Miskatonic Nightmares Read online

  No one ventured to utter a sound for a few seconds. Arthur, knowing his bravado was on the line, finally responded. “Doubtful. It’s unlikely some so-called god no one has seen would work through a human. Mythology created by uneducated cultures,” he said in utter dismissal.

  “I take it you have never read the Bible,” Professor Ashley stated. The class erupted with laughter, all but Arthur and the sickly Chet. “Then again, some might consider that book fiction, as well.”

  “So do you know anything about the original chair?” Claudius asked.

  The professor thought for a moment, debating whether or not to reply. He saw that Arthur was fuming after being mocked in public. He could see that the brigand was devising some plan as he glared back at the professor.

  “Yes, there are tales and rumors about the Judgment Chair, as it is known. The chair is made from bone, possibly that of a human-like being, to form the primary structure while the smaller pieces carved with the images of demons and dragons were acquired from sacrifices—children to be exact.”

  Arthur just rolled his eyes and was about to open his mouth, surely to make some snide comment, but he caught the expression upon the professor’s face and kept his mouth shut.

  “The written origins of the chair date back over three thousand years, and at that time the Judgment Chair was already considered ancient. It is said that it derived its name from its purpose: that is, those who were placed in the chair were submitted to questioning, as if on trial. The person placed on trial had no choice but to let their truths be known, their lies to be revealed. If found guilty, and if the crime at hand was considered either heinous or treacherous, the chair took its pound of flesh, so to speak.”

  “Do you mean that the chair is sentient?” Lance asked with a hint of doubt.

  “Possibly,” the professor replied with a straight face. “Some say that the accused not even need be sitting in the chair. They have but to be within a certain radius and the chair can detect the truths deep within. The result being that anyone found guilty of something unforgiveable is doomed.”

  “Like walking under a ladder?” Arthur piped up.

  “No, Mister Wesley, not superstition. As in an agonizing death that results in a smoking corpse—even if the convicted is not sitting in the chair.”

  “Even before the days of Tesla and Edison?” Arthur questioned.

  “Yes, even before Christ. Possibly it is one of the Great Old Ones calling down lightning or an immense heat source. But that’s not all. Some claim that the body doesn’t just die, but the soul is transported to another realm, possibly outside of space-time, where they are tortured for millennia and made to serve.

  “The beauty of it is that a question need not even be asked. A person’s mind is silently probed and, if they have committed a deed deemed foul, the Judgment Chair conducts the inquisition on its own accord.”

  Several of the young men, especially those closely associated with Arthur, squirmed or their pallor noticeably changed. Professor Ashley noticed those who did, keeping his thoughts to himself, and gave away nothing in his countenance that he knew who the guilty parties were regarding what he was about to reveal.

  “Take, for example,” he said as he began walking up and down the rows of the students, “if someone were to, oh…pick the lock of an office and steal the answers to an upcoming exam.” Here, the professor stood a row behind and a couple of seats away from Gordon Heflin, Junior, a crony of Arthur’s who played sports and was living proof Darwin was right. Heflin’s sloped forehead, bushy eyebrows and deep, inset eyes placed him maybe a step above Homo erectus. He could see the brute trying to not look over his shoulder and possibly give away his guilt. Professor Ashley could see that a couple of others, including Claudius, were ducking their heads and attempting to look as if they were busily taking notes.

  “Now, the chair might find that said person is definitely guilty of the deed, as well as discovering any guilty party who helped perpetrate the crime. The question is no longer whether they are guilty, but if their act deserves punishment. Does the chair judge that persons such as these may be incorrigible and, as they age, possibly become pillars of society and own businesses? Will these same young men who were too ignorant to pass or too lazy to study for the exam become bigger thieves? Will they swindle whomever just to climb the corporate ladder provided by their family, or commit even more violent crimes to remain on top?”

