Free Fiction

Here’s this month’s Free Fiction Feature: Chamber of Vengeance

In a house of wax, every face hides a secret.

Seattle, 1980s. Art restoration technician Tamsin is desperate to prove herself after a broken engagement leaves her confidence in pieces. Her latest assignment should be simple—help her boss restore a family-owned wax museum in time for its Halloween grand reopening.

Then the family matriarch is murdered.

Convinced the killing is connected to the museum’s eerie past, Tamsin studies the aging exhibits, drawn ever deeper into a history filled with tragedy, secrets, and whispers that feel disturbingly close to a ghost story.

But someone is watching.

With family members hiding the truth, red herrings at every turn, and a killer who realizes Tamsin is getting too close, solving the mystery could cost her more than her career. It could make her the museum’s next permanent exhibit.

If you like hidden clues, dark family secrets, creepy settings, and classic whodunits, then you’ll love Joslyn Chase’s atmospheric murder mystery.

Read Chamber of Vengeance today to enter a tense, eerie puzzle that will keep you guessing until the final reveal.

“Chamber of Vengeance” is free on this website for one month only. The story is also available  as a standalone, or in Rapid Pursuit: 14 Short Thrillers & Fast-Paced Suspense Stories, along with thirteen more stories filled with suspense and intrigue.

Please read, enjoy, and tell your friends!

Chamber of Vengeance

Joslyn Chase

 

Dozens of body parts lay scattered across the room like the aftermath of a bomb.

Tamsin sneezed, then sneezed again as dust motes danced in the beams of yellow light glowing from recessed bulbs in the dim hall. Mood lighting. Decisively spooky. Probably more so than when the wax display had been open to customers.

Trying to hide her dismay, Tamsin surveyed the long, narrow chamber. Limbs from discarded mannequins jumbled alongside moth-eaten costumes, their musty odor sending her into another sneezing fit, loud in the stuffy space.

“You said you wanted the display ready by Halloween?”

Vanessa Bradley, of the family-operated Costumes & Curiosities, gave a brisk nod. “Yes, we’d like to host the grand re-opening of our Chamber of Horrors on Halloween.”

“That gives us less than three weeks.”

An acid voice cut in.”I told her it couldn’t be done.” Ingrid Bradley, matriarch of the business and holder of the reins.

Tamsin glanced at Kurt, her employer, but he didn’t meet her eye. “We can make this happen,” he said, “but we must begin immediately.”

“Of course,” Vanessa said. “Today, if you wish.”

Kurt pursed his lips. “Is the original designer still alive?”

A short hesitation, then Vanessa said, “No. The sculptures were created twenty years ago by Irina Rostova. She was very good, and claimed to be descended from Rasputin, which gave her a certain cachet. As you see,” she swept an arm toward a corner of the hall, “his is one of the figures you’ll be restoring.”

Tamsin walked closer to the tall, hulking form. Shadows obscured most of the face, but the acrylic-painted eyes peered out with startling intensity. She shivered. Half dread, half delight. This job would be creepy, but fascinating.

“Why was the display shut down?” she asked.

Another pause, longer this time, spread through the dusty air. Vanessa drew an audible breath to begin her answer, but before she could speak, a browsing couple stepped into the far end of the hall, the woman’s harsh, nasal exclamations blotting out all else.

“Look at this, Frank! Isn’t it marvelous?”

Vanessa rushed forward. “This area is off-limits to customers,” she said, trying to herd them back out, but the woman was not to be stopped.

“A wax museum,” she squealed. “How wonderful!”

She ran her hands over a brocade ball gown and Tamsin gasped at the woman’s lack of grace.

Ingrid sputtered, her cheeks turning an angry red. “Get that stupid cow out of here,” she shouted. The man turned and made a rude gesture, taking offense for his partner’s sake.

