by David Kempf
This was the part of the job Henry hated. He knew what he was going to have to do now. The best thing he had going was that no one on this campus would ever think of him as a murder suspect. He was also fortunate in that the security guards here at Donnis were probably already asleep. What made things even easier was that he knew Sarah had not even thought about calling the police. She also didn’t figure him to be much of a runner. She was wrong.
Sarah couldn’t believe it. Henry was almost right behind her in no time at all. She could hear him breathing and it wasn’t heavy breathing. He sounded somewhat like a beast seeking out its helpless prey. She didn’t like it.
“I should have invited some dumb bimbo over.”
“Look, Henry.”
“Hand it to me and I’ll end it quick.” Henry’s hand was outstretched towards Sarah’s throat. Things looked very bad for her. Then something happened. They heard a familiar voice.
“What are you guys doing here so late?” asked Christopher.
“We were just taking a walk,” said Sarah.
“Did you read any of my stories yet?” Christopher asked the professor.
“No.”
“That’s okay. I can see you two are on some sort of date.”
“No, we’re not,” said Sarah.
“Okay. Sorry, it looked like you were.”
“We were about to say goodnight,” said the professor.
“See you, Dr. Wells,” said Sarah.
“Yes. We’ll see you in class then,” he said.
“What are you doing out here so late?” the professor asked.
“Who, me?” asked Christopher.
“Yes.”
“I like to walk around empty places at night. It inspires my writing. Sometimes I even put my iPod on and listen to a book on tape for a few hours.”
“Horror?” the professor asked.
“Well, I think you know the answer to that. I don’t need to tell you how good a job the actor does who narrates your book. He’s wonderful.”
“Thank you. I never heard it, but thanks.”
“The professor is very tired,” said Sarah.
“Oh. He is?”
“Yes. Would you like to go and get a cup of coffee with me?” asked Sarah.
“Sure.” Christopher answered.
“Well, I’ll see you two night owls in class next week,” the professor said.
“See you then. Hope you get a chance to read more of my work,” said Christopher.
The professor watched Sarah and Christopher walk away. He knew one thing for sure. Christopher’s writings would be read soon. He would have to wait and bide his time. The masters would let him take care of Sarah. Christopher Wisdom was another story. They would have to spare him for other purposes.
The Coffin
By Christopher Wisdom
Jack Hope was devastated by his mother’s death. His father had died just short of a year ago. They always said that when someone you love dies, half of you died with them. That’s the way life is. It’s cruel and sad and it’s almost never fair. This was the part he hated almost as much as losing a loved one. This was the part he really despised. It seemed like there was nothing worse than choosing a coffin for a deceased parent. The whole experience of choosing his father’s coffin seemed surreal. It felt like a nightmare but it wasn’t. It was part of real life.
“Please take your time. We have an excellent selection.”
His mother was dead and this low-life was talking about a great selection of coffins to bury her in. To him, it was just an expensive box to put a corpse in.
“Would you like to see some of our latest models?”
This guy! The funeral director made his living off the dead. He was always there to profit from people who were in great pain. Grieving causes people not to think of their financial burdens. What kind of person would so this sort of thing for a living? People who were still dealing with the fact that their loved one was gone forever shouldn’t shop for coffins. Jack’s sister Lindsey was not as emotional about her parent’s death as he was. When their father passed away, she seemed a bit more concerned about the contents of his will. This sickened Jack.
“The interior is made from the finest materials, sir.”
There was good reason that Jack was the one choosing the coffin. Lindsey would purchase the cheapest one she could get her hands on. He was the one who could find the most suitable final resting bed for his mother.
“Did you choose yet, sir?”
Jack, the loving son, did not choose yet. He told the funeral director that he wanted to see where he put the most exquisite coffins on display.
“Yes, very good, sir. Please come this way.”
Jack laughed. He would pick the most expensive coffin he could. It was first and foremost because his late mother Evelyn deserved it. Secondly, it would enrage his sister, for whom he never really cared.
“This is truly an excellent choice, sir.”
Jack asked the man if he could have a few minutes alone. The funeral director smiled at him and said yes. There was no surprise that a good customer like Jack could have a few private moments. Jack was a great example of what Jessica Mitford thought about Americans.
“Are you sure this is the one you want?”
This was not the funeral director’s voice. It was Lindsey’s voice. He could already hear the disapproval in it.
“I knew you would pick the most expensive one. You’ve always had expensive taste and no job!”
This was a particularly cruel thing to say on a day like this. Jack had always had problems holding a job. He had emotional problems and a form of mental illness. Severe depression kept him from having a normal life. Jack had tried every kind of job from business to manual labor. He was fifty years old and a consistent failure.
