The machines in the restaurant below were
pounding louder than usual around me as if I were inside the dark kitchen
crawling. Usually I would have taken a
glass of wine to numb my hearing against the noise, but that night I had not
had any. In hindsight I did not trust
that chef from Hell, Mr. Sincere, after all.
It was not until several months later that we discovered the criminal
charges pressed against him by many victims.
However, Mme. Empathy and Mr. Justice would naturally feign not to have
known about his recklessness which saw me in this fatal situation.
My palm and the back of my feet felt the
sting at every contact with the floor that was buzzing with some sort of
electricity. Somehow I reached for my
shoes, opened the door and I crawled up the stairs. It was still cold at night, Paris in March,
but my body was burning. I collapsed near
the second floor gasping to breathe, but I sensed that I had escaped the
danger. Three hours passed while the
fever and nausea slowly subsided. One
did not have to be a doctor to know that it was not illness that caused those
symptoms. I stood up and went down the
stairs, not to my apartment which was now a death trap, but out the building to
the street. I looked into the restaurant
from its big façade windows. All the
machines were plugged on, some emitting eerie red light, some ominously blue
light. It was not rage I felt. Only depair that people like them are in
power in the real world. But it was no
time to stop to lament for I had to find a spot of soil quickly.
As soon as I found one I removed my shoes
and stood on the earth barefoot to release the electromagnetic toxins that had
been charged by the restaurant. My body
still felt numb and my head felt heavy and disconnected, the symptoms I had
read on the related sites. This self-earthling
method was recommended and 10 minutes later, my head started to clear. My senses returned and then I felt chill of
the cold early hours of Paris. I must
return to the death trap to get my clothes.
I looked up and saw Notre Dame Cathedral in a distance. I remembered the article on this butcher who
lived on Rue Chanoinesse near Notre Dame Cathedral luring all those unsuspecting couples who came to wed in Paris. It was later discovered that human flesh were
being sold at this cursed meat shop. For
the details, please read my episode 19 at
I would not blame you if you thought that
my imagination was running wild, but the dark spirit has revived in the form of
the restaurant from Hell, or so it felt that night. The chef who supervised the installation of
more electric appliances, two of them attached right beneath my floor, were
being sued by many newly wedded couples.
Coincidence, naturally, but still a heck of coincidence. I did not know about his criminal charges
that fatal night, but I knew my accidental death would have pleased some people. Was I destined to follow the trails of the
victims of the cannibal butcher’s spirit behind the Notre Dame Cathedral?
No.
I was still alive. I had grabbed
a bottle of secret potion that I had made in a big quantity when I left my
contaminated apartment. This helped
enormously, no doubt. Where were my ancestors
when the flesh eating butcher was alive and well in the middle age? I am a genuine descendent of a Samurai
warrior. The long sword was not for just
defeating our enemies, but it was for cutting through the dark force. Do I believe it? I assure you I do not. But I still had to act and I headed for my
apartment above the restaurant from Hell, literally.
To be continued.
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