“Really,” Vanessa said, “it’s not safe here. This area is for staff only–”

But it was too late. The woman dislodged some anchoring item from a towering stack, starting an avalanche. A mannequin leaning against the wall turned, knocking down a pair of crossed swords. One fell harmlessly, slithering to a halt at Tamsin’s feet.

The other sliced through the woman’s sleeve, drawing blood as it passed, its point skewering her designer bag to the wooden floor like a stuck pig, its guts spilling out as the blade quivered in place.

The woman screamed.

***

Paramedics stitched and bandaged the wound. Amid a fluster of apologies and threatened lawsuits, Vanessa escorted the wayward customers off the premises. Tamsin tagged along behind Kurt. Despite the distraction, she sensed her boss champing at the bit, wanting to get the paperwork squared away on their new project so they could dive in and try to meet that impossible deadline.

They stood inside the glass storefront, waiting, and Tamsin stared out the rain-streaked windows at the movie theater across the street, a lump the size of a plum forming in her throat. Last July, Jason had taken her there to see the Michael J. Fox film, Back To The Future, exactly one week before their scheduled wedding.

And exactly one day before he’d broken off their engagement.

She turned away, avoiding Kurt’s sympathetic eye, and pressed her lips together, humming along with Huey Lewis and The News as she perused a shelf stocked with gag items and magic tricks. She looked up when Vanessa approached, a man and woman in her wake.

“May I introduce my brother, Darren,” she said, “and his wife Gina. Darren runs the creative side of the business while I mostly look after the books.”

Darren Bradley had his sister’s straw-colored hair, and wore it almost as long, tousled wavy locks held back by a white tennis visor. A cream-colored sweater hung around his neck, tied at the sleeves. His wife was a paragon of golden-tanned glamor with frosty eyes. An attractive couple, but tense, like magnets whose like-sides repel.

Vanessa turned to go. “In light of what happened just now, I’m going to call our attorney. Darren will set you up with a work order. Okay?”

We agreed and followed Darren down a passage behind the front desk. Bradley’s Costumes & Curiosities covered a quarter of a city block and had been a fixture in Seattle since the 1940s. It featured a full-service costume shop, a museum of magic, a dungeon with an impressive collection of torture devices, and sideshow alley, with a fortune-teller, bearded lady, and sword-swallower.

And three weeks hence, a chamber of horrors, if Kurt had anything to say about it.

“Coffee?” Darren offered as we took seats around his desk. Tamsin accepted the cup and used it to warm her hands.

“Vanessa was just going to explain about the display,” she said, “why it closed all those years ago. Can you tell us about it?”

Darren leaned back, hands stuffed into the pockets of his khaki slacks. “Mother insisted we close it down. After what happened.”

Kurt set down his cup. “What did happen?”

“You don’t know?” He blew out a long breath and pushed a straying lock of hair into place. “Irina Rostova committed suicide in the chamber. It caused a sensation and brought in customers by the droves, but mother was right to shut it down. Very crass to profit off a young woman’s tragedy.”

He rocked forward in the chair and came to his feet. “Last week Vanessa and I were cleaning out a storage room when we came across this.” He handed Kurt a spiral-bound notebook with the name Weldon Bradley printed on the faded cover.

“Father’s notes and ideas. We read the pages about the wax display and realized it was time to open it up again.”

Kurt spoke. “Is your father deceased?”

“He died eleven years ago.”

Tamsin took the notebook from Kurt and flipped through its pages. “May we keep this? I mean, while we’re working on the project. To help with the details.”

“Of course. Just make sure I get it back.”

Darren plucked a form from a tray on his desk and started filling blanks, then paused.

“We’re all getting together for dinner tonight in mother’s upstairs apartment. Care to come? You can meet the whole crew and ask any questions that spring to mind.”

“That would be excellent,” Kurt said.

“Great. Come at seven.” A girl rapped twice on the open door, catching Darren’s attention. “I’ll be back in a moment. Just finish filling those in, will you?”

