Socratic Method or Cruel Tutelage?
The large mass of Rebbe Schnoorbrun quivers, grunts and spits as Xen Chen ties his forearms to the armchair rests – just above his wrists. His hands are puffy and bloated – but not as oedemic as his legs. He’s definitely suffering from cardio-pulmonary disease. Fluid is almost bursting out of his skin as Xen Chen tightens the shoestrings around his limbs.
Hyne now barks orders to his men. Time is ticking.
“Fremd and L’Enfant – sorry to lay this one on you – but rip them slippers off Fat Boy Slim’s feet and drag his throne closer to the fire…”
Schnoorbrun continues screaming at them – random obscenities and incoherent vitriol, flooding the room with his foul breath.
Then his shoes come off.
The air around the fireplace becomes filled with a sour reek of stale vinegar and sweat. There’s an overpowering smell of foot fungus and fecal overlay. The man hasn’t washed for days. Hyne purposefully comments on the body odor.
“You should wash more regularly…you smell like a goat in a barnyard”.
Schnoorbrun erupts into yet another volley of filth and invective.
“AND WHY SHOULD I WASH WHEN I HAVE LEGIONS OF GOYIM SCUM TO LICK MY FEET???”
Hyne doesn’t react – he continues issuing orders.
“Fremd – hold his head still. L’Enfant – dry shave that beard off with the straight razor and throw it into the fire. Let’s see what this Sasquatch looks like without his whiskers”.
While the men struggle to remove the writhing and grunting Rebbe’s beard, Hyne finally addresses him. The background fire sputters and cracks as each handful of beard shavings are tossed into it. The burnt hair adds its own gagging stench to the ambiance.
“Rebbe Zvi-Mordechai Schnoorbrun. Are you a student of History?
Are you acquainted with the Knights Templar?
During the Crusades they did some digging under King David’s Temple in Jerusalem and found treasure – gold, silver – perhaps even the Ark of the Covenant…you know, that nifty box-radio Yahwah had your Tribe build so he could broadcast to them regular directives to murder non-Hebrew Levantine peoples and steal their property?
In any event, the last Grand Master – number 23 – of the Knights Templar was Jacques de Molay. On Friday the 13th in 1314 King Phillip of France burned Jacques de Molay at the stake because the King didn’t want to repay his large indebtedness to the Knights Templar bank. He also wanted to know where they hid their great wealth and if they worshipped a Demon called Baphomet. From that day foreword, Friday the 13th is a day of infamy.
Ultimately, they tortured DeMolay so thoroughly that he told King Philip everything he wanted to know. How did they “inspire” him to talk?
They roasted his feet until his toes broke off and fell into the brazier. Then the rest of his feet followed. Somewhere around his ankles, Jacques DeMolay decided enough was enough – and gave up. King Philip then burned DeMolay at the stake, propping his charred ankle stumps up on wooden blocks so he could be tied standing against the pole.”
Hyne gestures at the Rebbe’s malodorous, swollen feet. Each toe is bloated like a grimy sausage with black, crusted toenails that drip with fungus.
“Coat them up with olive oil, boys. Baste them good. Tie his ankles together and prop his legs up on the ottoman…push the chair forward. Let’s have us a barbeque!”
Hyne looks at the Rebbe’s dry-shaven face. L’Enfant did the best he could with the straight razor – but nicks and gouges happen. The puffy, haggard puss looking back at him is revolting. Pockmarked with sores and open boils that exude weeping, glistening fluids. Ingrown hair follicles that form interconnected, intrusive – and obviously infected – yellow blisters of pus. He’s a disgusting, odious monster.
“By the way, Rebbe – are you right-handed? Is this the hand you signed the Scroll condemning young children to blood and Adrenochrome harvesting with?
Xen Chen – torniquet his right arm.”
Xen Chen no sooner wraps the torniquet on the Rebbe’s right arm than Hyne draws his Seax blade and, in the blink of an eye, whacks off the man’s right hand. He calmly skewers the fat appendage with his weapon and flicks it into the blazing fireplace. Schnoorbrun’s eyes snap open as wide as hubcaps. Sheer, unrestrained terror grips his upper torso. He howls so loudly that Hyne stuffs a rag into his piehole. And now there’s a new smell.
The man just shat himself.
The room is so foul now that the men can hardly breathe. The olive-oiled feet are starting to darken and blister, imparting their own unique olfactory scent. The Rebbe’s pain must be agonizing. His fat is sizzling and bursting in pops and crackles.
Hyne bends over and yells into the fat man’s ear while he rips the rag out of his mouth.
“THE SCROLL…WHERE IS THE SCROLL…TELL ME AND YOU MAY GET TO SEE TOMORROW’S SUNRISE!!”
