The Murder Seat (3 page)

She bit
her lower lip and blushed. “I’ve a confession to make. When I was
cleaning the floor, I put the chairs on the desk. I think…no, I’m
sure…I mixed up the two seats when I put them back.”

So
Herbert’s family was safe, as was Concepta. Her stomach bug must
have been a coincidence. It was such a relief, Herbert might have
kissed the cleaner.

Then a
tingling chill sliced up his spine, robbing his joy. He had been
sitting on the Murder Seat the whole time!

“
Are you all right?” the cleaner asked. “You look
pale.”

Herbert
had enough. He lunged over his desk, grabbed the Murder Seat, and
banged it against the floor.

The
cleaner’s eyes widened before she fled, shouting for the security
guard.

Lifting
the seat over his head, Herbert thrust it down again and again. The
crunch of breaking wood made him redouble his effort. By the time
he finished, the treacherous chair lay in pieces on the
floor.

He
laughed triumphantly as he glanced back at the cleaner and the old
security guard staring at him from the door. The Murder Seat had
been destroyed! Why had nobody else thought to do the
same?

A nagging pain pricked his palm. He opened his hand and found
a splinter stuck in his flesh. So, this was the best the Murder
Seat could do in its death throes. Herbert giggled. Death
throws
might have been
more accurate. He picked the splinter out and tossed it on the
floor with the rest of the fragments.

He had
conquered the Murder Seat! He would gather the pieces and burn
them. No trace of it must survive.

A
peculiar wooziness overcame him. He staggered across the spinning
room and lunged for the desk, but he missed and hit the
floor.

“
I had better ring for an ambulance,” the guard said, his
words fading as blackness engulfed Herbert.

***

Two days
later, Herbert lay in a hospital ward dying. It was so damn hot. He
boiled in these sweat-sodden sheets. His mouth was parched, his
lips cracked and sore. The doctors claimed he had septicemia, but
Herbert knew better. He had succumbed to the Murder Seat’s curse.
At least that terrible piece of furniture would claim no more
victims.

An icy
hand touched his swollen arm. Francis sat beside him. “Awake again,
I see.”

“
I’m dying,” Herbert said.

Francis
shook his head. “That’s not what the doctors say. You’re going to
make a full recovery. You just have to be patient.” He frowned. “I
have a bit of bad news, though. You remember the cleaner who found
you? She died last night in a freak accident. A stone from a car
hit her square in the forehead and killed her.”

So, the
curse had taken her. Herbert had been a coward to use her in his
scheme. Whatever about Concepta, the cleaner had been completely
innocent. He would never escape the shame of what he had done, not
even in death. His crimes already condemned him to hell. His only
consolation was that he had destroyed the chair. Surely, that
heroic act atoned a little for his sin.

“
Oh, yes,” Francis said. His face reddened a little. “I have a
present for you. I’ve been doing a little carpentry lately. I’ve
made you a wooden mask. In the culture I’m studying, they are used
to ward off evil spirits.”

“
Thank you,” Herbert said, deeply moved. At least his son
didn’t dismiss him as a raving maniac. And Herbert needed all the
protection from evil that he could get.

Francis
lifted something off the floor. He hesitated. “It’s not very
good.”

“
No need for modesty. Show me.”

The
infernal grin of the mask Francis produced made Herbert
shudder.

Francis
shrugged. “It’s meant to be a smile.”

“
It’s lovely,” Herbert insisted.

Francis’
sheepish smile broadened. “I got the wood for it from that chair
you broke up in your office.”

So the
Murder Seat had survived. And it now wore a face with which to leer
in triumph at him.

Herbert
couldn’t take any more. He screamed.

Francis
called the nurses and helped them hold Herbert down.

“
Calm down,” Francis urged.

But
Herbert couldn’t calm down. Drugs couldn’t subdue him either. He
couldn’t stop screaming…until he screamed himself to
death.

A Word From The Author

Please,
please leave an honest review wherever you purchased it.

If you enjoyed
The Murder Seat
p
lease check out my other stories
at
http://photocosm.org/
or join my
email list at
http://eepurl.com/OVUjf
. You can
also find me on Twitter (
@noel_coughlan
) and Facebook
(
Noel
Coughlan - Writer
).

Feel free to email me at
[email protected]
to
ask any questions or comments you have about this book. I love to
hear from readers.

Best
wishes,

Noel

Acknowledgments

I want
to thank the good people at Finish The Story for all their
work—Bryan Thomas Schmidt (developmental and line editing), Claire
Ashgrove (copy editing) and Alicia Dean (proofreading). I also want
to thank Pamela Guerrieri-Cangioli from Proofed To Perfection for
her additional copy editing and proofreading. A special thanks to
Alison Quick, William Bitner, Matt Butterweck, and everyone else
who took part in the cover poll.

About Noel Coughlan

I live
with my wife and daughter in Ireland.

From a
young age, I was always writing a book. Generally, the first page
over and over. Sometimes, I even reached the second page before I
had shredded the entire copy book.

In my
teenage years, I wrote some poetry, some of which would make a
Vogon blush.

When I
was fourteen, I had a dream. It was of a world where the
inhabitants believed that each hue of light was a separate god, and
that matter was simply another form of light. Thus, the world of
Elysion was born.

I
tinkered with the idea for a couple of decades, putting together
mythologies, histories, maps, etc., but world-building isn’t worth
much without a gripping story. Finally, I discovered a tale so
compelling I just had to write it—The Golden Rule
Duology.

I also
write other fantasy, science fiction, and horror
stories.