Kurt worked on the form while Tamsin snooped. She stopped in front of a desk in the corner with four CCTV monitors running. Not much was going on in three of the monitors, but the fourth was very interesting.

“Kurt, come see this.”

The grainy screen showed Darren’s wife, Gina, behind a rack of costumes in a hot embrace with another man. And in the foreground, hidden from the oblivious couple, was Darren and Vanessa’s mother, Ingrid, taking it all in.

***

Tamsin watched Kurt scrutinize the floor of the chamber, his eyebrows drawn together, one hand stroking his clean-shaven chin, Florsheim loafers clacking softly on the hardwood. A blotchy shape, stained a shade darker than the rest of the floor, was visible beneath a light layer of dust.

“Horrible to think about, isn’t it?” she said.

“Disturbing,” he agreed. “Working this project won’t give you nightmares, will it, Tamsin?”

“No more than usual, though I can almost feel a presence here.” She shook her head. “Imagination, of course.”

Kurt looked thoughtful. “Perhaps. It’s almost time for our dinner appointment. Let’s wash the dust off our hands and go up.”

They arrived a little early and Darren, wearing a blue-striped apron, let them in. A woman, soft and delicate as a water lily, stood in the hall behind him.

“Kurt, Tamsin, let me introduce you to Mei Ling. If you need any art supplies for the project, she runs a shop just around the corner. And she delivers. Thanks, Mei Ling, for bringing those over.”

“No problem, Mr. Bradley. I’ll see you later.”

Tamsin caught a hint of frangipani as Mei Ling exited. She followed Darren and Kurt into the kitchen where dinner preparations were underway. “I’m running a bit behind,” Darren apologized, “but we’ll be eating soon.”

“Can I help?” Tamsin asked.

As she sliced peppers for a salad, the front door opened again. Murmuring voices and footsteps grew louder as three more people entered the kitchen. Gina, Vanessa, and a dark-haired young man wearing tortoiseshell eyeglasses.

“This is my friend, Richard,” Darren said. “You’ll be seeing a lot of him. He does the alterations for our costumes.”

Kurt shook Richard’s hand and Tamsin smiled a hello. The others sat in bar stools around the counter, at home in the room and with each other. They chatted about the events of the day while Tamsin finished slicing and rinsed the knife under the faucet.

“I have a question,” she said. “The plans for the wax display in the notebook include ten figures, but there are only nine in the chamber now. Did Irina…leave before she finished the tenth?”

“Yes, but not in the way you’re thinking,” Vanessa replied. “Mother sacked her.”

“She’d started falling behind in her work,” Darren added, “taking far longer than her contract called for. She did nothing, sometimes, for days on end, saying she was ill.”

Vanessa swiped a carrot coin from Darren’s chopping board. “She was upset about something, but wouldn’t say what. Leave it to mother to suss it out. She was pregnant.”

Darren swept the remaining carrots into the salad bowl, out of Vanessa’s reach. “We were just children at the time, and father was in Germany, bidding on some vintage costumes, or he might have had something to say about it. Mother told Irina to clear out, she wasn’t running a home for unwed mothers.”

“But I thought…”

“Yes, well, Irina came back about a year later, after having the baby and giving it up for adoption. She still had her key. She let herself in after hours and broke a case in the dungeon, taking one of the daggers. She used it to slit her wrists in the chamber.”

Tamsin felt her mouth go dry. “How awful.”

“Mother found her the next morning, lying between Rasputin and Vlad The Impaler. That’s the day her hair went white.”

“Now you’re just milking the story,” Vanessa protested.

“And it’s said her malevolent ghost haunts the chamber to this day,” he added.

“Enough! When’s dinner ready?” asked Vanessa.

The story was clearly one they’d told many times. Maybe they’d been too young when it happened for it to hold any real memories or emotional impact, but Tamsin felt sick, not sure she was up to eating, and both Kurt and Richard looked pale. They hadn’t said a word during the exchange.

