One at each head for the brothers Farberson, of course, and six along each side for guests, which gives a grand total of fourteen. Curiously, they were almost never entirely filled. It would often be a topic discussed by those who did manage to be in attendance, that there invariably is at least one guest who never makes it to the table. Oh, I can assure you that the Farberson brothers shared a knowing glance across the entire length of the table when this topic arose!
Now, who here can guess where the servers came from to bring forth and carry away the dishes? Take a good look around, and bear in mind that these parties often took place after dark, the high windows dark, the chandeliers casting not only a general candle-powered glow, but also gently swirling constellations of crystal reflections, as the heat of the tiny flames caused the iron of the hanging chains to ever so slightly expand and shift... you can't see them, can you? I must admit, that even though I know precisely where the doors are, I still can't make them out even in this more powerful light.
Here, you see? Ever so cunningly situated to mimic the lines of the moulding, you can find the outlines of the hidden doors that would swing ever-so-silently to allow the servers ingress and egress to the banquet room. It's been recorded that they were always dressed in black to preserve the illusion that the meal was presenting itself of its own volition, but when at their most playful, the Farberson brothers would have the staff masked as well, silver suggestions of faces that would seem to float along above the similarly-colored platters. Those two did love their jests!
Ah! You have seen how easily, and how quietly, the doors can be activated. More of the brothers' architectural prowess on display. Does it not feel that one could open such portals simply by blowing on them? And do you see what lies beyond? Of course not! Escaping light would spoil the illusion. But yes, by all means let's see where they lead. No need to stumble into the dark all by yourself; I have my trusty torch with me. Follow closely, for the door will swing shut behind us, and then you will truly be in the dark if you do not stay close...
No need to raise your voice, I'm right here! It would be wise for you to take my suggestions to heart; I would hate to see you lost in further parts of the house that are not quite so... straightforward.
For you see, this hallway runs straight back to the kitchen just through the heavy velvet curtains, which is where we presently find ourselves. Take a moment to listen as I clap my hands... quite an acoustic wonderland, isn't it? Well, such a long galley, filled with tiled and stainless steel surfaces, was necessary for galas such as the ones the brothers held in their heyday. Their focus was to keep the proceedings as antiseptic and pristine as possible, not to mention that ever-recurring descriptor of the workings of this house, *silent*. It's astounding how self-conscious one can feel when every word spoken above a whisper can be heard as clearly as you can hear me now, even above the necessary hiss of gas stoves, bubbling of pots and cracklings of fires. I've heard that the most senior members of the cook staff had their own manner of hand signs that conveyed all necessary components of culinary communication. They rarely had the need to speak; there may have even been a few that lacked the facility entirely.
It's been many a year since any food has been prepared here. But one can get a sense of the major enterprises that this kitchen was once employed for, can't one? The long draining troughs, the extra-deep sinks ready to accept even the largest stock-pots. For here we confront the other theme of utmost significance to the Farbersons: scale. As in all other things, as we have already seen, there is very little that they did timidly. Their only operating mode was "all-in", as the saying goes.
Now, I want you to picture this space in its prime. Ignore the lingering occasional stain on the backsplashes, the faint coating of aerated fat adorning the highest cabinets. Imagine it as it was: tall white hats, spinning, caroming from station to station, chefs underneath wildly gesticulating with knives dangerously swiping the air, directing the occupants of shorter white hats along corridors of bustle between stove and prep table, sink and carving block... and the scents! Such rich aromas flowing through the chaotic air currents, meat and vegetable vying for supremacy, spices from every corner of the globe draping exotic veils across the air itself... only with none of the usual chatter and clatter of a kitchen, only the occasional rattle of a lid or swish of a whisk to break the near-total silence!
So there you have it... the majesty of a storied Farberson dinner. While brief, you have seen some aspects of the proceedings that those who attended never did. Of course, this was part of the plan, for the guests were not intended to even consider that anything outside of their personal experience existed on those nights.
What is that you say? It's not enough? I think I have been most forthcoming with my details. If you do not mind my saying so, I think it quite rude to burst onto the premises, demand access to the most intimate minutiae of the history of this place, and then insist that I still am withholding Farberson family secrets... You really intend to press the issue, don't you? Have you ever heard of the perils of too much curiosity? Well, if there's really no dissuading you, there might just be one more aspect of this manor's past that you will have interest in seeing. Just remember that I have warned you, when in the future you think about what you will be revealed to you in the next few minutes, which I daresay you will...
What you really want to see is behind this tiny door near the back of the kitchen proper, next to the pantry. No, it's not a door to a root cellar, what sort of establishment do you take this place for? It instead is by far the smallest room in the house, not to mention the coldest.
Of course, it's no longer used for its intended refrigerative purposes anymore, just as the rest of the kitchen has ended its run of serving up elegant banquets. But just take a moment, as you have before, and imagine it as it once was... These racks are sturdy enough to hold long sides of meat, these smaller compartments can hold fowl, or other objects the approximate size of fowl... Oh, the hooks along the back wall? Yes, those are specially reinforced to not only hold particularly large pieces of meat, but also to stand up under any side-to-side movement that their shifting weight might occur. Not that the meat itself would move -- butchers employed by the Farbersons would often carve up the meat as it hung here.
Come, let's step out of the refrigeration unit. If the door swings shut, you'll find there's absolutely no way to re-open it from the inside. And all the required insulation makes it quite sound-proof as well. I can't tell you how many scares the brothers had, with the occasional sous-chef becoming trapped, and it taking far too long for anyone's liking before the hapless individual was found.
Yes, I think this is where we shall finally end our tour, because I can see something beginning to dawn in your eyes... a dawning that I've seen before. Tell me, what suspicions are taking hold? I only ask because I am really eager to know, especially because, in a sort of personal experiment, I led you through the house in something of a reverse order. So when did that first tremulous inkling tickle your consciousness? It was the hooks, wasn't it? Or perhaps the grating I saw you notice underneath them, one designed to sluice liquids away as quickly as they are produced. I doubt it was even the dedicated empty seat at the table, when the occasional guest would finally piece together which of their recently-arrived group was missing...
It certainly couldn't have been as early as the oversized spit in the front parlor, which admittedly is the place where most guests finally realized the nature of the party they had just attended. The final key in the final lock most often turned when they spied the shape of the carcass still turning there... even the dimmest of the guests could not deny it then!
You have to admit, the Farbersons did enjoy their jests, evident in the manner which they revealed to their guests their implicit participation in the night's wicked transgressions. That, after all, is how the brothers managed to procure silence and continue their revelries, even as each person fortunate enough to depart at the end of the night knew exactly what had transpired... No amount of use of those oversized spittoons in the fireplace room could exorcise the evidence of what they had done in the dining room, that familiar roasting aroma continuing to fill the room even as the horror of truth sank in...
Ah, now I see you're quite eager to leave as well. I must say, you've lasted longer than most groups who have been given the full tour, and comprehended its secrets! I give a hearty congratulations to you all! But there's no need to leave here in a state of disarray. After all, how do you know that anything I've told you here tonight is true? Oh, I'm sure there are a few people in the surrounding villages that have managed to maintain some semblance of sanity despite being a guest at one of the Farbersons' parties. But they would all be quite old now, and if they had happened to see anything... untoward... I'm certain they would have long since forcibly erased it from their minds.
That is, if anything of the horrible things you suspect actually happened at all... I bid you a good night. Mind the flagstones on your way out.
