THE CHAIR
BY
M I C H A E L R Z I E G L E R
Author of The Scrolls of Talos
Available from Amazon.com
Copyright © 2015
All Rights Reserved
A note from the author
This tale is envisioned as taking place in the year 1935, just prior to WW2; and although it is indeed science fiction, throughout the war, it is a recorded fact the Germans were feverishly working on advanced weapons, exactly as described in this narrative, adding yet another case in point to the old axiom:
“Truth is stranger than fiction.”
For Taylor
CHAPTER
ONE
Winters, depending on your location around the globe can be cold, very cold. My residence, fortunately, is and has been in London England where it’s fairly mild. Work in the study of physics brought me here to the University of London with one of the laboratory teams studying small particles of matter.
Without going into the boring details of my tenure, everything had been very normal for me living here in England. There were days when I thought I was going to lose my mind simply over common adversities everyone faces in their lives; but all in all I’ve thought myself to be a fairly rational sort. I would lose my temper once in awhile; felt lonely here and there and sometimes had physical problems all in the normal course of every day life.
My focus on all these things ended for me though, quite abruptly and was quickly left behind in a most profound way; things can go along quite the same for years and then something suddenly brings you to another plateau with a new kind of challenge.
It all started for me on the rainy evening of the 23rd of February in the year 1935 around 6 o’clock on the first day of a two week holiday away from the lab; I remember sitting down comfortably with a good book for the very first time in a newly purchased piece of furniture and finishing a small cup of tea. The one reading light over my back was illuminating my book as well as a goodly area just around me; but the rest of the room seemed as a silent audience in a darkened theater observing a play in the bright light of a stage.
I had scarcely sat down to begin my reading, when a strange manifestation began threatening to overpower me; a chill ran down my spine as my eyes seemed to be telling me the drawing room appeared to be fading away in some odd manner. Now I know this sounds like a preposterous notion so I closed my eyes for a bit, blinked a few times and looked again; the dreadful sense that the room, just then, was actually dissolving in a most peculiar fashion was becoming more and more a reality.
The rain had been steadily pattering against the large picture window in my living room and as I swallowed down the remainder of my tea, a sudden impulse came upon me to challenge this unsettling specter; to walk up to a wall, reach out and touch it.
I stood up and stepped forward looking around the room. The rain was now cascading on the window as I looked about, realizing my heart was racing, adrenaline no doubt, but for no explicit reason I was able to verbalize. I rubbed my eyes, opened them again and the room now appeared normal as it had always been. What sort of trick was my mind playing on me? I remember though, jumping out of my skin when at that very instant the front doorbell rang. I stood frozen for a few moments; then, finally gathering my wits about me I answered the door. It was Catherine. Reality quickly grounded me as I smiled and opened the door.
“Hi, come in out of that rain.”
“Hello,” she said. “Sorry I didn’t call ahead, just thought I’d pop in and say hi. I bought some wine and thought we could share.”
“You’re a life saver just this moment!” I laughed closing the door behind her.
“And why is that?” she asked with a raised eyebrow partially intrigued.
“Oh, really no reason,” I shrugged with a smile, “just a really strange sensation for a short time but it’s gone now.” I popped the cork on the wine bottle and poured it into two crystal wine glasses while she took off her coat.
She was wearing the usual immaculate outfit; a grey tweed suit top and matching tailored knee length skirt, large black buttons down the front of the coat with a high collar; silver bracelets over her tight black gloves, and mid high black pumps. Her hair was very dark brown, fashioned in a softly layered long bob style, framing her face wonderfully.
Catherine and I had been seeing each other for the past five years. She was a teacher at the Guildhall School of Music and was a rather accomplished pianist herself. We had first met at McLaren Concert Hall where she was performing with a number of other musicians. I was always a little intimidated by her in heels as her height then was quite equal to mine. Her figure was amazing and would usually get second looks along with discrete comments from male passers by.
“The rain is really beginning to come down Richard, but I knew you would be home here nice and cozy; I was hoping you wouldn’t mind my company.” She sipped her wine looking at me over her glass smiling in her usual alluring fashion.
“And why would I mind Catherine, I was actually planning on calling you tomorrow but you have clearly bested me.” I reached over, put my arm around her and kissed her; then, trying not to be obviously nervous, I looked around the room again to be sure everything still seemed as normal.
“What is it Richard?” She set her wine glass down, angling her head as her eyes narrowed. “You’re still looking round the room as if expecting to see something, what?”
“I’m not really sure; it’s an inexplicably crazy sensation, that something is not right,” I said shaking my head looking up at the ceiling.
“Are you trying to creep me out? Stop it. What doesn’t seem right?”
Looking into her hazel brown eyes, I was almost forgetting the entire incident, flashing back on the day we met, which would have been five years ago that month. I could never forget the long very formal black Peau -de -soie dress she was wearing that day with her silver jewelry. Her dark brown hair was pinned up in the back; I thought she was strikingly beautiful in an elegant and fashionable way, yet with a warm and friendly smile that I willingly admit captivated me when I first saw it.