The timer beeped and Darren pulled a casserole from the oven.

“I’ll go fetch mother,” Vanessa said, heading into the rear of the apartment.

“Let’s get the table set,” Darren suggested, passing out plates and flatware. Tamsin placed napkins and salt and pepper, feeling detached and robotic. She hadn’t realized the chamber of horrors she and Kurt would be working on had such a stamp of authenticity. But Kurt had signed the contract that morning and she knew he wouldn’t back out of the project. It was Halloween or bust, and she wouldn’t desert him in his hour of need.

Vanessa returned to the kitchen, slow and alone, her face ashen. “Don’t go in there,” she warned, her voice flat, drained. “Mother’s dead. She’s been murdered.”

She fell into a chair, eyes wide. “Call the police.”

***

After a restless night, Tamsin was back in the dusty chamber with Kurt, making her first order of business a general sorting and cleanup. Ingrid’s murder heaped another layer of grim tragedy on Bradley’s Costumes and Curiosities, but a phone call from Vanessa made it clear their restoration project was still a go.

Ordinarily, Kurt liked to hum the jazz standards while they worked, but today the atmosphere in the chamber was subdued, with Kurt speaking only in grunts or eloquent gestures. Tamsin wanted to break up the oppressive silence.

“Are we in danger here, Kurt?”

He shook his head without looking up from the piece he was painting.

“Who killed Ingrid? And why?”

After Vanessa’s warning not to go into her mother’s bedroom, they all had rushed directly there, as if drawn by an invisible string, needing to see to believe. Ingrid was stretched out on the bed, staked through the heart with a chisel, a mallet lying next to the body.

Tamsin shuddered, and turned to the portable toolbox that went with them on every project. Three chisels, just like the murder weapon, occupied their regular spots. She remembered the paper she’d seen on Ingrid’s nightstand, hand-printed with a series of symbols. Before she’d gotten a proper look at it, Vanessa had gasped, pointing to an empty doily on the tall-boy dresser.

“Mother’s crystal–it’s gone!” A collection of Swarovski crystal worth ten thousand dollars, apparently.

And then the police had arrived.

“I couldn’t sleep last night,” Tamsin said. “I sat up, looking through Weldon Bradley’s notebook. And I found this.”

She opened the notebook to a page near the back, blank except for a series of symbols with a box drawn around them. She showed Kurt.

“I think these are the same symbols I saw in Ingrid’s bedroom last night. Do you have any idea what they mean?”

Kurt examined the page and shrugged. “Cyrillic.”

“Yes, but I don’t speak Russian. I’m going to ask if anyone knows about this.”

“No!”

“So you do think we could be in danger.”

Kurt glared at her. “I’ll go with you.”

The establishment was closed in observance of Ingrid’s death. The only sound as they passed through the eerie, deserted showroom was the faint tap of rain on the metal roof high above. Strident voices and the smell of coffee greeted them as they opened the door into the rear corridor.

“…killed her to get your hands on the money and control.” Tamsin recognized Gina’s snide tone.

“I didn’t. It’s more likely you did it to prevent her spilling the beans to Darren about your extra-marital activities.”

Gina snorted. “As if he didn’t know.”

Kurt raised an eyebrow and Tamsin motioned they should leave. “Now’s not a good time.”

They retraced their steps and Tamsin said, “I’m guessing Darren and Vanessa inherit the business and assets. That gives them motive.”

“Don’t forget Mei Ling.”

“Mei Ling! Why would she kill Ingrid?”

“I have no idea, but she was there, remember? And she probably stocks chisels identical to the murder weapon in her shop.”

“Which is precisely why she wouldn’t use one,” Tamsin said. “Following your line of logic, we’re both suspects, as well.”

A woman in uniform stepped into the chamber. “You’re probably right about that,” she said. “Tamsin Gooding, Detective Lewis would like to speak with you.”

