The Maroon Chair

The Maroon Chair

By Craig R. Hipkins

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. If anyone had been around, they might glance through the foggy glass pane and see nothing but an empty chair; a maroon-colored chair, tattered and frayed with age. However, if one looked closely enough, they might seem to perceive something disturbing. A slight movement from the backrest…a fluttering motion as if the chair might be breathing.

10 years earlier

The soon to be mother carefully examined the chair at the big box store. It was a lazy boy, leather, complete with footrest and easy to clean if a baby soiled it in one of the many ways a baby can do that. She looked at her tired husband who was standing close by with his hands stuffed in his pockets. He hated shopping, especially in big box stores with their cheap mass-produced merchandise.

“What do you think honey?”

The slender, balding hubby took a furtive glance at the maroon chair while his very pregnant wife carefully plopped into it.

“It’s perfect,” she said. “If the baby pukes, or gets food on it, it won’t be a problem. Very easy to clean.”

The hubby nodded. “If you like it…I suppose we should get it.”

A clerk was quickly summoned and that evening the maroon chair, which sometimes served as a reclining bed, found its spot in the young couple’s house where it would serve faithfully for the next decade.

The years went by quickly and the baby that was inside the mother at the big box store, was born, went through the awkward toddler years, and was now a full-fledged boy who was getting ready to celebrate his tenth birthday. It was about this time that the mother called a family conference, and when everyone was seated, everyone, meaning herself, the boy, and her now totally bald hubby, she broke the news to them.

“My brother is coming to live with us for a while. He can no longer take care of himself. It is only temporary until we can find him a place close by.”

The hubby was expressionless. He had serious doubts that this experiment would work. But what could he do? And so, his brother-in-law moved in.

He was a large man, barely literate, in his early 50s. He was not so tall as he was wide, the stomach protruding unnaturally as if he might have been carrying one of those prize-winning pumpkins within. He had short stubby legs which appeared almost dwarf like when he wore shorts which were almost always too tight. He had a small head and what little hair remained on it circled around the perimeter in grey tufts. The top of his scalp was clean with an occasional scab here or there. His mouth jutted from his face in the most primitive manner. Due to a stroke suffered from self-neglect a few years earlier, his mouth was set in a manner which caused anyone who might have the opportunity to observe him to believe that he was always grinning. His plaque-stained yellow teeth completed the picture of this simple but harmless brute that had been robbed by nature of the necessary tools needed to thrive in a society based on social Darwinism.

The months following the uncle’s arrival were anything but agreeable to the other three occupants of the house. He would argue incessantly with his sister, and fight constantly with his young nephew, usually over the remote control to the television. The boy wanted to watch Sponge Bob reruns, while the uncle wanted to watch an old spaghetti western. Only the boy’s father made any attempt at being civil with this wreck of a man who had been swallowed up and regurgitated by society and was now living under the sympathy and mercy of others. After listening to the constant fighting the father would remove himself to the library and immerse himself in a book that would take him far away from the plastic society in which he lived and deliver him to a more remote but savage time in history. The evening always ended with the boy saying his prayers and going to bed, while his mother retreated into the confines of her bedroom where she would engage in watching some inane reality television on her laptop. This would leave the grinning dolt as master of the house. He was, however, not totally without friends. He had found one in the old maroon chair which he had claimed as his by using the age-old legal process known as squatter’s rights. Well, not really…but he claimed it all the same.

The days went by without any interruption in the state of affairs regarding the lives of the four individuals who were forced by necessity to live under the same roof. Every day was the same, except that the sister became meaner and crueler to the hapless chair sitter who wanted nothing more than to recline in his chair and watch movies. The maroon chair was now a decade old and had started to show signs of its age. The leather was cracked in places and chewed in spots by a dog. The springs groaned in misery under the great weight of its master who was now its sole user. It was now generally understood that the chair and its new master were one. No one else would dare sit in it, even when it was unoccupied, which, of course, was not often. Indeed, it was almost taboo to venture near it.

One day the mother made a dry comment to her son.

“Do you see that chair that your uncle has claimed? Well, we bought it before you were born so that it would be easy to clean, but you never once soiled it!”

The boy looked at the bloated form of his uncle staring blankly at the screen in front of him where a man in a white cowboy hat was fighting a man with a black one. Suddenly the uncle let out a boisterous laugh which was a unique, queer sort of laugh.

“Ah…Hoo…Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw!

