Cross and Miskatonic University: Six


The man’s death was frustrating.

It took me the better part of a day and a half to find Doctor Stephen Kahn, who was next on my list of men to kill.

Unfortunately, he denied me that pleasure.

Several members of the Fey court tried to assist me with locating the man, but he’d taken precautions against such an action. Kahn may have been a bastard, but he knew he was going to die, and he wanted to slow me down as much as possible.

There is a bit of grudging admiration, I’ll admit, but I didn’t feel that at the time.

I eventually located him in the basement of the local chapter of the Red Cross, the members of which were off in Boston for a week-long training. How Kahn had finagled the keys from them, I’ll never know, because I don’t want to listen to the Red Cross folks complain about the sanctity of their building.

No place is safe.

Not when I’m angry.

And I was furious when I located Kahn and found him dead by his own hand. He took poison, and he must have taken one I’m not familiar with. More than likely, it came from the Hollow, and I wonder at how he knew of its efficacy.

He looked as though he were asleep, and had it not been for the rank and foul stench of death in the room, I would have believed him to be.

But Dr. Kahn was dead, and he had escaped my good justice.

He could still be useful, though. If he had told his companions of his plans, or if he had kept them to himself, he would illustrate a point.

I dragged his body out of the basement, and in the spacious backyard of the Red Cross’ property, I butchered him. I worked for two hours, making sure each piece was prepared the way I wanted, and then I brought him to the university. When the nightwatchmen saw me approaching in my truck, they wisely retreated to the safety of their guardroom.

In silence, I parked the truck, got out, and arranged the severed limbs and innards of Kahn in the driveway’s entrance. The last piece was Kahn’s head, and I made certain it was facing toward the main building.

On his forehead, I had carved a single word into his pale flesh.


#horror #fear

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Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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