***

“I’ve never been a murder suspect before,” Tamsin told Kurt when she returned. “And now they want to talk to you.”

“The police think one of us might have murdered Ingrid? For what reason?”

“Ten thousand reasons, encased in crystal.”

Kurt threw down his paint-stained rag. “Ridiculous!”

He stalked off and Tamsin turned her attention to the wax figures, half wishing they’d never signed on for the job, though she had to admit it was the most stimulating project they’d ever taken. The odors of fresh paint and old wax mingled, forming a fitting backdrop for the weaving of past tragedy and present calamity. Tamsin sensed they were intertwined.

She began undressing Jack the Ripper. Her job was to strip and clean the wax hands and faces, getting them ready for Kurt’s paintbrush. As she pulled the right forearm from the sleeve, she felt an indentation beneath her fingertips. Turning the arm to expose the inner wrist, she saw the letter H carved into the wax. On a hunch, she pulled up the sleeves on the other sculptures and found a symbol engraved on each, even the werewolf, amid tufts of fur.

Some of the symbols resembled letters from the English alphabet, but a few did not. Tamsin opened the notebook and compared them to the boxed cipher. The symbols were all there, but in jumbled order, and by matching the symbols with the original order of the wax figures, as contained in the notebook, she was able to confirm they spelled out the same message.

Whatever it was.

Tamsin rose from her crouch over the notebook and bumped her head against a framed portrait of Nicholas and Alexandra, knocking it to the floor. The sturdy glass remained intact. She sighed in relief as a blotch of red on the wall caught her attention and she stepped closer, squinting in the yellow mood lighting.

The wax formed a heart shape containing carved initials:

 

WB

+

IB.

 

How sweet—Weldon and Ingrid Bradley. They must have made the heart, but why cover it with a painting? More curious than ever about the mysteries behind the Bradley’s, Tamsin decided to try again to find someone who could decipher the cryptic symbols.

She stepped from the chamber, expecting a wall of spooky silence from the deserted building, and was surprised to hear faint murmurs from the costume showroom. Beneath the red velvet changing room curtain, Tamsin saw two sets of feet standing very close together. Darren, with someone other than Gina. A whiff of floral fragrance suggested it was Mei Ling.

Sauce for the goose, and none of her business. Tamsin crept into the office area but found no one. Unable to resist a little light snooping, she scanned the area but came up empty. She used the bathroom and washed her hands, then splashed some water on her face to rinse off the dust.

As she stepped from the bathroom, she saw Darren leave his office down the hall and head toward the rear exit. She called out a greeting, but he didn’t even look back—only lifted a hand, flapping it at her in a dismissive gesture, and hurried out the back door.

Giving up on finding someone to help her, Tamsin retreated to the book nook, a tucked away corner containing brocaded chairs and obscure reading material. She seized the Russian-English dictionary like it was the Holy Grail and sank into one of the stiff, padded chairs.

The symbols were indeed Cyrillic, but as far as Tamsin could tell, they didn’t add up to anything in Russian. Taking the dictionary with her, she went back to the chamber where Kurt had arrived, bearing sandwiches.

They ate ham and mustard on rye, the tang of Dijon and caraway hitting the spot for Tamsin. When they finished, she showed him the wax heart.

“Weldon Bradley and his wife Ingrid,” Kurt mused. “Those old-fashioned values don’t seem to apply to the new generation. Married love’s not quite the thing in the house of Bradley.”

“I noticed.”

Kurt continued to stare at the heart. “Wait a minute,” he said. “The bottom of this B was made by the frame pressing against the wax for untold years.” He ran a finger over the carved initials. “Yes, it’s definitely fainter. I think we’re looking at

 

WB

+

IR.”

 

“Irina Rostova! I’ll bet Weldon was the father of her baby.”

“That’s some heavy speculation.”

“Granted, but it makes sense, doesn’t it?”