“I’m tired of having to pay for you. I’m your sister and I’m ten years younger than you. This is not the way it’s supposed to be.”
Jack had a terrible feeling come over him. Lindsey’s complaints over the years seemed hollow until this moment.
“I don’t know what to say,” said Jack.
How often had she bailed him out of trouble? Jack had problems with the police on several occasions. Even worse was that whenever he lost a job she was always there to lend him money. It was money she knew she would never see again once she gave it to Jack. Money in Jack’s hands would always disappear.
“You were always there for me, sis. That’s what family is all about.”
Lindsey was thinking that family wasn’t about mooching off others. Jack was shameless and pathetic. He was a disgrace. Didn’t he have any pride?
“I think I made the right choice.” Jack said.
“Yes, you did. You chose the coffin well, Jack.”
Jack was almost embarrassed that he finally received a compliment from his sister. He could tell by her expression that she was really pleased with him. He looked inside the coffin for a closer look. Lindsey slammed the door on his head. Jack went head first into it. He went head first into the casket of his choosing. It felt surreal to choose a coffin for your mother and father. There were no possible words to describe choosing your own.
The funeral director cooperated with Lindsey’s story about how Jack was the victim of a freak accident. The publicity of murder would not be good for business. Although he never came out and accused her, Lindsey always suspected he knew.
Séance Manor
By Christopher Wisdom
I’ve always wanted to be scared to death. That’s why I love haunted houses so much. I’ve been to most of the good ones. I’ve been to every haunted house from the big theme parks to Vegas to the home of witches in Salem. I love haunted houses just like I love Halloween. I love to be scared. Many of my friends love to be scared, too. I found that in the last few years since I graduated from college, it’s more fun to go into haunted houses alone. Everyone must face death alone so I figured out that the best way to be scared is to go all alone. They said
on a television documentary that haunted house attractions are a metaphor for confronting your own mortality. I like that.
There is only one haunted house that really, really scared me. Only one that I guess you could say changed my life forever. That haunted house was Séance Manor. I’ve seen good haunted houses where actors jump out at you. They’re usually just high school kids dressed up for their summer job. I’ve seen state of the art animatronics, too. That’s good for the eye but typically doesn’t invoke real terror. I can’t remember exactly when I visited Séance Manor but I knew it was going to be the ultimate haunted experience.
It was at an amusement park called Hill’s Park. The first sign of the upcoming terror was the look of the attraction itself. It was unusually far from all the other rides. It was a big, black building with a giant white skull painted on the front door. There was no one else in line. I walked up to the ticket booth and a man dressed like the grim reaper approached me.
“That’s ten dollars even, William Price.”
That really took me off guard. How did this actor know my name?
“How do you know my name?’
“We know everyone who comes through these doors, Mr. Price. Since introductions seem to be in order, my name is Ignatius. I will be your guide through Séance Manor.”
I was really annoyed. How did this guy know my name? Then my annoyance turned into sheer delight. Any haunted house that goes to this much trouble must be very good. I decided to just go with it and accept the fantasy. Ignatius left the ticket booth and then opened up the front door.
“Please come this way, sir. There is much to see.”
I must confess I was somewhat disappointed with what came next. Ignatius had made such a good introduction! There really wasn’t too much to see. There was nothing very original, anyway.
I walked through a dark hallway. There were eerie paintings with eyes that followed me. Perhaps I’m somewhat hard to please but I’ve seen this too many times to appreciate it anymore. There was also a lady dressed like a witch in the next room. She cackled and then continued to stir her kettle. Then there was a dungeon master. He tortured what was obviously a plastic mannequin. Finally, there was a room filled with coffins. Oh…let me guess…vampires? It won’t be too long before some stupid kid dressed like the undead jumps out at me. I was wrong. The coffin slowly opened but it wasn’t some kid pretending to be Dracula. It was…Ignatius.
“What’s wrong, sir? Are you surprised to see me?”
I told him I was very surprised to see him. I thought that he was behind me. I was wondering if this guy moonlighted as some sort of magician.
“You’re finding the first part of Séance Manor to be too typical and ordinary. Aren’t you, sir?”
I told Ignatius that I was disappointed because I’m a harsh critic when it comes to haunted attractions. I’ve basically seen it all before. I wanted to see something that I’ve never seen. I wanted to see something I would never forget.
“Please follow me. I promise that what you’re going to see next will be something you’ve never seen before. I guarantee that it’s something that you will never forget. It’s all in the last room.”
