Star Light, Start Bright (The Vault of Horror #34, Dec/Jan 1964)

Dusk had settled over the drab grounds of Dethmoor and the misty rain fell with a diabolical perseverance, covering all with a wetness that was maddening. Hartley Quimb hunched his shoulders against the chill and caused softly. He cursed the rain and the cold. He cursed the uniformed guards beside him and the minister before him, the gibbering crowd surrounding him and the gnawing fear inside him. He even cursed the body lying in the uncovered coffin.

From behind him, a figure darted to the coffin and playfully fingered the face of the corpse. No one made a move to stop him. Hartley Quimb was horrified to the point of nausea. The figure scurried back to the crowd. The minister spoke on, uninterrupted, and Harley Quimb lowered his gaze to the quivering mud puddles.

GUARD: "Bit of a shock, eh, guv'nor?"

Hartley Quimb turned to look at the stern-faced guard who addressed him

QUIMB: "Lord, yes! That was horrible!"

GUARD: "Aye, but it's important. Ye'll see, after ye've been here a bit."

Another figure crept to the coffin. He gazed curiously at the body, his eyes saddened. Then, impulsively, he slapped the corpse across the cheek.

QUIMB: "Good heavens! Did you see that?"

GUARD: "Aye. We let them do that. A funeral is a treat to these poor souls and it helps us to control them. We use it as a means to enforce discipline."

Hartley Quimb began to waver. He swore at himself for ever having accepted the position of master of Dethmoor Asylum. If he hadn't need the money.

QUIMB: "Discipline?"

GUARD: "Aye, guv'nor. If the inmates don't behave themselves, we don't let them attend the next funeral. It's about the only way we can control them, understaffed as we are."

The coffin had at last been covered, yet a few of the inmates ran forward to lift the lid slightly and peer inquisitively inside. Then the coffin was lowered into the ground.

QUIMB: "Thank god! It's over."

GUARD: "Aye. I guess ye're a bit hungry, not having a bite to eat since ye arrived this afternoon. Well, we'll soon fix that."

The thought of food never entered Hartley's mind. But he walked with the guards to the mess hall, which seated both inmates and custodians alike.

GUARD: "Ye must understand, sir. The inmates aren't insane. For the most part, they're merely childish. They just act and think like little kids."

QUIMB: "What happened to the master who preceded me?"

GUARD: "Oh, him, poor soul. The inmates killed him when he tried to take away their funeral privileges."

Hartley Quimb nervously lifted the fork and speared a choice piece of steak. He was about to place it in his mouth when his gaze drifted out over the table. His hand trembled. A hundred glaring eyes burned into his. A hundred hate-filled eyes watched his every move. Suddenly, he saw the slovenly food they were eating. He glanced at the juicy, tender morsel of steak on his fork and then looked again into their venomous eyes. The fork clattered to the table as he rose unsteadily to his feet.

QUIMB: "I...I'm not very hungry. If you'll excuse me, I...I think I'll got to my room."

GUARD: "Well, alright, guv'nor. Mind if I take ye're steak?"

Hartley Quimb hurried from the mess hall as fast as his wobbling legs would carry him and climbed the rickety stairs to his room. Once inside, he bolted the flimsy lock and leaned heavily against the door.

QUIMB: "They hate me! I could tell! They want to kill me too! They hate me!"

He threw himself onto the bed, based tiredly through the sky-light at the sky. The rain and stopped and he dozed. Suddenly, he was awakened by the grasping of many hands. He felt a cloth being roughly shoved into his mouth. His eyes bugged open and beheld a sight that froze his heart beat. A dozen inmates surrounding his bed, fiendishly tying him with stout ropes.

In horror, he felt them lift him from the bed and carry him from the building. Quietly, they moved across the cobblestone courtyard, in the shadows, past other buildings. They reached their destination; the carpentry shop. As he was carried inside, he sensed a multitude of people and craned his neck this way and that, the better to see. In the dim light, his eyes fell upon...an open coffin!