***

The air smelled crisp and fresh, like a good autumn apple, and for once, there was a break in the rain as Tamsin parked and ran uphill a block and a half to report on time. Her shoes pinched, and she knew by mid-afternoon she’d be working in her stocking feet.

She entered Bradley’s by the front door and wished the girl behind the desk a good morning.

“Miss Gooding,” the girl called, “a man stopped in to see you this morning—you just missed him. He left a note.”

Tamsin opened the note. Her heart gave a painful twist and a flood of heat washed over her cheeks. With shaking hands, she crinkled the paper into a ball and shoved it into her pocket.

Before she could recover her composure, she was blindsided by another shock as police led Darren, clapped in handcuffs, past her and out the front. Vanessa followed as far as the door, then turned back, biting her lip.

“What’s happened?” Tamsin asked.

“Darren’s been arrested for the theft of the crystal. A murder charge is sure to follow.”

“What evidence do they have?”

“They didn’t share that with me, but I intend to find out.” She zipped up her jacket and disappeared into the weak morning sunshine.

“One more thing, Miss Gooding,” said the front desk girl. “Mr. Tomlinson wanted you to pick up some supplies from Mei Ling’s. Here’s the list.”

Tamsin walked around the corner to the art shop, the clack of her heels keeping time with her heart. She filled a basket, according to Kurt’s list, and was on her way to the register when the bell jingled and Darren’s friend, Richard, entered. He went directly to the counter and they chatted while Mei Ling finished a phone call.

“How long have you worked for the Bradley’s?” Tamsin asked.

“About a year. It’s definitely an interesting place to work.”

“I’m finding that out. Kurt and I are intrigued by some markings we’ve found on the wax figures. We’re having fun trying to decipher their meaning. You don’t happen to speak Russian, do you?”

“No. Are the markings in Russian?”

“I’m not entirely sure. They look like this.” Tamsin showed him the page from Weldon Bradley’s notebook.

He shook his head. “No, I’m sorry I can’t help.”

Mei Ling handed Richard a box of supplies and he paid for his order. “See you around,” he said as the bell tinkled behind him.

Mei Ling’s lips curved in a tiny smile as she rang up Tamsin’s purchases. She was unaware of Darren’s arrest, and Tamsin didn’t want to be the one to tell her. Like a coward, she clutched the bag of supplies and slinked out the door before Mei Ling could ply her with questions.

***

Things were shaping up in the chamber. The dust had been cleared and the spare mannequin parts relegated to a corner. Kurt bent over his palette, mixing paint, and he was back to humming. Tamsin recognized The Way You Look Tonight.

“Any exciting new developments while I was gone?” Tamsin asked, picking up her own palette and getting to work on a backdrop. “Other than Darren’s arrest, I mean. I was here for that.”

“I happened to overhear Vanessa tell Gina the arrest was made on the basis of a tape from the security camera, showing clear footage of Darren stashing the figurines in the back of a storage closet. The police searched the closet and recovered them.”

“I don’t get it,” Tamsin said. “Why would he steal the crystal?”

“Only reason I come up with is that he killed his mother and wanted to make it look like a burglary, but it just doesn’t sit right with me. Despite the evidence. Things are not always what they look like.”

Tamsin froze. “Say that again.”

“All of it?”

“Just that last part–things are not always what they look like.”

“Do you still need me to say it again?”

Tamsin ignored him. She put down her paints and picked up the notebook. “This looks like a Russian word. But what if it isn’t? What if it’s an English word, spelled out with Cyrillic symbols?”

She snatched up the dictionary and turned to a page showing the transliteration from Cyrillic to English and transformed

 

ВЭНГЭАНСЭ

into

VENGEANCE.

 

“Someone left an intentional message in those wax figures, and the intention was revenge,” she said.

“Yes, but who carved those symbols? Irina, before she took her life? Or Weldon, when he weighed the cost of his infidelity?”

“And what form did they expect vengeance to take?”

