At last, when the chair was completed, I experienced a satisfaction hitherto
unknown, for I honestly believed I had achieved a piece of work which immeasurably surpassed all my other creations. As before, I rested the weight of my body on the four legs that supported the chair, first dragging it to a sunny spot on the porch of my workshop. What comfort! What supreme luxury! Not too hard or too soft, the springs seemed to match the cushion with uncanny precision. And as for the leather, what an alluring touch it possessed! This chair not only supported the person who sat in it, but it also seemed to embrace and to hug him. Still further, I also noted the perfect reclining angle of the back support, the delicate puffy swelling of the armrests, the perfect symmetry of each of the component parts. Surely, no product could have expressed with greater
eloquence the definition of the word “comfort.”
I let my body sink deeply into the chair and, caressing the two armrests with
my hands, gasped with genuine satisfaction and pleasure.
Again my imagination began to play its usual tricks, raising strange fancies in my mind. The scene which I imagined now rose before my eyes so vividly that
for a moment, I asked myself if I were not slowly going insane. While in this
mental condition, a weird idea suddenly leaped to my mind. Assuredly, it was the whispering of the devil himself. Although it was a sinister idea, it attracted me with a powerful magnetism which I found impossible to resist.
At first, no doubt, the idea found its seed in my secret yearning to keep the chair for myself. Realizing, however, that this was totally out of the question, I next longed to accompany the chair wherever it went. Slowly but steadily as I continued to nurse this fantastic notion, my mind fell into the grip of an almost terrifying temptation. Imagine, Madam, I really and actually made up my mind to carry out that awful scheme to the end, come what may!
Quickly I took the armchair apart and then put it together again to suit my
weird purposes. As it was a large armchair, with the seat covered right down to the level of the floor, and furthermore, as the backrest and arm supports were all large in dimensions, I soon contrived to make the cavity inside large enough to accommodate a man without any danger of exposure. Of course, my work was hampered by the large amount of wooden framework and the springs inside, but with my usual skill as a craftsman, I remodeled the chair so that the knees could be placed below the seat, the torso and the head inside the backrest. Seated thus in the cavity, one could remain perfectly concealed.
As this type of craftsmanship came as second nature to me, I also added a
few finishing touches, such as improved acoustics to catch outside noises and, of
course, a peephole cut out in the leather but absolutely unnoticeable. Furthermore, I also provided storage space for supplies, wherein I placed a few boxes of hardtack and a water bottle. For another of nature’s needs, I also inserted a large rubber bag, and by the time I finished fitting the interior of the chair with these and other unique facilities, it had become quite a habitable place, but not for longer than two or three days at a stretch.
Completing my weird task, I stripped down to my waist and buried myself
inside the chair. Just imagine the strange feeling I experienced, Madam! Really, I felt that I had buried myself in a lonely grave. Upon careful reflection, I realized that it was indeed a grave. As soon as I entered the chair, I was swallowed up by complete darkness, and to everyone else in the world I no longer existed!
Presently a messenger arrived from the dealer to take delivery of the armchair, bringing with him a large handcart. My apprentice, the only person with
whom I lived, was utterly unaware of what had happened. I saw him talking to the messenger.
While my chair was being loaded onto the handcart, one of the cart pullers
exclaimed: “Good God! This chair certainly is heavy! It must weigh a ton!”
When I heard this, my heart leaped to my mouth. However, as the chair itself was obviously an extraordinarily heavy one, no suspicions were aroused, and before long I could feel the vibration of the rattling handcart being pulled
along the streets. Of course, I worried incessantly, but at length, that same afternoon, the armchair in which I was concealed was placed with a thud on the
floor of a room in the hotel. Later I discovered that it was not an ordinary room but the lobby.
YOU ARE READING
The Human Chair
Mystery / ThrillerA self proclaimed master chair maker creates a chair that he himself is astonished by, so much that he contorts the inside of the chair to fit his body inside of it. He uses a letter to a woman named Yoshiko as a way to confess his crimes.
