“We Are the Innocent Ones” short fiction by Ava Sharahy ’20

H.H. Munro (Saki)

We Are the Innocent Ones

Conradin had always been fascinated by locomotives, but it was to his chagrin that the sour-faced maid announced that they would take the train to a distant uncle. Specifically, it was Ernest De Ropp, the father of The Woman. Conradin was slightly annoyed that once he wiggled out of The Woman’s suffocating grasp, he was put in the hands of the devil that had spawned her.

However, not only was Conradin angry, he was also curious. He had prayed for the Holy Sredni Vashtar, and yet misfortune still followed him.

Edgar Allan Poe

Though he did not know what Sredni Vashtar wanted that would slap away misfortune’s hands from Conradin, he was still determined to find out.

“Mind if I sit here?”

Conradin bobbed his head up, protectively pulling Sredni Vashtar’s cage closer to him, not even caring if Sredni Vashtar bit him. If anything, it made Sredni Vashtar happy- he had grown fond of the taste of blood.

Instead of the sour-faced maid, an elderly man around ninety hobbled with an ornate cane. The cane itself had golden flecks like a snake’s scales, and the man seemed to be drowned by a heavy brown overcoat. He was also clean-shaven, a tuft of white chair combed back.

Conradin nodded reluctantly- clearly the man had done something so great, it allowed him to live in his nineties, while most men barely powered into their sixties.

“Who are you?”

“Montresor, young sir. I am Montresor.”

Conradin narrowed his eyes- the man spoke with a thick Italian accent. He was most likely rich, and able to afford incredible doctors to keep him alive, Conradin concluded.

“Now, why do you have a ferret?” Montresor said, pointing his cane to the cage as he settled into the seat across from Conradin. “Not that I mind, of course, but the growls coming next to you aren’t well hidden, I’m afraid.”

Frowning, Conradin had concluded that he didn’t like Montresor- as he spoke, a smug smile curled on his thin lips, reminding Conradin of when The Woman would lock him in his room.

“The ferret is called Sredni Vashtar,” Conradin said. If he wanted to get the old man to leave him alone, he would have to scare him off with the tales of the deeds of Sredni Vashtar. Besides, if Montresor squealed on Conradin, who would believe him that a “mere ferret” would smote anyone?

“Oh? Sounds powerful.”

“And he is,” snarled Conradin, pulling the rusting cage closer to him. “With the power of prayer, he has done deeds far beyond what you can understand.”

Montresor chuckled, like any normal man would when confronted with a sickly-looking ten year old boy would say such a thing. However, there was a feeling tugging Conradin’s brain that Montrsor was not a completely ordinary man.

“I believe you can be able to do more yourself than rely on a god,” Montresor smirked. “Now, you’ve gotten me curious. Mind telling me the rest of the story?”

Conradin closed his mouth quickly, trying not to appear too surprised.

“Well… My cousin, Mrs. De Ropp, was taking care of me. But she was cruel- quite cruel. So… A boy gave me Sredni Vashtar, and ever since I started worshipping him, he- he…”

Conradin tried to keep speaking, but he had gotten excited in his thoughts- the same thought process he went through after he had eaten the toast as he heard the sour-faced maid scream in the shed.

“I- no, Sredni Vashtar killed The Woman.”

“He had killed the one who controlled every aspect of my life, and I own him. So does that mean I had gained more power over my life than The Woman ever could…?”

“Good grief. I have acquired more power than The Woman.”

Grinning wildly, he looked up at Montresor with his most innocent smile. The same smile he used when lying to the Bobbies about Sredni Vashtar’s dwelling in the garden shed.

“Mrs. De Ropp is no longer with us,” Conradin concluded. Best not to look too happy, or he would be put in the loony bin.

Instead of scoffing or looking nervous, Montresor simply nodded, twirling his cane idly.

“So you stole all the power this Mrs. De Ropp had over you,” Montresor nodded. “Now, you’re the one that has won.”

Instead of saying the obvious, such as why Montresor didn’t seem to display any emotion, Conradin asked why he would believe him.

“Because,” Montresor mused, a lazy smile curling on his lips. “That is the same smile I had after doing away an old acquaintance of mine.”

Conradin felt like the ten year-old boy he was. He sunk into his seat, gripping the cage’s bars tightly, like Sredni Vashtar would protect him

Montresor, on the other hand, did not seem to feel anything as the boy widened his eyes in fright, pulling his animal companion closer for comfort. It had been a long time since he last felt anything- the last being closure, after reassuring himself that it was him who killed Fortunato, and that Fortunato died knowing that.

“Oh, don’t be so surprised,” Montresor said. “It is only natural to take revenge upon those that have wronged you. I merely did just that, as did you doing away the horrid Mrs. De Ropp.”

Even though Montresor unnerved him, Conradin realized he was right. Conradin knew he was never at fault for the death of Mrs. De Ropp- the isolation in her mansion, the taking away of his beloved fluffy hen, the smashing of any youth he had left… It was only natural she had her fate coming. It was the will of Sredni Vashtar as well, and Conradin knew better than to defy the Holy Rodent.

“Now, before I tell you anything, remember that it is I who is not at fault. The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best I could; but when he ventured upon insult, I vowed revenge.” Montresor explained, as Conradin sunk into his seat a little more, still wary of him. “You, who so well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that I gave utterance to a threat.”

As Montresor’s eyes glazed over, like was remembering this Fortunato, Conradin propped his elbows on the table separating them. Perhaps Conradin would become like this strange old man, talking fondly about his past endeavors of murder.

“Do you really think this wasn’t your fault?” Conradin interrupted. Instead of growing angry, Montresor smiled his snake-like smile. Only this time, Conradin didn’t grow as suspicious.

“As much as it wasn’t your fault,” he answered. As he coughed to start speaking, Conradin relaxed in his chair, distracted by his plans of the perfect time to strike Ernest De Ropp.

“Oh, what plans shall I think up of…?” Conradin thought contently. Without his imagination, which was rampant under the spur of loneliness, he would have succumbed long ago. It wasn’t his fault, however, and he assured himself of that whenever seeds of doubt would plant themselves in his heart. Montresor thought likewise, as he told the story he had kept for decades.

“If you hadn’t insulted me, I might have spared you,” Montresor thought. “It is your own fault, Fortunato. In pace requiescat, dear ‘friend’, and to Mrs. De Ropp as well.”