Cross and Miskatonic University: Seven and Eight

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It was an abomination disguised as a surgery.

In the depths of the university’s newest building was an operating theater that rivaled any on the East Coast. The finest pieces of equipment for the most delicate of surgeries could be found within its gleaming walls, and those who operated there did so under the pretense of goodwill.

Doctors Ronan and Christian Hope were monsters masquerading as men.

Oh, they were human, born much the way any man or woman might be. Their hideousness was a product of upbringing and wealth. Their parents had spared the rod and spoiled the child and the men that they became.

They had achieved their status as board members of the Cross branch of Miskatonic University by way of the foul experiments they conducted and wrote about. I knew of the men, and they had earned their place on my list of chores long before the murder of their colleague’s grandson and the attempt on my life.

I’ve no idea as to what surgery they were preparing themselves for, but I caught both men unawares. They were chatting, lost in conversation and excitement when I entered the room. Their nurses were dead in the other room, throats slit. A quieter death than any of them deserved.

Neither of the Hope brothers would escape their fate.

I put the muzzle of a Colt behind Christian’s ear, and in a matter of moments, he had secured his brother to one of the operating tables. Then, under my watchful eye, I had him wheel out a second table, and then I bound him to that. The men peppered me with questions as I set about the task of cutting off their clothes, and as fear gripped them, they demanded answers.

Silence is an effective tool.

Soon, their voices had risen several octaves, their eyes darting to the doors, as though they were expecting someone to come and rescue them.

They should have known better.

I learned of torture at the hands of masters. Hurons and Iroquois, who administered and withstood levels of pain most would find unfathomable.

With those memories at hand, I took up a scalpel from a tray of surgical tools.

I confess the sharpness of those blades impressed me.

#horror #fear

Published by

Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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