Their subject is stubborn.
“GO TO HELL AND BURN IN EXCREMENT WITH YOUR FALSE MESSIAH!!
Hyne stuffs his mouth again and stands back, watching the enormous whale of a human being writhe and spasm in pain. The more he shakes, the deeper his legs push his flaming feet into the blaze, increasing his unspeakable torment.
Dirk Fremd says out loud what everybody else is thinking.
“I’ve got a hundred-dollar bill that says he’ll give it up in the next five minutes. Any takers?”
Hyne grabs a fireplace poker and pushes a charred toe from the Rebbe’s left foot. Three fall off at the same time. Just like Jacques de Molay. The Rebbe violently shakes his head from left to right and screams through his stuffed mouth.
Hyne rips the rag out of his mouth. It’s covered in blood. The man has bitten clear through his own tongue.
‘PLEASE!! MAKE IT STOP!!! PLEASE MAKE IT STOP!!!!
Hyne waits until there’s a loud crackling noise from inside the fireplace. The feet are splitting open and fat is spewing out. The Rebbe screams at an ungodly volume, spraying blood out of his mouth with each word. Tears are streaming down his face, draining into his bleeding mouth.
“I’LL TELL YOU!!! I’LL TELL YOU!!! IT’S UNDER THE DESK CHAIR – WEDGED INSIDE LOOSE FLOORBOARDS…WRAPPED IN RED CLOTH…..”
Per L’Enfant and Dirk Fremd sprint for the desk and push it out of the way. They search the floorboards under the chair until they see a crack. With the Rebbe howling his Hellish screams in the background, Fremd wedges his Bowie knife into the opening and pries it back and forth. Wood splinters out from each side until – crack! – the aged floorboard buckles and pushes upwards. L’Enfant shoves his hand into the void and feels cloth. It’s some kind of velvet wrapping. He pulls it out. It’s a scarlet red bag. Inside is a pale-yellow parchment, an animal-skin scroll. L’Enfant hands it to Hyne.
Hyne opens the scroll on the desktop and takes a picture of it on his phone. He immediately posts it to Lee and Peter Xiang-Li to review for authenticity.
It’s surprisingly unremarkable. Plain and simple – almost childish.
All three signatories are noted in the body of the document: Cardinal Angelo Franchetti for the Roman Catholic Church, Rebbe Zvi-Mordechai Schnoorbrun for the Hebrew Community and Chief Archon of the Vampyres, Pistorius.
It’s written in blood – this particular scroll signed by Rebbe Schnoorbrun and sealed with his thumbprint. Schnoorbrun’s signature is witnessed by a Vampyre Scribe name “Aldus”. The terms are what Hyne expected. Catholic Children in return for Adrenochrome and blood. For all eternity and a ton of money. All profits are to be shared in equal measure – three ways, one share for each signatory.
Lee responds after a few minutes. Her words are definitive.
“It’s Legitimate. The Real Deal. Watch it burn to the last atom, finish your affairs and come home”.
Hyne barks out his final order of the day.
“WRAP THIS SCROLL AROUND THE REBBE’S BURNING FEET WITH SOME FATWOOD STICKS. SPREAD AROUND THE ROOM FIVE REMOTE DETONATING INCENDIARY GRENADES.
CUT FAT BOY’S THROAT RIGHT NOW. FOR EVERY STARVED AND TORTURED CHILD THAT HAS BEEN SACRIFICED FOR ADRENOCHROME, WE OFFER UP A SMALL MEASURE OF JUSTICE!
BURN THIS SYNOGOGUE TO THE GROUND!
WE LEAVE WHEN THE SCROLL IS COMPLETELY CONSUMED BY FIRE.”
Dirk Fremd detonates the incendiaries when they get to the Penrose Commercial Laundry property. By the time they get to Prospect Park, the entire top floor of the Synagogue is engulfed in flames. The incendiaries will burn long and hot, igniting absolutely everything in the building. It will be hours before any New York Fire Department personnel can hazard going inside to fight the blaze or secure the location. They’ll probably let it burn out and collapse in on itself. By then, whatever’s left of Rebbe Schnoorbrun’s remains will be unrecognizable.
The team drives back to Paulus Hook in New Jersey in surprisingly jaunty spirits. Per L’Enfant sums it up best with a comment as they cross through the Holland Tunnel.
“Anybody up for some pancakes and crispy bacon? I’m hungry…”
*NO PART OF THIS WORK PRODUCT IS AI GENERATED*
Copyright, 2026 – Jon & Jedediah Croft
www.bogironfoundry.com
Email: vlchek1@gmail.com