There was a performance, as I had mentioned earlier, at the McLaren Concert Hall I had attended that night and she, being one of the performers, happened to be sitting next to me near the front. We both struck up a conversation immediately over our mutual interest in classical music. It was one of those evenings when everything seemed to click and I had even asked her out to coffee afterward, to which she had readily accepted. We sat for a long time discussing our likes and dislikes and had finally exchanged phone numbers.
I suddenly jumped back into our conversation, and saw her staring at me waiting for an answer. I blurted out apologetically. “I know It must appear strange to you, me being so sidetracked by some idiotic notion about something I saw or thought I saw.”
“Richard, what is it that you’re seeing?” she put her hand on mine.
“It must be my eyes, they’re probably just strained from reading but it seemed, just before you came to the door, as if the room was …” I hesitated reliving the feeling again.
“Was what Richard?”
“This room was suddenly becoming somewhat transparent or sort of fading away; doesn’t that just sound wild?”
“Richard, you need to relax and sip some more wine; close your eyes and lay down for a bit.”
Catherine had that concerned look on her face as she removed her gloves one finger at a time. She was almost beginning, I knew, to think of possible medical explanations for my symptoms.
It was disturbing to me because I had never been so optically fooled like that before. I kept staring at the wall again and again trying to replicate the phenomenon but with no luck. I knew it wasn’t just in my head or some k
ind of eyestrain, but how to explain it to her otherwise was beyond me at the time, when I couldn’t even explain it to myself.
“That chair,” she said, “it’s new isn’t it? Looks comfortable; it wasn’t here on my last visit, when did you get it?” She stood up running her hand against the back of it.
“I picked it up at an estate sale only last night. It was Rudington, a colleague of mine at the lab, that mentioned to me he had purchased a divan in an estate sale at the Bedford Manor House in the country, off old Blakely Road. He said it was old but well made and loved it.
“I had mentioned to him weeks ago I was looking for an easy chair, but nothing new as they don’t make them like they used to. He strongly recommended that I stop by and see if they had anything to my liking.”
She took another sip of wine. “I’ve seen that home and it is quite sizable; they must have had a fair amount to sell.” Sitting back down, she straightened the sleeves of her blouse. “It is unique and must be fairly old, maybe the late eighteen hundreds,” she said, setting her glass back down.
“Yes, Lord Bedford’s butler said the chair was recently purchased at auction, but the perfect location in the home had never been found for it. He escorted me down to the wine cellar where it sat in a rather dark corner, covered very carefully in burlap on a pallet. I got a perfectly good deal on it and couldn’t pass it up; what do you think?”
She looked thoughtfully for a moment and then smiling, blurted out, “I think it suits you squarely!”
We both laughed, raising our glasses in a toast to our mutual agreement. Catherine stayed for awhile as the rain came down steadily and we talked of possibly setting a date soon that we might marry and if we did the number of children we could both agree on. She had always dreamed of living out in the country someday and loved the outdoors. Residing in London most of her life, she was tired of the hustle and bustle of the city.
Her parents had moved there when she was only ten years old and even then she loved going on outings in the countryside to small rental cottages with her cousins. I on the other hand, wasn’t quite sure of myself when it came to marriage and ultimate residence. Catherine was a perfect choice for a wife but I wasn’t sure I was ready for marriage. Usually buried in work of some sort, I barely had any time to really think on such things. Give me a book and my pipe and I was content.
Things were developing between us however, and I knew Catherine was eager to start a family; but my work at the lab had been so intense at that time I was holding off as long as I could, at least until a breakthrough in particle matter research had been reached.
There was an unexpected knock at the door and both Catherine and I looked at each other wondering who could be calling at this late hour. I peered out through the window shade and saw that it was my next door neighbor at the door holding two umbrellas, one open and the other closed which I recognized as my own. I turned on the porch lamp and opened the door.
“Hello Liz, I see you’re returning my umbrella but it’s late and you shouldn’t have troubled yourself.”
“Its no bother Richie, I’ve had your umbrella for much too long a time and finally broke down and bought one, Ha, ha.” She looked around the room in her usual scrutinizing manner. “And who is this lovely girl?”
“Hello there.” Catherine managed to blurt out.
“Mrs. Hawkley, I would like you to meet my girlfriend Catherine Baker. Catherine this is Mrs. Elizabeth Hawkley.”
“Pleased to meet you my dear, but I should leave you two alone, I’ve gone and interrupted your… Oh my, what a handsome chair, is it a new addition Richie?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact it is Mrs. Hawkley; I was explaining to Catherine that I just recently purchased it at an estate sale.”
She was certainly a garrulous person and had an eye for anything out of the ordinary that happened to cross her path. Red hair, usually haphazardly pinned up in a bun, hefty but not overly obese, probably in her late fifties. She had a proclivity to treat me as a son she never had and was the atypical busy body type.