A sound gurgled in his throat. He tried to get free, he squirmed and twisted, but he was lifted and then placed in the coffin. His body gave an involuntary shudder of revulsion and tears rolled freely from his eyes. He heard the shuffling of many feet, the whisper of cloth rustling against the cloth and the soft sobs of sorrow. Was this a game? What were they going to do to him?! Suddenly, from all sides, the mourners loomed into view. In his mind's eyes, visions of the funeral he had witnessed only a few hours before flashed by. He trembled at the thought of it. The coffin lid descended.

In the ebony blackness, he cried out silently in terror. Would they let him suffocate? He listened and heard wails of protest. What was wrong? He heard the inmates conversing in low tones. Then, suddenly, the lid was removed. Were they going to free him?

Surely, they could only be playing a game. There was an expectant quiet, broken only by the sound of sawing wood. A face suddenly leered into the coffin and suddenly disappeared. And then the coffin lid was overhead. They were putting it back on. The ooh's and aah's that followed were all appreciative. And no wonder. The lid now had a window through which he could receive air. Or was it put there so the inmates could see him better? He didn't know. Faces appeared from all angles. Happy faces, sad faces, curious faces, worried faces. Different faces, different expressions, yet each one the same as all the others. A hand reached through the opening and felt of his cheek. Hartley Quimb closed his eyes, but even then he heard the people brushing against the outside of the coffin, sense their horrid heads framed the opening. A hand pinched his nose.

He had lost all track of time. He lay there, motionless, while the mourning inmates slowly filed by, paying their "last respects". Each time he opened his eyes, a different face was peering into his. He tried to pray, but he couldn't remember the words. Finally, he felt the coffin being lifted. Would they return him to his room now. They hadn't really tried to hurt him. They were merely playing. Little children, that's all. The ceiling was much closer now. Obviously, the coffin was being carried on their shoulders. The celling moved by above him and soon he was passed through the doorway into the night.

Save for a few clouds, the sky was clear. Stars twinkled brightly, unconcerned with the eerie pageant that was taking place below them. He listened to the shuffling steps of the procession on the cobblestones. They were just little children just playing a game. They were probably bringing him back to his room. He saw the top of a hard building slowly by above him. Wasn't that his building? It disappeared from view. Again there was nothing, but the star-filled sky above him. That couldn't have been the building where his room was. He looked again at the sky. Clouds were forming. Star light, star bright...he couldn't remember the rest.

A tree passed by overhead, it's leaves whispering in the wind, it's branches waving goodbye as it passed from his sight. Where were they taking him? He had lost all sense of direction. They were just children. Little children. Just little children...who had killed his predecessor. They passed beneath a wrought-iron archway. A gate! Against the darkening sky, he tried to spell the letters he saw. He had to read them backwards. C...E...M...

Hartley Quimb's heart pounded till he thought it would first through his chest. Were they really serious? Had they forgotten he wasn't a real corpse? They wouldn't bury him alive, would they? He felt himself being lowered to the ground. A moment later, he heard the unmistakable sound of shovels digging into the rain-soaked earth. The realization undermined his last vestige of self-control and he fainted. Hartley Quimb opened his eyes and sat up in bed. Drops of rain from a leak in the skylight hit his face. He untangled his legs from the mass of twisted sheets, pulled the choking bed clothes from his mouth and heaved a sigh. He wiped the perspiration from his head and gave fervent thanks that it had only been a horrible nightmare. He lay back on his pillow, relaxed.

Hartley Quimb smiled softly, every fiber of his being tingling with relief. He looked up through the skylight at the winking stars and imagined them to be relieved for him, too. He recited the poem. Star light, star bright and this time he knew all the words. He closed is eyes momentarily and made a wish. And when he opened his eyes again...a face was grinning down at him. Started, Hartley Quimb tried to leap up, but he found that he could not move! He tried to yell, to scream, but couldn't! The face disappeared. And then a shovelful of dirt hit him flush in the face.