Tamsin stared at Kurt, wondering if her eyes were as wide as his were. A shiver passed through her. “We may never know,” she admitted. “On a different subject, guess who’s coming to see me tomorrow?”

A scowl crossed Kurt’s features. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“You know what’s happened, don’t you?” Tamsin said. “His high school sweetheart has dumped him. Again. And now he wants to come crawling back.”

“Tamsin, don’t let him. There’s no healthy relationship for you, with him. Breaking off the engagement was the best thing he’s ever done for you.”

“Don’t I know it,” she agreed. But it was a lie. She wanted to know she was better off without Jason, longed for that assurance, but part of her still held on to a slender hope she couldn’t quite smother.

“What are you going to do if he wants to make up?”

Tamsin allowed a few ideas to flit through her mind, settling on one that felt good in the moment.

“I can spell it out in nine letters. V-E-N-G-E-A-N-C-E.”

***

The next morning, as Tamsin arrived, the girl at the desk motioned her to the phone.

“Call for you,” she said. “Mr. Tomlinson.”

“I’ll be out for the morning,” Kurt told her. “I have to meet with our auditor, but here’s something you’ll be interested to know—Darren’s been released on bail.”

“They didn’t have enough to charge him with murder, then?”

“It appears not. Be careful, Tamsin. Lots of hazards for you today.”

Tamsin spent the morning painting scenery for the display. A Flock of Seagulls reached her faintly in the chamber, but she’d have felt more comfortable with Kurt and his Big Band favorites. Between the paint fumes and her nerves as the noon hour approached, Tamsin’s stomach bubbled like a primordial swamp. She tried to keep her attention focused strictly on her work, but one moment she’d be practicing her scathing remarks for when Jason asked her to reconcile, and the next she’d be dreaming of the two of them back together.

At 11:30, she cleaned her brushes, fluffed her hair, and reapplied lipstick. It was time. She walked to the cafe, her killer high heels living up to the name, but looking good. Jason was already there, in a booth, and she slid in across from him. He’d ordered her a coke and she busied herself unwrapping the straw and taking a sip, hoping he’d break the ice.

“So, you’re doing a job for Bradley’s.” he said. “How’re you liking it?”

“It’s been interesting.”

“Were you there when the old lady got skewered?”

She gave him a look that made her feel like a disapproving schoolmarm. “I was.”

“What was that like?”

“Look, Jason, I don’t want to talk about it. Why’d you want to see me?”

The primordial swamp evolved into a volcano. This was it.

“I hoped we might have some lunch first.”

“I don’t have time for lunch, just say what you came to say.”

Jason blushed and looked away. He was working up the courage and finally the words came.

“Can I get the ring back?”

A punch to the gut. Tamsin couldn’t breathe, couldn’t believe she’d heard right. “What?”

“I need the ring back, Tams. I’m going to ask Sammy to marry me. I’m sorry.”

“You want to give her my ring?”

“No! Of course not. But I can’t afford another ring. I got a guy’ll give me fifteen hundred for it.”

Tamsin stood up. She lifted the glass of coke and poured it in his lap. “I’ll send it to you by post,” she said and got out before the dam broke.

Back at Bradley’s she walked past the front desk and across the showroom, holding it together, stiff upper lip. She entered the chamber and left the lights off, retreating to the far corner and sinking to the floor where she finally gave way. Time to let go of her hopes and dreams. This is what Irina must have felt like, as she bled on this very floor.

Only, Tamsin didn’t want to die.

A shadow, deeper than the dark of the room, moved across her. Tamsin peered into the gloom, transfixed by an image so ethereal it could only be her imagination, but it looked like a woman. Or the ghost of a woman.

The mouth opened in a silent scream and Tamsin drew back. In that moment, a whoosh of air brushed her face as a sword sliced down where she’d just been. She gasped and rolled to her feet. In the dimness, she saw Darren raise the sword for another swing. He was between her and the exit. She dodged the sword as it came down, its point penetrating the hardwood. He meant business.

