The Nightmarys - By Dan Poblocki Page 0,42

taught here.”

“Sounds normal for a professorish type of person,” said Timothy. “But where’s the ‘bad’ part?”

“This is only the first article. There’s tons more,” she said. She held up another page. “He was really generous. He gave to all sorts of foundations—museums, sports programs, schools. He was involved in local elections and helped his favorite candidates win. He donated money to build that lighthouse across the river and even helped design it. People here seemed to love him.”

“I’m still not hearing the ‘bad,’” said Timothy.

“That’s because there’s not much ‘bad’ to say about him,” said Abigail, looking up. “Not yet.” She shuffled some more pages. “Here’s his marriage notice. And here’s a small piece about the birth of twins.”

“He had kids?”

“Two boys,” said Abigail. “He lost one of them in World War Two. A bomb …” Abigail stopped.

It took Timothy several seconds to realize why she didn’t finish her sentence. Timothy spent several seconds forcing Ben’s zombie face out of his head. He leaned forward. “And?”

“The other one never served. Didn’t pass the medical exam, I think. The death of his son seems to have been the turning point,” said Abigail. “Dr. Hesselius was devastated. He’d been proud to send one of them to fight for his country, just like he had in the first war. He never expected …” She blinked and pressed her lips together.

“Go on,” he said.

“Let’s see. Here, from the college paper, History Professor Takes Leave of Absence.” She read through the page quickly. “The article hints at some sort of breakdown. Exhaustion. Psychiatric treatment. It doesn’t go into details.” She shrugged. “There’s no other mention of him until a few years later.” She flipped through more pages. “After the war ended, he was back …”

Timothy took a deep breath. “Here comes the ‘bad’?”

Abigail nodded. “Local Professor Questioned in Disappearance of Child,” she read. “From an article in the New Starkham Record.” She handed the page to Timothy, so he could read it.

July 7, 1946 – New Starkham – Dr. Christian Hesselius, a local professor, is being questioned by police about the July 4 disappearance of 14-year-old Delia Benson of Dreyer Street. Zilpha Kindred, a student at Thomas Jefferson High School, brought to the authorities’ attention a photo she had taken at the city’s annual Independence Day Parade. The blurry image appears to show the professor with Miss Benson in a Johnson Street alleyway. According to Miss Kindred, “Delia was interviewing the crowd, while I took pictures for the first issue of the school paper. My camera captured what my own eyes did not.” Ms. Benson’s younger sister, Emma, who was marching in the parade, also places Hesselius at the scene. She boldly stated, “I will testify. Anything to find my sister.” Dr. Hesselius has taught at New Starkham College for over twenty years. He has yet to be charged with any crime.

Timothy looked up from the page. “That is really freaky. Your poor grandmother.”

“I know,” said Abigail, shaking her head. “But that’s nothing compared to the article a couple days later.” She handed him another page. “Hesselius Charged with Kidnapping,” she said. “Formal charges were made and bail was set really high. He confessed to kidnapping Delia a few days after that, but he refused to say where he’d taken her and what he’d done to her.”

Timothy shuddered. The office walls encroached, as if the room itself was listening. “Why did he confess if he wasn’t going to tell anyone where she was?”

“According to the article,” said Abigail, scanning the page, “he knew the evidence was against him, but he also said Delia wasn’t ready yet.”

“Wasn’t ready for what?”

“It’s kind of crazy. According to court transcripts, he’d locked her away as a sacrifice to …” Abigail shook her head. “The Daughter of Chaos?”

Timothy blinked. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“The paper says Hesselius had uncovered an ancient Scandinavian tribal sect that worshipped obscure gods, goddesses, giants, and spirits. They believed they could harness ancient magic during their rituals using strange metals.”

“The Daughter of Chaos … Like what the placard at the museum said.” Timothy gasped. “Abigail, Zilpha said after today, all this will be over. Do you think she was at the museum that day looking for the jawbone?”

Abigail nodded. “The Daughter of Chaos was one of the obscure goddesses worshipped by the sect. They believed that if you appeased her, she gave you great powers.”

This was starting to sound familiar. Zilpha Kindred’s uncle hadn’t strayed very far from the headlines for the