Ignatius led and I followed. We walked down a long, dark hallway with two windows, one on each side. I heard thunder outside. Then I saw lightning flash twice through the windows. It didn’t seem like special effects. I think the lightning was real. Ignatius smiled at me. Then he opened the door that was in front of us.
“This way, please. You can sit down now.”
It was a séance room. I sat down at the table and looked at, of all things, a crystal ball. The room was dimly lit. Ignatius closed the door where we walked in.
“Goodbye.”
The crystal ball lit up. Everything was black except the bright ball. Then it started to spin. I heard voices in the room. I tried to listen to what they were saying. I couldn’t do it. There were too many speaking at once. The crystal ball was spinning very fast. Then it began to levitate off the table. I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. I started to recognize a face inside of it. It looked like my grandfather.
“It won’t be long. You’ll be with me again soon,” he said.
Then I saw a young boy. It was George. He died when he was eleven. George and I went to school together. He died in an auto accident.
“You’ve lived a much longer life then I did. No one lives forever, Billy.”
The ball kept spinning faster and faster. Then I saw glimpses of my aunt, my uncle, my cousin. The faces kept making appearances. There was the secretary where I used to work. There was my old neighbor. The faces kept appearing. The faces of the dead were everywhere. Then they all seemed to speak to me at once.
“Be with us…come to us…it won’t be long now….”
The ball floated right in front of me. It had one more thing to show me. The most important thing it saved for last, the last face that would appear. It was my face. Only it wasn’t my face. I was older. My hair was grey. I felt a sigh of relief. I have a few grey hairs but the image of the man in the ball was completely grey. Then I disappeared from inside the ball. The ball quickly stopped spinning and landed gently back on the table. The lights came back on and Ignatius showed me the exit. In the light, he didn’t look like the reaper. He looked like a kid in a costume. Ignatius, or whatever his real name was, smiled at me.
“I hope you had fun tonight. The park doesn’t close for another hour or so. You should try the upside down rollercoaster.”
I told him that I would and said goodnight. I was too tired to ride the coaster. I went home and went straight to bed.
The next day I got up and wondered how they did the séance effects in that haunted house. Do they get pictures from your friends and family? Did one of my friends play some sort of trick on me? That was the scariest haunted house I’ve ever walked inside in my life.
I was starting to realize that I was obsessed with this haunted house. I thought about it all the next morning. I thought about it when I ate breakfast; I thought about it when I was in the shower. I didn’t think about when I was shaving. I could only think about my reflection in the mirror then. I looked and saw the reflection of a man whose hair had suddenly become completely grey.
Chapter 2
Dear Dr. Wells,
It’s been a thrill to be in your class for this first week. The whole experience makes me glad I chose Donnis University. The reason is that you are one of my favorite authors. I guess you can guess that by the way I constantly hound you. I know these stories were not part of the curriculum but I couldn’t resist writing them. A writer writes always, but you already know that. I hope you liked my stories about family betrayal at a funeral and a haunted attraction that turns out to be the real deal. While I’m open to any suggestions you may have for revisions, I’m proud of these stories as they are. Please let me know what you think. Please either return this e-mail or speak to me in private when we resume class next week. Thanks for all your encouragement.
Yours Truly,
Christopher Wisdom
The following week, the professor was very anxious to see Christopher back in class. He was much more eager to see if Sarah would be showing up. Even though he knew she wouldn’t be, the thought of being able to talk to this budding young writer was compelling. He gave his usual sermon about creating realistic characters for any fiction and Christopher was mesmerized. He, of course, had all kinds of inquisitive questions about the subject. Some of them were quite stupid. Some of them were ludicrous. Still, some of them were very insightful. This young man was not a typical, wannabe author. He was special. There was a quality about him that Dr. Wells knew would please his masters. That was something he could always tell.
“Did you read them?” asked Christopher.
“Yes, of course, I did.”
“Great. Can we meet alone?”
“How about we meet in my office? About two o’clock.”
“That sounds good.” Christopher said.
“Hello, Chris.”
“Hello, Dr. Wells.”
“Won’t you please come in?”
“Sure.”
The professor closed the door behind him. He smiled at the young, idealistic writer of horror tales. Christopher looked around at all the books behind Dr. Wells. Some were familiar great tales of terror by writers such as Poe, Shelley and Stoker. Others were more modern novels (but not his own work); and then there were great works of literature. Homer, Shakespeare, Faulkner and Hemingway all had a rightful place on his bookshelf.
“I see you’re a humble man.” Christopher said.
“What?” the professor asked.
“You haven’t included your novel or any of your own work on this bookshelf.”
“Oh.” He laughed at this. If there was one thing someone as old as the professor could still do, it was laugh at himself and his own pretenses.