Her husband had passed away several years back leaving her a widow with really no other family to speak of other than a distant cousin whom she would see from time to time.
“Estate sale, my goodness you had better take care at one of those. A friend of mine bought what was supposed to be a rare antique table, at least that was what she was told; turned out to be a forged copy of an original Chippendale.”
“Interesting,” I answered, hoping she would end it there and say good night.
“This chair though, is very handsome; do you know the history of it?” She ran her hand across the fabric looking at it closely. “Am I mistaken or does it have an interesting iridescence about it.”
“Yes actually it does seem to, doesn’t it?” I walked over to it joining in her scrutiny.
The tall wingback chair seemed to have a slight radiance from something in the fabric. It was tufted with buttons and with ornate upholstery pins along the fronts of both sides of the armrests, nicely polished wooden Queen Anne legs and the cushion was almost as never used, still plump and comfortable.
“My late husband Charles had one very much like it in a red and green plaid pattern. You could find him in it every morning like clockwork with his tea, reading the Evening Standard. Well, time for me to go. I’ve overstayed my welcome and interrupted your evening much too long; I’ll say good night then.” She fumbled for her umbrella and smiled as I opened the door for her.
“Thanks for returning this Liz, have a good night.”
She quickly waved and hurried off to her house as the pelting rain began to come down hard.
Catherine walked over to the window watching her leave. “So you’re Richie now, huh?”
“Oh, she just calls me that once in a while,” I answered, my face turning flush. “She likes to think of me as a son that’s all.”
“Will you please pour me some more wine… Richie?”
“Ha, ha alright you made your point, no more wine for you!”
She walked over, put her arms around me and kissed me. “Can’t take it huh Richie?”
CHAPTER
TWO
The next day I arose from sleep feeling refreshed. My two week holiday had barely begun and I was determined to simply get dressed, make a leisurely breakfast and amble about the apartment. Catherine had decided not to stay the night before, as she had an early student that morning at the school and I was left to my own devices on that day.
I remember sitting at the table finishing my breakfast, walking to the front door and picking up the morning paper. I turned around promptly avoiding the morning chill and closed the door behind me glancing at my new chair inviting me to sit and read. I sat down stuffing my pipe with a favorite tobacco and lit it up, opened up the paper to the financial section and began to read. Just as I began immersing myself in an interesting article, the light of the room suddenly appeared to strangely dim. I dropped the paper to my lap and looked around; that feeling was back again, and I began to panic. The paper fell to the floor and I was about to stand up again but I told myself this time not to move.
As I looked around the room, to my astonishment, just as before, it began to fade. Everything had remained in place, nothing had moved in the slightest, but it was all quickly fading from sight, as if it was simply being erased.
The chair, as I sat in it, still appeared as normal, apart from a slightly odd glow about it; but my surrounding apartment, indeed everything else had completely vanished along with the floor beneath my feet and I was now in some sort of cold, empty darkness. There was this feeling of being pulled apart piece by piece and then I must have blacked out. A gentile breeze seemed to be pushing against my face and I couldn’t tell if the chair was moving or sitting still. My heart was again racing as I was trying to get my bearings and any possible point of reference.
This went on for what seemed like an eternity, however, in truth it was probably less than one minute. I felt as if
parts of me were now being reassembled in this obscure void, the breeze I had felt was diminishing, the darkness had changed to a somewhat different sensation and I now felt something solid under my feet.
I sat motionless for a moment listening to what sounded like muffled crashing waves on a distant shore. Eventually my eyes began to grow accustomed to where I was now sitting; in a room, a very dark room; I wondered if I was still in my living room.
No. The room I was now in was definitely different; I was no longer in my apartment, but now to my astonishment, I had somehow been transported to another location. All was now quiet except for that crashing like the indistinct sound of breaking waves. I was still sitting in my chair but my feet were now solidly on the floor of a strange room. Slowly standing up I held on to the back of the chair and looked about the space.
There was definitely furniture about the room but only their forms and I could not really see any detail. There must be a light I thought, so I fumbled my way to a wall feeling around till I came to a window covering. Reaching out I grabbed hold of it and pulled it aside exposing a shaft of subdued daylight causing me to squint. When I slowly opened them wider I was amazed.
This room or building was in some sort of cavern and at the mouth of the cavern was a beach! I could now see the pounding surf lapping the shore. I pulled the drapes open allowing more light to penetrate the room; then went to another window doing the same, and another. The filtered light was now filling the space, revealing a modestly sized yet strikingly luxurious room; rich red velvet drapes, beautifully upholstered furniture; Persian rugs over a polished wooden floor; brass and wood detailing all round.
My peculiar companion chair was sitting squarely in the middle of the room on a flat round platform no larger than six feet in diameter with a definite compass pattern over the face of it. Next to it were two similar but smaller platforms on either side of it. A beautifully carved teakwood desk sat on one side of the room with some sort of apparatus built into the desktop.
The Chair Page 1