Cross and Miskatonic University: Unheeded


Some rooms are best left empty.

On Cain’s Island near the southeastern shore of Blood Lake, there is a small house. It has stood for three hundred years come this autumn. It has been empty for the better part of two of those centuries, and the house prefers it that way.

I do what I can to keep the people away from my islands, but the pompous prigs at Miskatonic feel that the rules for others don’t apply to themselves.

This morning, Cain’s Island reminded them of the dangers inherent in my lands.

I was out on the shore, Colts loaded and scattergun in my hands, when I caught sight of a boat slipping around the lee side of the island. With some unpleasant words, I hurried to my dock and found one of my boats missing.

I was soon in a canoe and rowing hard toward Cain’s Island. My mood was none too pleasant, and the darker creatures in the water wisely avoided me.

It wasn’t long before I pulled in beside the rowboat someone had stolen from me.

There was only one path on the island, and it led straight to the house.

I disliked the building, and though I’d tried to burn it down on more than one occasion, it refused to stay burnt.

As I hurried up the path, I heard the voices of several young men and then that of an older man, and I bristled at the sound. When I stepped into the opening where the house stood, I saw them. Professor Briscoe and three of his students. The door to the house was closed, but the fact that the man and his students were facing it told me that they were waiting for someone to return.

I strode forward, and the intruders heard me.

One of the students tried to stop me, and I broke his jaw with the stock of the scattergun, dropping him to the ground.

Before anyone could speak, a high-pitched squeal issued from the house, and then there was silence.

The door swung open, revealing an empty room and an empty chair.

“Where’s Jake?” one of the students whispered.

“Gone,” I answered, cocking the scattergun. “Leave.”

They picked up their injured fellow and carried him away, leaving me with the house. The door stood open a moment longer, and then it closed, its hunger sated.

#horror #fear

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Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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