Modern retelling of the Cask of Amontillado

 Four years of terror have been brought upon me in my schooling. Brad, a man whose group I clung to at the beginning of high school turned me into the laughing stock, the butt of the joke. I lived among them as a sheep in wolves clothing, but today was the day I became the hunter. 

The location was set, the biggest senior party of the year. Unfortunately, the party happened to be hosted at Brad's house. Distracting him would be hard, though not impossible if you knew what made him excited. His house, his party, his glory. He needed this party to be perfect, especially with a rival school just a mile away. Anything to make his party cooler, right? 

Brad didn’t even question it when I told him. Why would he? All he had was the trashy stuff that he could obtain with fake IDs at convenience stores. What I offered was a mythically aged drink that washed ashore with the wreck of a pirate ship. Probably some sort of equally trashy rum, but what would he care if it sounded cool? 

“All right, lead the way king!” He said puffing his chest and with a grin as if the scenario was that he was helping me. His big feet crashed into the soft sand, which was pulled up with every step as he walked behind me. 

The beach stretched grey and empty, the moonlight cutting the waves into white ripples. Splish, his footsteps were the only thing breaking the silence as they teetered in and out of the ebb and flow of the ocean. 

The old shipwreck waited at the end like a broken ribcage clawing out of the sand. You wouldn’t believe the type of stories told about this place. Ghosts, curses, you name it but the Brad I knew wouldn’t stop any sort of reckless conquest for fairy tales. 

“You sure you wouldn’t rather go back and tend to your guests? That other party is a bit closer to here, so it might be easier for them to get it.” I questioned. 

“And miss out on my wow factor? You do know me right?” He retorted. Maybe if he questioned, maybe if he was scared of ghosts, or maybe if he ever knew me he could have stopped all of this. 

Splash, slipping on a wet stone, he climbed inside the wreck. Voice echoing through the warped wood, he asked, “Where is it?” 

“Just a bit further ahead, it might have rolled in with the last storm.” I responded. I lied. To be honest I had no idea where it was, just that it was in here. If it actually was anything of worth I might have taken it out when I saw it. 

“Makes sense, y’know you’re quite a smart guy.” he said. He lied. “But this better not be one of those pranks, we’re getting a bit too old for those. 

“Our pranks really were the best,” I mumbled. 

He chuckled and kept going, ducking under a rotten beam. Seaweed clung everywhere like strands on a spider's web. Ropes of it hung from splintered boards, swaying with every movement. 

“You really can just turn back, it's getting a bit harder to traverse” I pleaded. He really could just turn back now. 

He didn’t hear me, or maybe he didn’t care to respond. I probably sounded like I was egging him on. He pushed deeper, towards a narrow crack in the ship's belly where the moonlight barely reached. 

Sploosh, he slipped. His foot plunged between two collapsed ribs of the ship. Seaweed tightening around his ankle, the spider caught its fly. 

Yanking he leg, he cursed, “Dude, don’t just stand there help me out” 

I didn’t move. How could I? Why would I break my web? 

“I got you” I exclaimed, pulling out my water gun. Our school had a senior assassin where we had to shoot other seniors with water guns. 

“That’s what this is about? Senior assassin? Noo don’t shoot me” he flailed dramatically. No longer afraid, he stretched out his hand after I shot him. Stretched it out for help. 

“I got you good didn’t I?” I laughed. 

“You did,” He responded. “Now let's get out of here.” 

I didn’t answer. Instead I crouched down and picked up a first piece of the broken hull. 

Brad gave me a questioning look, “What are you doing?” 

I placed the first piece beside his trapped leg. Then another. And another. The sound of rubble hitting wood echoed softly. 

“The pranks are over, this isn’t funny” 

“I know,” I answered, “It isn't meant to be.” 

His breathing quickened. He struggled harder. He tried to rationalize. He tried to understand what he did to deserve this. 

I dropped another plank, and another. The wreck shifted with the tide, its old bones creaking like a laugh. However I didn’t smile. There was nothing joyful about it, it had to be done. A necessity. 

“Please” He pleaded, “Think of all our good times” 

“Thinking…” I paused, “Done, a pretty quick thought” A few more slabs were placed. I knew he felt the weight. 

“Please” He whimpered one last time, “I’ll do anything. Whatever you think I did I could amend it.” 

I kept building. The gap around him narrowed. I didn’t need the structure to be perfect. I just needed it to stand and last. The shipwreck's ribs formed a natural frame. All I had to do was fill the space between them. I left a small gap just to see the face of my tormentor one last time. 

“Please, I’m sorry,” he cried, “I won’t report you if you just get me out” 

I believed him, but bargaining obviously wasn’t his specialty. His sorry wouldn’t cut it either. I slid the final piece into place. Silence filled the wreck. My own breath felt too loud in my chest. 

“Brad,” I called out. There was no response. 

Splish, splash, sploosh too quiet to be more flailing. Sounded like droplets falling. Like tears. They broke the silence. One final annoyance. 

Then I turned around. What was going on in his mind I thought. It excited me. This was quite the secret to keep. I could trust my good friend, the sea, though. She could keep him. 

Silence once again filled the wreck as I climbed out. Back to the distant glow of Brad's perfect party. It was either way better than the other party. 

Process Note 

My retelling was based on the Cask of Amontillado and Its Carnival. I made a short story. The reason I did this is because I felt it would be somewhat easier to create the same sort of mood as Poe. I can be more descriptive which I felt was something that CoA and Its Carnival did well. My story is connected to the original because it follows that same sort of story. Our main character leads his antagonist into a trap with a promise of a drink. Afterwards he entombs his antagonist. It shares this same feature with the retelling as well. Something else I tried to incorporate was that aspect of a somewhat unreliable narrator. Brad doesn’t really seem like a bad person from the viewers eyes and everything bad that he does is told to us from the narrator. In It’s Carnival there is this Ting Ting Ting motif I tried to replicate in a more subtle way with the splashes. It's also connected to the retelling's modern aspect as high school house parties and senior assassins are definitely more modern than when Cask of Amontillado took place. The language I used was mostly descriptive to mimic the styles of the inspirations.