It is hard to believe that it was less than a century ago that, in many parts of France, we poor, weak fools still held fast to the superstitious belief that it was only a matter of giving our souls over to the devil, enacted in rituals both cruel and fanatic, for us to get everything we wanted from this diabolical personage; and it is not more than a century ago that the adventure that we are going to tell about occured in one of our southern provinces, where it is still attested to today on the official histories of two cities and furthermore, covered with the most heartfelt personal testimonies to convince the skeptical. The reader may believe it, or may not; we speak only after having verified it; certainly we cannot guarantee it as fact, but we certify to him that more than one hundred thousand souls did believe it, and that more than fifty thousand can still attest today the authenticity with which it is recorded.
The rooming house smelled of bug spray and trapped air.
My favorite mental escape has been, as of late, coming home after the gym, and popping on my audio book of The Hellbound Heart, the quintessential horror novella of the mid-1980's that inspired the long-running Hellraiser horror franchise, making macabre wunderkind Clive Barker into an international celebrity and a bestselling author, as well as a much-applauded director. (He's also a graphic artist, and began his career as such.)
The poor, bedraggled Justine made her way to Marcel, a town situated just outside of Paris, a suburb for the affluent. It was here that, broken, bent and bleeding, she made her inquiries as to where, "In the name of sweetest mercy, kindness and charity, I might find a doctor!" She was directed by the servants at an inn to the home of one Rodin, a neighborhood surgeon known for the astonshig efficacy of his ministrations.