Miskatonic, 1936


Hate doesn’t express the sentiment well enough.

I slept hard last night. A fever took Tyrant a little after dusk, and if I could have gone back to Seneca’s farm and resurrected the man again for another death, I would have.

I buried the dog a short time after dawn, and then I saddled one of the horses and rode into Cross. The guards at the Cross Branch of Miskatonic kept out of my way. They knew better than to antagonize me.

I made my way to the Department of Arcane Lore and tethered the horse to the door. The Colts I left in their holsters; that way, I might give myself a bit of time to think before killing anyone.

On the third floor, tucked away in his private office, I found Professor Went Lawson. If anyone had brought a vampire into my town, it would be Lawson. He was a pompous ass, and for years he and Seneca had run the department together.

Lawson’s face noticeably paled when I entered the room, and he sat down hard in his chair. The student he was speaking with stood up and hastened out into the hall, leaving me alone with Lawson.

“I didn’t know what would happen,” Lawson whispered.

I sat down in the recently vacated chair and folded my hands in my lap.

“I thought maybe one or two would be taken,” Lawson continued. “May I drink, Duncan?”

I nodded, prepared for the fool to try and draw a pistol out of his desk.

I was honestly surprised when he withdrew a flask. His hands shook as he uncapped the container.

“Whiskey?” he asked.

I shook my head.

He hesitated, then he brought the flask up to his lips and took a long drink, wincing as he did so.

“No,” he sobbed, shaking in his seat. “I didn’t know.”

He lifted the flask again and drained it. Carefully, he set it down upon his desk.

“No. Not at all,” he sighed.

“Who is it?” I asked.

Lawson opened his mouth to speak, shuddered, and then vomited blood onto the desk. I could smell the poison in it.

He squealed as he staggered to his feet, clawing at his throat. His body was racked with spasms, and he collapsed back into his chair. He vomited again, his face swelling, and then he was done.

The man was dead and his secret with him.

#fear #horrorstories #paranormal

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Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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