1931: Looking

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I went looking for Professor Withers.

I didn’t find him, but I found someone else. Someone I’d put a bullet in three years earlier. And it was well-deserved.

I didn’t question how Professor Anthony Timmons could be alive.

I was curious about what he knew.

When I knocked on the door of the Arabian architecture staff, a young co-ed answered the door. She wasn’t anyone I knew, but she sure as hell appeared to know me. Her face paled, she stuttered, gasped, and then her eyes rolled back in her head as she fainted. I caught her, set her down in the hallway, and went into the office.

“Marie?” Timmons called as he exited a small washroom. Whatever other question might have been on his lips died when he saw me.

“You’re dead,” I told him, closing the door and drawing a Colt. “I put you down and took your crown, Professor.”

I cocked the hammer, brought it up and aimed the revolver at him.

“Tell me,” I continued. “Did you come from the Hollow?”

He swallowed and gave a nod, his eyes darting to the washroom.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Blood?” he asked, his voice shaking.

“Tell me where Genevieve Hunt is, and I’ll be on my way.”

His face tightened, and he forced a smile. “Who?”

I stepped forward and smashed my knee into his groin, sending him to the floor, where he knelt, gasping and vomiting his breakfast. Placing the barrel behind the man’s ear, I waited for him to settle down.

“It’s clear you know me,” I said, voice low. “And I knew you. I know all sorts of ways to hurt you, Anthony, and I’ll use them all. Once I start, I won’t stop. Tell me where the girl is.”

“Withers took her into the Hollow,” the man whimpered. “We have our own Miskatonic. Some of our professors, including myself and Withers, are on a sort of exchange program.”

I frowned. “How in the hell do you keep the Hollow fixed in one place for so long?”

Again his eyes flickered to the washroom, and I knew.

“Through there?”

He nodded. “It’s steady. We found it only last year. It’s stayed in one place ever since.”

“Why is she there?”

“We needed a breeder,” the man whispered.

I kicked the man onto his back, put the Colt in his belly and pulled the trigger.

He died slow.

#paranormal #mystery

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Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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