Spittle flew in all directions, some of it soiling the chair. He had leaned forward, his small head jutting forward towards the television like a vulture getting ready to secure its prey. His stubby fingers clutched the armrests as if he were on a roller coaster at an amusement park. His sister’s face turned red and she turned on the indolent form of her brother.

“Go take a walk you lazy oaf, or you get no supper!”

The moronic grin left the brother’s face and was replaced by a sour, angry look with piercing eyes like darts. The sickly countenance, yellow with jaundice, turned toward his antagonist.

“Why!”

“Because I am sick and tired of seeing you sitting in that chair!”

Like a chastised schoolboy, the corpulent form reluctantly rose on its stubby legs and angrily stormed out of the house. The maroon chair could breathe easily, if only for a short duration. And so it was, the chair sitter had to take his daily walks and, was even required to do daily chores around the house for which he grumbled incessantly under his breath, cursing his sister for being a monster or despot.

As the weeks went by, the tensions grew and the mother decided that she had had enough so she took the boy and fled hundreds of miles to the south to release her from the problems at home. This left the chair sitter in the care of his brother- in- law who, of course, had no legal or even moral binding reason to look after him.

“What to do?” The caregiver asked himself. He could easily drive him to some remote rest area somewhere and abandon him to his fate. Perhaps the State would take care of him? They could put him in a shelter somewhere; a place where he could be monitored. After all, he was not his responsibility. He paid taxes, right? Well, it was justified. He glanced over at the big man sitting in the maroon chair staring ape like at the screen in front of him through a pair of glazed beady eyes. The grin getting wider. The teeth protruding even more. He was about to explode in laughter.

“Ah…Hoo…Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw!”

The days became weeks and the weeks became months. The caregiver went to work and when he returned in the evening, he would find the chair always occupied by the same physical form. Occasionally the form would rise and change a movie in the player, but that was about the extent of his exercise. The walking had ceased, and the chores in which his sister had delegated to him had also stopped. Occasionally, the caregiver would be appalled and disgusted by a nauseating stench that permeated the area around the sedate form in the chair. If the chair had been a living entity, it would have almost certainly been overcome by the steamy farts that permeated its aging leather.

“Ah…Hoo…Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw!”

At night it was much the same…The man…The chair…The man…The chair…The insane laugh.

“Ah…Hoo…Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw!”

There was the vapid nonsense on the screen. Bang! Bang! Guns firing, people getting punched, cars flipping over, Chuck Norris kicking someone in the head. Sometimes the caregiver would arise in the middle of the night and the lights would be out but he would see the sleeping form of the chair sitter in deep repose with his thick arms on the faded maroon armrests of the chair. Occasionally the chair would creak or seemed to groan under the great weight of its master, as if it pleaded for a respite. It might have said:

“Please caretaker, I have had enough, don’t you know? Chairs need a rest too!”

One spring day the caregiver returned from work and as usual opened the front door. The chair sitter was in his natural state and the caregiver hardly took notice as he passed into the kitchen to make a drink. After pouring himself an ice water, the caregiver soon became aware that something was not right. He soon realized what it was. Usually, upon opening the front door, the chair sitter would turn his head in the direction of the door, but this time he had not done so. Bruce Willis was on the big screen dressed in fatigues firing an automatic weapon into a bunch of bad guys. The caretaker approached the chair sitter and immediately discerned that he had expired. The flesh was a morbid purplish color. The eyes were leveled in the direction of the television set but were certainly not focusing on Bruce Willis’ martial prowess. They were instead looking past anything beyond the scope of what could be seen in the direction of their path. They stared blankly off into the infinite…into nothingness…the eternal void where all living creatures will one day venture. The chair sitter had entered that realm.

“You poor devil,” exclaimed the caregiver under his breath. “You never had a chance in hell in this cruel world…but…do any of us?”

The following week the chair sitter’s ashes were unceremoniously placed in a cardboard box and given to the sister who had driven home with the boy for the funeral. It wasn’t much of a funeral, merely a few words said by a priest in the funeral home. When it was over, the family returned to their home and went about business as usual. The sister of the chair sitter had decided to stay, which was ok with the caregiver.

A few weeks passed and one Saturday morning the family decided to have a yard sale. One of the items that had been moved into the garage for this purpose was the maroon chair. The family had decided it had served its usefulness. It was a pathetic thing, dusty and sad looking, without its former occupant. About an hour after the yard sale was opened, an odd looking little gentleman wearing horned rimmed spectacles and a long trench coat approached the caregiver and inquired about the chair. When it was decided that he could have it for $20 the little man balked and offered $10. It was finally agreed that the chair could depart with the gentleman for $15. It was hastily loaded onto the back of an old pickup truck and the former caregiver watched the truck as it left the driveway. It slowly rolled down the hill and out of sight. “Well,” thought the caregiver, “it had served us well.”