  Some students, those that the professor did not secretly accuse of breaking into his office two nights prior, watched the professor as he moved about the room. He had their rapt attention. Most of Arthur’s crew remained unusually silent, as he suspected they would, hiding their guilt.

  “Or does the Judgment Chair choose not to punish such petty crimes and immoral behavior, opting to reserve its true punishment for those who commit such base atrocities such as the untimely death of a young lady found this very morning in the lake?”

  The class broke out into a jumble of murmurs and disbelief. The body had been found while the students were in their previous class period. Professor Ashley’s assistant had made him aware of what the authorities were doing out by the lake, which he could see from his second-story office while grading papers. He chose to close the shutters in his classroom so his students wouldn’t be distracted by the investigation, in part. He also wanted to discreetly discuss the Judgment Chair, for he had a disturbing feeling about those responsible. From what his assistant had said, the authorities described the crime as rape, or attempted rape, of a young lady who was more than likely silenced to prevent her reporting the crime.

  “Judging by the history of the Judgment Chair, I am certain it would find that a person, or persons, taking advantage of one so weak in comparison, defiling her body, followed by murder—pre-meditated or accidental—before attempting to cover up the crime, would be found guilty. Of course the local authorities may look at the evidence, such as the multiple shoe prints and tire tracks in the mud, and arrest suspects who will be led in front of a judge and jury to be found guilty.”

  Professor Ashley paused speaking but slowly made his way around the room, letting his words sink in, giving some time to become restless in the silence.

  “Imagine,” he blurted out loudly, causing many to be startled, “if the original Judgment Chair was real, and nearby? How long would it take for the killer, or killers,” the professor commented with dark undertones, “to confess their crimes? Or to turn on one another in hopes of a plea-bargain? History shows us time and time again that loyalty only goes so far.”

  A hand raised into the air. This time it was Chet, who turned so he could see the professor standing two rows back and at the other end of the room.

  “Sir, the university has quite a museum.”

  “Yes, it does,” Professor Ashley stated matter-of-factly.

  “I’ve heard that not everything is on display. That some items are exhibited on rotation and that some items are never shown,” Chet said, gaining more confidence as he spoke. His voice always seemed to grow stronger when he wasn’t being stared down or harassed by Arthur. “Is it possible that the Judgment Chair is somewhere, locked away in a dark room on this campus?”

  “Excellent question, Mister Billingsly. Unfortunately, it is not one I can answer with full certainty. I have seen items on display come and go and return once more, so there is evidence that the museum does not fully show all of its collection at any given time. Therefore, it must house them somewhere. Odds are, somewhere nearby to reduce the risk of damage to the museum pieces when alternating them.

  “Not to mention that living here in Essex County, being the home of the infamous Salem Witch Trials, I would not be surprised in the least to discover that such an item, if real, was utilized in the condemnation of those accused of witchcraft in our area.”

  The bell tower in the center of the campus erupted with the tolling that signaled the end of the period and change of classes. Before class was dismissed, Professor Ashley had
returned to the front of the lecture room. He saw Arthur’s hand rise into the air, a rarity for the snobbish youth to seek permission before opening his mouth.

  “A question, Mister Wesley?”

  “So if this so-called Judgment Chair did actually exist, do the stories say anything about it being destroyed, or is it indestructible like the wooden chair in the barn appeared to be?”

  “If the Judgment Chair did exist, and if it was created by a higher power, or protected by some ancient evil, however one wants to look at it, I would deem it eternal.” The professor saw a flicker, a minute twinge of the eye, from Arthur. He added, “That being said, even six of the original Ancient Wonders of the World have fallen. All myths and religions have tales of destruction to the most sacred of relics and weapons. If the Judgment Chair does exist and is, in fact, somewhere to be found on the campus of Miskatonic University, I would hazard a guess that more research would possibly reveal its Achilles heel. Who knows, maybe the demi-god Achilles is the source of the chair’s structure.”

