The Chair

Once upon a time, there was a chair. The chair was quite ordinary, straight-backed, tall, wooden. Uncomfortable looking. All angles and no curves. The chair had the mark of age, it had weathered countless people sitting on it, their buttons scratching its seat. It was faded and creaky, but still, it stood. Next to the chair, was a table. But the table is unimportant. The table was only there so that one could use the chair. It wouldn't work without a table. Around the two pieces of furniture, complex instruments hummed and glowed.

Matthew adjusted a dial. He didn't know what the dial did, or what would happen if he turned it, but he adjusted it anyway. It now pointed to 2. He looked at the chair, examining it for differences. No change. The screen next to the dial showed a picture of the door leading to the room with the chair. There was a man there, and the man in the room was upset. He was dressed in a white coat and thick glasses, and was screaming into the camera. There was no sound, and Matthew thought it quite wonderful that there wasn’t.

Matthew sat down on the chair. He avoided the table completely. He tried not to look at it. Ignoring it was the essence. He turned his head slightly to the left, and intoned, “I’d like a tuna fish sandwich, please.”

The machinery around him buzzed.

The lights dimmed and flickered.

Matthew waited impatiently. Then he curled his hand into a fist and brought it smashing down onto the table.

There was a sandwich there. He hesitantly reached out for it. Picked it up. The bread was warm and lightly toasted, and it had a pleasant weight about it. It was just begging to be eaten. He put it into his mouth. He bit, slowly. Tuna fish. Onions. Mayonnaise. Lettuce. Was that a hint of parsley? It was delicious. It was more than delicious. It was heaven.

He finished the sandwich. Then he got up and opened the door. The man with the white coat stumbled in, apoplectic. The man rushed around for a while, checking the dials and instruments. He stopped at the dial turned to 2 and glared at Matthew.

Matthew shrugged and said, “It worked, didn’t it?”

“Yes! But you could have gotten yourself killed!”

“Professor Nigelton,” he began patronizingly, “I did not get killed nor did I break your scientific instruments. I merely conjured a tuna fish sandwich.”

“And locked me out of the room, too,” grumbled the professor.

“You know very well that the chair has a different effect when there are two people in the room.”

The professor straightened his back and stood tall. Not that it helped, being only four feet and five inches. “It has never been proven,” he said dismissively, “that the electromagnetic waves emitted by the body would have an effect on the table.”

“Professor, nothing has ever been proven with the chair. No one has been studying it long enough without getting killed, or getting their laboratories blown up in a big ball of fire or just having the chair mysteriously stolen. Okay, not so mysterious given that it’s here, but still. No one has had it as long as we have had.”

Matthew looked for a safe place to lean on. There wasn’t any. The professor looked at him pointedly.

Matthew waited.

The man in the white suit turned red with rage.

“Aren’t you going to try it again!” he barked.

“If you ask me nicely.”

Professor Nigelton’s face flushed a deeper shade of red. He forced his face into a smile, but it looked more like a grimace from Matthew’s angle.

“Dear Matthew, could you please try it again?” he said painfully.

Matthew smiled.

“Could I have a pay raise, too?”

The professor slapped him on the back of the head.

“Just. Do it.” He hissed and slammed the door.

Matthew rubbed his head and grinned.

Matthew sat on the chair.

He looked back at the picture on the television and smiled again.

He wanted to do something bigger than just a tuna fish sandwich. Something complex. A pot roast, maybe. A stew. A steak.

He focused on the feel of the chair around him and tilted his head to the left.

“I’d like a French onion soup with two pieces of garlic bread, please.”

The lights dimmed and flickered for the second time.

“Wait, stop!” he shouted.

There was a loud ZOOP, and Matthew disappeared.

Professor Nigelton hammered at the door.

“YOU IDIOT, I TOLD YOU TO DO IT AGAIN, NOT TRY SOMETHING NEW!”

Professor Nigelton sighed as he surveyed the chair.

Another assistant gone. This wouldn’t do. Matthew had only been working there for three months, for crying out loud. The professor adjusted the chair and checked the instruments. Matthew had been a good worker, albeit impetuous and sarcastic. He was certainly much better than pretty Angelica, who had – while attempting to clean her fingernails – wrecked a particular construction of his that had been hard to build, difficult to calibrate and impossible to fix. The man shuddered. Her parents still called every once in a while, too. All those questions! He hated them. And the looks he got at the conventions. He hated the unapproachable, unavoidable gaze of his fellow scientists whenever something went wrong.

It wasn’t his fault Harry had stepped into the blades of the prototype windmill he was building. Or what-was-her-name’s accident with the disintegrator beam. Poor child. At least she still had her left arm. No. It wouldn’t do at all.

Now, how could he hide the young man’s existence in this laboratory? He was only 26, after all. Just out of university, happy to be working here. It was a good thing he had paid in cash. No traces to him at all. People might have noticed him coming in... but it was a lab, they worked odd hours...

The only thing that worried the Professor was what he would do if someone called.

He walked out of the chamber and unplugged the telephone wire.