The caregiver believed that he had seen the last of the maroon chair when much to his astonishment he returned home the next evening to find the odd little man and his pickup truck waiting for him. The maroon chair was on the back of the truck. Puzzled, the caregiver approached the little man.

“I’m sorry,” said the little man, “but I must return this chair. I don’t expect a refund, but I just can’t have this thing in my house.”

The caregiver scratched his head, not knowing what to think.

“Is there a problem with it?”

The little man had a worried expression on his face as if he might be reluctant to say what was on his mind.

‘Well, it is rather strange really…I…I hope that you don’t think that I am some sort of nut case, but…well…the chair…it…it seems to be, I don’t know…alive.”

There was a moment of silence before the caregiver spoke, not really knowing what the little man was talking about.

“Alive you say? I…I don’t understand.”

“Well…it was all very strange. I sat down in the chair last night to watch television and after a while I detected a sort of movement underneath me…like a rising or a swelling sensation. I got up to try and discern the cause but could see nothing. Later that evening I retired for the night, and sometime after midnight I heard a weird noise coming from the living room. I grabbed a golf club thinking that it might be an intruder…but it wasn’t an intruder it was that chair. It seemed to be groaning as if some great weight was testing its springs! I immediately took the thing and moved it into my garage. I am not a man that is easily spooked, but this was downright scary!”

The caregiver shook his head and smiled.

“Well, I am not easily convinced about such things, but I believe you. I will give you your money back.”

The caretaker went into his wallet and handed the little man his refund, and that evening the maroon chair had taken its place back in front of the television where it had spent most of its existence. It seemed to be happy because it neither swelled nor groaned. It merely sat there unoccupied as if it were waiting for its deceased master to return.

And then…one night while everyone was sleeping… it happened. Since the dawn of time the world has experienced various events or occurrences that transcend the bounds of logic or reason. There is, for instance the fabulous British tale of Jeff the Talking Mongoose. Then there are the giants seen by Magellan and his crew off the coast of Patagonia in the early 16th century. There are thousands of these tales and legends that are so extraordinary that people find them incredulous and hard to believe. Can you possibly discount all of them? Simply put, there are some things that science just can’t explain.

It started out as a very faint groaning that got louder. At first, the caregiver thought that it might have been the air conditioner acting up, but soon realized that the noise was coming from another part of the house. It was coming from the living room. He quietly crept out of his bedroom, careful not to make any noise that might wake his wife and child. As he got closer, the groaning sound became louder, hellish in its delivery. He entered the dark hall which led to the room where the maroon chair had been placed and realized with some trepidation that his wife and child were following in his wake. They had heard it too! It was dark…but something was moving and the caregiver was now fearful that there might be an intruder. He could make out a large lump where the chair should have been. The thing…whatever it was, was basking in the moonlight which entered the window and cast an eerie glow over the whole scene. He fumbled for the light switch and finally found it. What he saw was chilling and indescribable. He let out a shriek and his son grabbed him around the waist, clutching at him in fear, at the thing in front of them. It was a leather thing…maroon in color taking on the semblance of a human but out of all proportion. It was rotund in the middle supported on two stubby leather legs. Its arms had not formed and still appeared as arm rests, but the head…My God, the head! Its long neck reached the ceiling and on top of it was the head…a small leathery, maroon thing but unmistakably the likeness of the chair sitter. The face was confused, a moronic sense of not knowing what was happening…where it was…what it was…and why it was…Its mouth agape showing the plaque-stained teeth, now maroon. The eyes searching the room for answers…The head jutting forward… the long neck moving like a snake around the perimeter of the room. Finally, it saw the caregiver and his wife who had been rendered speechless by this indescribable horror of nature. This thing that put into question everything that science says cannot possibly be. The monster took an awkward step, and when the leathery creature set its beady eyes on the wife, the countenance of the thing changed from one of confusion to one of recognition and rage. The caregiver grabbed the boy and they bolted out the front door assuming the wife was behind them. There was a shriek, and as the caregiver and his son ran down the street. They looked behind them one last time to see this monstrosity shuffle out the door and with great speed bound down the hill into the woods where it disappeared into the night shrieking and laughing like some maniacal denizen from another world. It shrieked and laughed until the sounds became faint and finally disappeared in their entirety.

“Ah…Hoo…HAW! HAW! HAW! HAW! HAW! HAW! HAW!”