  Once more the students laughed, all except Arthur, who gave a fake smile and nod, placating the professor as he dismissed the class. He watched them file out, Claudius, Gordon and Lance all falling in next to Arthur as he stalked out of the room with disgust so palpable that the other students made way for him.

  “Trap laid,” Professor Ashley said quietly, a smile upon his lips.

  *

  As they left Ancient History 101, Arthur ordered Lance and the others to meet him outside the museum at eleven that evening, no excuses and no questions. Then he made his own excuse to leave and disappeared from campus for the remainder of the afternoon, driving over the stone bridge that crossed the lake where he could see the undertaker’s horse-drawn carriage being loaded with the covered body of Marilyn Gere-Manchester, the only daughter of Harold Manchester, one of the wealthiest men in the region.

  She was dead, all because she had laughed at Arthur. More precisely, she laughed at his manhood. She was a rebel, having everything given to her and always getting her way. She bored easily as she approached the age of twenty. She had agreed to sneak out of the house and climb down the English ivy to go for a midnight ride with Arthur in his new “breezer with a big six.” She didn’t know what that meant, but he explained to her his new 1921 Studebaker was a convertible with a really, really large and impressive engine before comparing it to himself.

  Marilyn snuck out and ran down the road in front of her house to where the manicured lawn ended and the trees began. She found Arthur in the seven-seater along with Claudius, Gordon, Lance and Devon Blakely. They'd joked and laughed as they drove around the countryside, drinking from a couple of bottles of giggle water and getting ossified. Before long, they came to the bridge and turned off the headlights as they rode along the shore of the lake opposite the university. They ended up at a massive chunk of driftwood, the only thing that prevented him from pulling into the water. Arthur’s judgment was way off after imbibing heavily.

  He had ordered the guys out of the car and told them to go occupy themselves while he and Marilyn made use of the “struggle buggy,” prompting her into the back seat. Marilyn may have been a rebel, but she was also a virgin and, he heard from one guying bearing claw marks down his cheek, a bearcat. Despite the hooch, she was sober enough to know she didn’t want to go beyond unbuttoning her blouse. She insisted that her short skirt stay on as well as her undergarments. Arthur played along at first, trying to sweet talk her as he busied himself with unbuttoning his trousers. At the very least he expected her to give it a kiss.

  But when he revealed himself and being three sheets to the wind, his member was underwhelming and it refused to come to attention. As he spoke to it and wiggled it in front of her face, attempting to get it to stiffen, Marilyn had pointed and giggled, comparing it to an inchworm.

  Not one to be laughed at, Arthur slapped her hard across the face. Her glee came to an abrupt halt and tears welled up in her eyes. He grabbed the back of her head as he straddled her chest, trying to force her mouth to him and make her give it the attention he desired. She tried to withdraw but he only grasped her hair and pressed her face harder against him. She bit him, just enough to draw blood. Arthur screamed furiously as he drew her head back with one hand and punched her as hard as he could with the other, connecting with her temple.

  Marilyn’s body fell limp and her head rolled to one side, staring down into the Studebaker’s dark floorboard. Arthur looked at her as he rubbed his injury. He yelled at her not to do it again, but she failed to respond. He grabbed her chin and turned her to face him, but she did not react. Her glossed over eyes stared straight through him.

  He cursed as he pulled his trousers back up. He called for his buddies to get over to the car and give him a hand. When asked what happened, he lied and told them she was the aggressor and had played dirty. None of them argued with him. They did as they were told, pulling bowling ball sized rocks from the lake's edge so they could wrap some creeper vines around and tie to Marilyn’s lifeless limbs. They carried her corpse out into the lake until they were about four feet deep, then shoved her body out and watched it sink beneath the near-black surface.

  Afterwards, they had to push the Studebaker to get it out of the mud, its thin tires stuck two inches deep and unable to get traction. Once they left the lake and got back on campus, they removed their muddy wet shirts and wiped as much muck from the car as they could see in the faint moonlight. They returned to their dorm rooms, each one of them stripping his clothes and changing into their nightshirts. Gordon had been chosen by Arthur as the one to collect all the ruined clothes in a burlap bag in which he kept a lot of his sporting equipment and to go with Claudius to bury the evidence in the woods.