He wrestled the blade from the floor’s grip and Tamsin tried to run past, but he kicked out, knocking her to the floor. She shouted and he stood over her, bringing the sword up for the killing blow, a spill of light from the doorway illuminating his face.

It wasn’t Darren.

Richard, in a wig and visor, the cream sweater coming loose from his shoulders, loomed over her, wielding the long blade. Tamsin shoved with both feet at the base of Rasputin’s towering figure, toppling it and fouling Richard’s aim enough for her to roll out of his reach, but he was on her again in a matter of seconds.

He raised the sword and there was nowhere left for her to go. Once more, a dark shadow flitted across the room, catching Richard’s attention, and the blow never fell. Light flooded the chamber. Richard dropped the sword and tried to run, but Kurt stood in the doorway, Vanessa behind him.

“What is going on?” she demanded.

Tamsin got to her feet. “He tried to kill me.”

“Darren?”

“No,” said Kurt. “Your other brother.”

Vanessa’s mouth gaped. “What are you talking about?”

Tamsin turned to Richard. “When did you find out about Irina and Weldon?”

He glared at her, panting, but said, “When I turned eighteen, my adoptive parents told me about my mother. They didn’t know who my father was, but it wasn’t hard to piece together. I’ve been biding my time and perfecting my plan until the moment was right. Vengeance—that’s what my mother demanded. It’s what she deserves.”

“But why attack me?” Tamsin asked.

“You were getting too close,” Kurt guessed.

“You saw me,” Richard told her, “dressed as Darren, after I stashed the crystal. I fooled you then, but it was only a matter of time until you figured it out.” He straightened the sweater, tying it neatly. “Ingrid drove my mother to kill herself. She deserved to die.”

The police arrived and took the situation in hand, cuffing Richard and leading him to the door as Darren entered. The two men stared at each other.

“We were friends,” Darren said. “Why did you frame me for murder?”

“I hate you.” Richard’s voice was cold, flat as paper. “I hate all of you.”

***

Halloween arrived and, with it, the Grand Re-opening of Bradley’s Chamber of Horrors. Vanessa had granted Tamsin and Kurt free costumes for the evening, a bonus for completing the project on time. The black wig smelled funny and made her itch, but Tamsin liked the way she looked as Cleopatra, and Kurt cut a fine figure as a circus ringmaster.

Except for a brief shower around six o’clock, the sky remained clear and trick-or-treaters were out in record numbers. It seemed as if nearly all of them showed up at Bradley’s. The spooky awesome wax display was a success and Tamsin watched hundreds of guests file past the real-to-life sculptures fashioned by Irina Rostova and restored by her and Kurt.

Munching a handful of candy corn, Tamsin said, “I think Richard saw his mother in that moment he was about to kill me. That split-second distraction saved my life.”

Kurt looked affronted. “My arrival had nothing to do with it?”

Tamsin laughed. “Of course it did. I’ll never forget your dashing contribution.”

“At least, not as long as I’m signing your paychecks,” he said, giving her a wry look.

“That long,” she agreed, “and beyond.”

Kurt twirled his circus master mustache. “I didn’t want to pry,” he said, “but I’m really dying to know. How did your meeting with Jason go? Did he want you back?”

“Oh, he wanted something back, but I put a damper on his party.”

“Good. You deserve a love story with a happy ending.”

Tamsin swallowed the candy, tasting the sweetness on her tongue. “I do,” she said. “I really do.”

Thank you for reading Chamber of Vengeance. I hope you enjoyed the story. I invite you to come back next month for another Free Fiction feature.

 

CHAMBER OF VENGEANCE

Copyright © 2020 by Joslyn Chase.

Published by Paraquel Press, 2026

Chamber of Vengeance was first published in Mystery Magazine, September 2021.

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved.

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This story is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is fictionalized or coincidental. For inquiries regarding this book, please email: joslyn@joslynchase.com

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