The Auction

The auction house was a tall structure with missing shingles, drooping shutters, and an all around creepy visage. It was in dire need of paint and was in a sad state of disrepair. It was here where the Private Auction was held, invitation only.

The Auctioneer was a tall man with sallow skin and deep set eyes. He had long fingers that he waved around when he spoke in his low voice.

“Lot number 327,” he said, gesturing to the table. A canvas tarp coveed the table. The Auctioneer’s assistant, a squat fellow with a toad-like face, whipped the tarp off the table with a flourish. “The left arm of Isabella Rothberger,”

The arm was on the table amongst a beautiful display of flowers. It was dressed in a lacy white sleeve and had a beautiful two carat diamond ring on the ring finger.

“Bidding will start at $100 dollars,” The Auctioneer said.

After Isabella Rothberger’s arm was sold to a lady in a yellow hat for $2500, the next lot was brought out.

“Lot number 528,” The Auctioneer said.

When the assistant pulled the canvas tarp off of lot 528, there was a quiet gasp in the audience.

“Mr. Hinckelheim’s head.”

A woman in the front row fainted. Her husband caught her and fanned her face with his wooden paddle.

“Five hundred dollars to the man fanning the lady,” The Auctioneer said.

The man looked up, eyes wide. “No, sir, you see I’m merely fanning her, I’m not bidding! Can’t you see she’s passed out?” The man shouted.

“Sir you already bid, no need to bid again,” The Auctioneer said. His lip pulled up in a sneer that produced a row of crooked, yellow teeth.

“Five hundred, do I see five fifty?” The Auctioneer said. “Five hundred going once, going twice,” The Auctioneer looked around the room one more time before bringing his mallet down on the podium. “Sold to the man fanning the lady for $500.”

The man stopped fanning his wife and looked up at The Auctioneer and then at the table where Mr. Hinckelheim’s head sat. The eyes were closed, and the face looked altogether serene.

“I don’t want that silly head,” the man said. “Certainly not for five hundred dollars!”

“Sir, you bid, you won, you pay,” The Auctioneer said with another sneer. He looked up at the audience. “Moving right along to lot number 398,” the tarp was pulled from the table. “Mr. Hinckelheim’s mistress, Lady Florington,”

Lady Florington lay on the table on her back in a lovely rose colored dress. There was a knife jutting from her abdomen, and a circle of red around the knife.

“The bidding will start at $1,000,” The Auctioneer said.

Lady Florington was sold for $3,000.

There were several macabre lots to follow. Finally, lot number 700 was brought out; Isabella Rothberger, with the exception of her left arm.

“Lot number 700, Isabella Rothberger,” The Auctioneer said. Isabella Rothberger looked altogether peaceful in her white dress with lacy sleeves. She was wearing a veil that whoever set up the lots had placed gently over her face.

As it goes, according to the article published in the newspaper if one had read the paper a few days before the auction, Isabella Rothberger was engaged to Mr. Hinckelheim. On the day of their wedding, she was unfortunate enough to open the door to Lady Florington, Mr. Hinckelheim’s mistress. Florington cut off Rothberger’s left arm in order to get the ring that she believed belonged to her. Rothberger, in retaliation, stabbed Florington in the stomach with the knife in the dressing room. She then hunted down Mr. Hinckelheim. The only part of Mr. Hinckelheim that was found was his head. Rothberger bled to death.

“The next auction will be held next Saturday,” The Auctioneer said. “After the man fanning the lady kills myself and my assistant. Does anyone wish to be an auctioneer?”


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