The Chair, ID 32457: It was there, just eating away at whoever lived there. It was found in a nice upscale house. Many families lived in houses like that, coming and going very fast, but this one even more so. Anyone who sat in that chair, even if for just a couple minutes, would find his pockets picked clean, down to the lint you find so annoying and nagging. They would find the stuff scattered around. One sat down with a wallet, and a piece of candy. The next day they found the sweet splattered across the ceiling, and the leftover shreds of his wallet spit all over the wall, like a dog chewed on it. They blamed Scotty, their dog, but no one was quite sure how the dog would’ve spit it all over the ceiling. They still blamed the dog. A cousin who had come to visit left his shoes by the chair. The next morning, the cousin put on his shoes, or tried to. The soles of the boots popped out. The thread holding the boots together had been pulled out. They blamed the dog, but no one was quite sure how the dog would’ve pulled out all the threads. They still blamed the dog. The family was cautious now. They bought a cheap pair of shoes, and left them by the chair, just to test it. Nothing happened, so they blamed the dog. No one was sure why they blamed the dog for doing nothing. They still blamed the dog. The family thought the trouble was over, that the dog had been housebroken. Christmas came around, and all sorts of family came around. They left all their coats on the chair. The next morning, not a single scrap of cloth was found. Ten coats, all disappeared. They blamed the dog. No one was quite sure how the dog would have eaten ten coats without leaving a single scrap. They still blamed the dog. The family freaked. They packed their bags, and left town, going to another city.
A new family moved in. They thought it was nice that the family before them had left them a big leather chair. The girl had a big leather doll, with 2 black buttons for eyes. She left it on the chair. The next day, they found two buttons sewed into the chair. They couldn’t find the doll. They blamed the cat. No one was quite sure how the cat would’ve sewed the buttons into the chair. They still blamed the cat. A friend came by. He left a shirt on the chair. An hour later, after a nice dinner, the friend went to get his shirt. It was gone. All they found was a giant pile of thread. The family apologized, citing the cat for blame. No one was sure how the cat would’ve made it disappear. They still blamed the cat. During a day when everyone was somewhere else, the cat disappeared. The family looked high and low, and never found a trace, just a leftover whisker. The family blamed the cat. No one was sure why the cat had run off, or where it had gone. They still blamed the cat. The family moved, taking everything they owned, and left as a gift for the next people to live there, a giant leather chair.
The next family took an immediate disliking to the chair. It disrupts my karma, said the wife. It must be disposed of. The husband sold it to a club, then immediately bought another. The chair, having been relocated, immediately took stock of it’s positions. The cleaner, cleaning the chair, found a total of 12 rings, 3 wallets, and 1 ring of keys. She began to look forward to each day, when she cleaned the chair. It was a surprise, a mystery. At the end of the week, she found a creased photo of a man and his family. And then she found a letter, dictating that a man had died, and the wife would be retributed with money, and a gold star with the man’s medals, given to him posthumously. A week later, they found the cleaner’s dead body, with a slit throat and a knife in her chest. A note in her hand said, “That chair.” They blamed the cut-throats, the criminals lining the street. No one knew any criminal who killed random people. They still blamed the cut-throats, the criminals lining the street.
The owner of the club wanted to get rid of the chair, because the customers don’t like it. He sent it to his brother, who had always wanted a big leather chair. A week later, his brother was killed on the day of shooting in his neighborhood. They found his body, minus any clothes lying on the floor of his apartment. They blamed the shooters, but since there was no bullet holes, there was no evidence. They still blamed the shooters.
We tracked the chairs life, one of a thousand oddities of our department. In the club someone ripped open the chair. The next day, the hole was fixed, and the stuffing had been replaced. The outfits for the performers disappeared without a trace. When a building holding the chair burned down, the chair was miraculously unharmed, but singed. A week later, the burn was fixed. When we finally captured the chair, and put it in isolation, we saw the chair starving, for lack of a better word. Soon we could see the chair’s ribs, wooden frame sticking out of the leather. Despite three years of casual observance, we never saw the chair move, to eat leather or stuffing. Someone just looked away, and there it went, whatever we put out for testing miraculously disappeared. Someone recorded it moving, and looked at the tape. He came back horrified, wouldn’t show anyone the tape, and hasn’t spoken anything since except for grunts and yes and no. We are still not sure what it is. We just know it shouldn’t be out there.
- dated to a week before the Centurion Agency Containment Center burned down
