Cross and Miskatonic University: The Door


They’re all fools.

The whispers came to me through the same shadows that Professor Hammar had been pulled through two years ago. Fell creatures told me of what the learned men at the university had done, and the information sent me out to the barn.

Something, goblins, I suspect, had disassembled the engine of the Ford I’d bought from Bill Coffin, and so I was forced to saddle up one of the horses.

It was later than I wanted by the time I reached the school, and I was forced to knock out the guard who tried to stop me from going onto the campus.

I hastened to the building where it was supposed to be, and there it was.

A Dead Door.

They were rare and brutal things. There was one on my farm, and I’d trapped my first love behind one because there was nothing else strong enough to hold her there.

This door was younger than mine but no less dangerous, and the damned fools had installed it into the side of a building.

Half a dozen of the professors were gathered around it in a semi-circle. Some were smoking cigarettes, and all were nodding and speaking in congratulatory tones. One man glanced at his pocket watch and stated, “He’ll be out in two minutes.”

Anger swept over me as I thought of the poor soul they’d sent through the door.

They chatted amongst themselves, ignorant of my presence, despite the annoyed snort of my horse.

As I swung myself out of the saddle, I pulled a Colt and slipped up behind the professors.

Still, they remained focused on the door.

“Ten seconds, gentlemen,” the man with the pocket watch stated.

They went silent, and I braced myself.

The door was thrown wide, and a creature came screaming out.

It took me a split second to realize it was a man stripped of his skin, and I put a bullet through his head out of pure mercy.

Other creatures tried to follow, but my Colt roared, and they fell back.

I shoved the professors aside, grabbed hold of the doorknob and slammed the door closed.

The professors stood, horrified, staring down at the body.

“Set the damned door on fire,” I snarled.

The sight of their volunteer dead on the ground hastened their steps.

#horror #fear

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Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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