Justice of the Peace (standard:horror, 1740 words)
Author: radiodenver	Added: Oct 28 2004	Views/Reads: 3438/2352	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Just another hang'n

Justice of the Peace 

For some strange reason, this place looked familiar.  As he stood
outside the gate, Gill McClure directed his gaze along the curved arch 
of an entrance to the cold grey brick building. 

Beyond the iron gate, a pale red sandstone path beckoned the way to a
large oak door, ten sinister steps above the ground. 

“Go on in and see the Judge.”  Echoed a grizzled voice from above and to
his right.  Gill looked up and spied a pair of pale white hands wrapped 
firmly around the bars of the second story window.  “Don't you worry 
none; the Judge will take good care of you.  Ha ha ha...”  The coarse 
gravely laugh emanating from beyond the window was not of humorous 
nature. 

Pulling upon the metal latch of the gate, it swung open to a slow creaky
grinding halt.  His one trembling leg found its way through the opening 
but pulling his trailing limb through was more difficult.  As a sinking 
feeling from deep within his chest, fear, and dread, in his soul he 
felt, he believed that somehow if he entered this mysterious compound 
he would not be able to leave.  With a whimpish tug of his leg, he 
brought his second reluctant foot inside the archway and stood frozen 
in place.  The gate slammed behind him and he turned only to see the 
gate was gone and a stone wall existed where once the gate had stood.  
There was no way out now, he must move forward towards the large wooden 
door at the top of the stairs before him. 

Ten stone steps upwards, he moved each foot one after the other, the
sharp clap of the sole of each foot smacking against the stone with 
each hesitant step.  Gill paused at the top of the steps before the 
wooden door.  A single iron handle on the door was the only observable 
feature.  No seams in the wood, no nails holding planks, the door was 
solid.  One iron handle had rendered him but a single choice.  Grasping 
this handle with his outstretched hand, he pulled, expecting the door 
to resist.  The door moved towards him with gentle ease as if it were 
weightless.  As he walked through the doorway the sound of his shoes 
striking the wood plank floor echoed throughout the hallow hallway 
where he was now standing. 

“Over here.” 

Startled, Gill turned to his left towards the voice. 

“Come over here.”  Said an old man sitting at a bare wood table in the
darkened corner at the end of the hallway. Gill walked to the desk and 
sat upon the straw laced chair before the old man. 

“What's your name?”  Asked the old man, never lifting his gaze from a
leather bound journal, a bantam trail of red ink droplets dripping from 
the feathered pen onto the bare table top as he scrawled. 

“Gill McClure.” 

The old man made his final scrawl then stood and disappeared through the
door behind the desk as Gill sat in silence, drawing a deep breath.  
The smell of rotted wood and something more permeated the air.  The 
musty and pungent breath that filled his lungs caused him to swoon.  
The door behind the desk opened and the old man poked his head through 
the opening. 

“Go down the hall to the door on your left and go on in.”  He said,
closing the door as his words echoed along the hallway. Gill walked the 
length of the hallway and pushed the doors along the left wall as 
instructed.  Standing inside the courtroom, Mort entered from a doorway 
across the room. 

“Come with me.”  Mort spoke as he motioned with his hand.  Gill shuffled
forward as he looked towards the doorway from whence the man had 
appeared. 

Fleeting shadows of confused movement coursed from the dim yellow hue of
the room beyond the doorway.  As he walked through the courtroom, he 
observed the bars on the windows and the isles of seats to one side of 
the room.  The Judge's bench, an ominous and ancient looking wooden 


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