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Super-Natural Medicine (PREVIEW)
Author: Closet Fetishist

Synopsis: Charles Blackwood, a wealthy Lord, has been stricken with a fatal illness; all hope seems lost until he sends for an unorthodox Oculist woman to avail him of his deadly affliction.

3,731 words

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In the sprawling Blackwood Manor, adorned with only the finest arts and sculpture curated from around the British Empire, Lord Charles is bedridden, stricken with a terrible illness and feared to be very near death. His jet-black hair, ordinarily well coiffed, is scatted wildly from his head over the pillow; his follicles greased heavily from the repeated canola oil massages of his chambermaids.

At his behest, doctors from all over the country flood in throughout the day, sometimes two or three at a time, but even the so-called best and most expensive of them cannot break Charles’ blistering fever.

In the late evening, as the sun begins to fade to bright orange, Charles feels at his bitter end, “Please, leave me for now, everyone,” he speaks weakly.
His maidens sniffle and hold back tears for their terribly afflicted Lord as they quietly shuffle out of his bedchamber.

“Richard, please stay,” Charles calls out to him.

Richard waits until the last of the maidens leave the room before speaking, “Yes sir?”

“You’ve always been my most loyal and trusted friend, Richard. I have a task I require of you but you must keep it clandestine and do not inquire further once the information is relayed. Can you do that, my friend?”

“Of course sir, anything you require.”

“Good. There is a small parchment in my nightstand, would you please fetch it?”

Richard walks quickly over to the nightstand; he finds the weathered and crumbling piece of parchment with a faded address and the words Super-Natural Cures scrawled almost illegibly across it.

“You must go to that address personally and send for the occultist woman.”

“Sir, I...” Richard stammers.

“Please, Richard; there is little other hope for me now.”

Richard nods solemnly, “Yes sir; I will be back by the morrow eve.”

“Thank you my friend; allow her to come in through the passage so she isn’t seen by the other staff.”

“Yes sir,” Richard says as he purposefully walks out of the room.

Charles lies his head back onto the pillow, his breath heaving gently; he closes his eyes and tries to rest. His mind conjures up images in expectation of this witchly old hag, with pale gray, sagging skin and crooked teeth; an image remembered from childhood tales his mother would tell. The thoughts continue to swirl in his mind, benevolently suppressing the feverish nightmares, as Charles drifts off to sleep.


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