Grigori sat down at the table and eyed the cakes and wine that had been layed out for him. Surely they should know that he was plagued with hyperacidity and could not indulge? Perhaps not, he mused. Young Prince Felix had beckoned him to partake as he left to fetch his uncle, the grand Duke. Perhaps a few polite bites would do no serious harm.
As he ate, his sixth sense stirred within him. Surely they would never try to poison him? After all, he was Grigori Yefimovich Rasputin! Confidant and adviser to Tsaritsa Alexandra, and a strannik of great power, respected and feared by all!
But where was the young whelp? He had been gone too long, and Grigori could hear whispering on the floor above, keen as his hearing was. As he rose to investigate the Prince returned to the room. "Sit, please your worship, I apologize for my absence, Duke Pavlovitch will be with us shortly. He has a matter of great urgency he must discuss with you!".
Rasputin lowered himself back into his seat, but his senses was greatly heightened, there was definitely something afoot. The prince quickly moved to his side and placed his hands on the back of the chair and made to push it it for his guest. In a moment Rasputin heard a deafening roar and felt a sharp pain in his back. As the room grew dark he knew...
Prince Yusupov ran out of the room and up the stairs, his legs trembling. His co-conspirators looked at him anxiously. He had dropped the gun on the stairs, but he nodded in the affirmative to their unspoken question. The deed was done. Rasputin was dead!
The company left the Palace for some fresh air to calm their nerves and to finalize plans for disposal of the body and to make sure they all had their story straight. The royal family must never know that it was they who had done the deed. They needed to be protected from the thrall this anti-christ held over them! Prince Yusupov felt the chill afternoon air upon him and begged leave to return to the downstairs room to retrieve his coat. As he entered the room he saw that Rasputin lay montionless on the floor, but something was amiss. Hadn't he fallen face down? How was it that he was now on his back? As he leaned over the body for a closer look Rasputin's terrifying eyes flew wide open and his hands reached up like lightening and closed around the Prince's throat. Increasing his grip on the boy's neck he leered into his face. "You bad boy" he breathed in a demented whisper.
Suddenly the rest of the party flew into the room, and the Grand Duke drew a pistol and fired three quick shots into Rasputin's back. As he fell back they stared in horror. He was rising! One of the others advanced with a club and flailed wildly, severely beating Grigori about the head as the others shouted encouragement. Finally they stood back and watched. Rasputin's blood-splattered body stirred no more, and soon they had wrapped his body in a sheet and carried him to the carriage behind the Palace that waited for them. They drove his body to the river and dumped him in the icy water. The Anti-Christ would hold sway over the Royal family no more. Long live Tsar Nicholas II and Tsaritsa Alexandra! Russia would forever be ruled by the rightful heirs to the throne!
[This story was of course inspired by the photo that accompanies it, which I took at the Moika Palace in St. Petersberg, Russia. The photo is of the actual basement room where Rasputin was killed. The wax figure of him sits at the very table where he allegedly ate cyanide laced cake and was shot and clubbed to death.]