  It had made for a restless night with no sleep for any of them. The incident had sobered them all quite a bit, but Arthur had also been intoxicated by the power. While the others tossed and turned, trying to forget the look of their dead friend, Arthur fantasized and finished the job with his hand that Marilyn hadn’t done. He even enjoyed the slight pain from where her teeth had clamped down and pinched the skin.

  When Professor Ashley made mention of her body being found and the various tracks, Arthur had tried to not panic. He had calmly walked to his parking space and looked over his car. It had smudge marks from the mud they had wiped off, but nothing he couldn’t easily wash off if he could only find somewhere secluded to work. The car’s tires, on the other hand, had mud on the wheel spokes and the treads leading all the way out of the parking area and to the road. Though the lake area had been muddy, there had not been enough rain as of late to garner that much mud from driving just on the campus or Arkham’s roads within the city limits.

  He went to his dorm and grabbed an older shirt to use for a rag. He hid it beneath the front seat as he casually drove off campus and out of town, making his way down a barely inhabited road to the Parker River where he could pull up close to the water and wash away proof that his car had been on the shoreline. Then he sat and waited for darkness, mulling over his options. He wasn’t about to risk that crazy old pill was telling the truth about that damned chair. He hated the old man, but he knew Professor Ashley was not an idiot.

  Arthur returned to the university campus nearly two hours after the sunset. He hadn’t eaten, not wanting to risk seeing anyone in town and being questioned. The fewer alibis and witnesses the better was his gut instinct. He parked the car on the other end of the parking area, keeping it near his dorm. If he parked it elsewhere he knew it would draw suspicion, but he didn’t want to pull into the same spot that the muddy trail of his tires had led to the night before.

  He walked over between the library and the building that housed the museum. He’d never been in the museum, even though it was named after one of his uncles on his mother’s side of the family. He walked around the building, checking for double doors that would be wide enough to transport an object as large as the Judgment Chair without damaging it. Close to
the back, on the northwest corner, a wide pair of metal doors stood surrounded by concrete. A single padlock was the only thing that kept him from sliding the bolt. His accomplices hadn’t arrived yet, so Arthur rushed across campus, back to his car. He pulled an iron pry bar out from the back floorboard and raced back to the museum. There he found his gang straggling in, most of them keeping a sharp lookout for anyone approaching as they ducked or crouched behind trees and shrubs nearby.

  Arthur whistled and motioned for them to get over to the building. The moon was barely visible, the darkness of night making for relatively good cover. They circled their leader.

  “I’m going to break the lock and Lance will go in,” Arthur said.

  “Why me?”

  “Shut it,” Arthur ordered with a harsh whisper. “If this looks like the place then let us know and we’ll follow.”

  Devon asked, “Shouldn’t some of us stay out here and be a lookout?”

  “No, you coward. We go in and close the door behind us. If someone sees you standing out here, they’ll wonder what’s up. It’s dark enough that they aren’t going to see the lock missing on a closed door unless security comes within three feet of it and checks the thing.” With that, Arthur forced the tip of the pry bar between the lock and its shackle. He forced it with a quick snap and felt it give a little. He forced it once again and the lock broke away.

  Lance gave Arthur a questionable look. Arthur raised the pry bar, threatening Lance with it. He moved past Arthur, not wanting to upset his so-called friend. He decided that if they got out of this bind that he would reassess their friendship, even if it meant moving to another school.

  Gordon and Claudius had opened the two large doors, pulling them up to reveal a manual lift with a flat platform. Obviously the museum used this to transport items to a basement level. Lance stepped onto the platform, and began his descent. When he reached the bottom, he looked and could see the silhouette of four heads bent over the opening. It was too dark to see their faces. It was too dark for him to even see his hand in front of his face.