Moira In The Electric Chair
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1921
To her surprise, Moira had woken up feeling like she had the best night sleep of her life. Perhaps it was the sleeping pills that the doctor had given her. She had told him that she had barely had any sleep for the seven months she had been at the death house, as it was called, due to housing the prison's electric chair, as well as murder's row, those who were to die in that chair. He had offered to give her so sleeping pills the day before, during a medical examination, so that her last night's sleep would be her best night's sleep. She had taken two pills, as he was only allowed to give her two. Prisoners were never allowed to have bottles of any medication, for fear they might try to do the job of the electric chair.
Moira had slept terribly since the day of her arrest for murdering her husband. She hadn't meant to. It was a stupid mistake that would cost her her life. She had been married to a wealthy doctor, thirty-five years older than her, and he left her all of his money when he died, and those factors did not help her case. Her husband was ill, and Moira, being the adoring wife that she was, gladly tended to his every need. He told her that there was a medication in the cabinet, and he told her to mix it into his tea. Moira had followed all of his instruction, but he passed away not even ten minutes after drinking it. Lola had immediately called the ambulance, and an autopsy had shown that it wasn't his illness that killed him, it was cyanide poisoning.
When she found out that not only had her husband been poisoned, but she had been the one to do it, she sunk to her knees. She didn't cry, and that had been used against her as well. Though the reason she didn't cry, was due to how shocked she was by this whole ordeal. She couldn't wrap her head around the fact that she had accidentally killed her husband. She had been rather poor when the two of them met, and they had married after only six months of knowing each other. Despite that, the two of them were very happy together. Her husband, Thomas Adams, indulged her every whim, he bought her whatever she wanted no matter the price. Diamonds, furs, and expensive nights out, whatever she wanted, her would get it for her. But she did adore him, and couldn't picture life without him. They had been married five years prior to Moira's current situation. She had only been nineteen at the time. Most people saw her as a gold digger, and many of her husband's wealthy friends shunned her. But her time married to him had been the happiest of her life, she adored him as much as he did her.
She had been unable to attend his funeral. She had been arrested so soon after her husband's death, and charged with his murder. The trial had been quick. She pleaded not guilty, and hoped for mercy. But she didn't get it. She was found guilty and sentenced to death by the electric chair. She had tried to appeal, but it was quickly denied. Since she had arrived at murderer's row, she hadn't been outside. The last seven months she had been confined to the four walls of her cell, only being allowed out to go to the shower and see the doctor every few weeks. Though there were two beds in the cell, she was the only one in there. She was the only woman in the death house, the only woman on murderer's row.
Only a short time ago, she had been wearing the latest fashions, dripping in diamonds and furs. Now, she was wearing a plain gray prison dress that buttoned up. She always left the top few buttons undone, exposing the lace lining of her black slip. She wore black stockings and plain black flat shoes. She had long ago accepted the fact that she was going to die in the electric chair. She had cried herself to sleep during her first few nights in prison, after she was sentence. but then she came to the realization that crying wouldn't do anything. She had since accepted that she was going to die. Since then, she had tried to prepare herself so that she could die with dignity, instead of scared, kicking and screaming. She wasn't going to go looking embarrassed.
Yesterday had been her final doctor's appointment. Along with the sleeping pills, he had given her a medical examination to make sure that she was fit to be executed. He deemed that she was and she had been moved from her cell on murderer's row, to the death cell. She had spent the night in a room next to the one that she would die in. She had seen men come into this room many times before. She found it so grim that once a prisoner went through those doors, they would not be seen alive by anyone there again. The man who had the cell across from her told her that she would be the first woman to die in the 'old sparky' in the state. That was something that invoked more fear in her. As much as she had accepted that she was to die, she was still scared. She didn't know why, but the fact that she would be the first woman to die in 'old sparky' was so frightening for her. Perhaps it was because it was far more rare for a woman to be executed than it was for men. Women, especially women killers, always had more high profile cases.
It was eight in the morning, and her execution was scheduled for midnight. She had told the matrons that she didn't want any last meal, or any meal in general. She just wanted it all to be over. She hated prison, she felt so much guilt over her husband's death. She knew that nobody thought she had any love for him, but he was the love of her life, even if he had been fifty-four and she had been nineteen when the two of them married. She didn't mean to kill him, it was an accident, but she felt like she had needed to be punished for that. She had taken the life of a man who had been so good to her and who had shown her nothing but kindness, who had given her anything she wanted and asked for little in return.
Moira had spent the morning in the death cell alone throughout the morning. She had no contact with anyone, but through the doors to the death chamber, she could hear the final preparations being made. She didn't know exactly what they were doing, but she heard scuffling coming from inside. It wasn't until one in the afternoon when a man came in. He was dressed like the prison doctor, wearing a grey suit and a white lab coat. But Moira knew the prison doctor and this man wasn't him. He had her sit on the wooden chair in the cell as he trimmed and shaved a small patch of dark brown hair off of her head. The rest of the hair was left as it was, in the short curly bob that was in fashion.
He also allowed her to shave her legs, something she had missed while she was in prison. She knew that all that really needed to be shaved was her left calve for the electrode, but he had been nice enough to allow her to have the entirety of both her legs shaved. It was a nice, last comfort for her to run her hands up and down her legs and feel the smoothness of it all. It helped to take her mind off of the fate that awaited her. After she had done that, she decided not to put her stockings back on, knowing she couldn't wear them on the chair. At this point, she was just eager to get it over with. She was terrified, but the waiting was horrible. She just wanted it to end. The wait was worse for her at this point. The pain of the chair wouldn't last. It would be over soon enough. The wait was longer than the actual death.
She had seven months to herself to contemplate her fate, to worry about the afterlife, whether she would be granted an eternal paradise, and be reunited with her husband, or if she would be damned for all eternity. Or perhaps she would be met with nothing. Just black. That was what Moira hoped for. That would be most relaxing for her to deal with. There would be no worry for her like that. At about seven o'clock that evening, a priest came. She had almost sent him away. She didn't think he knew any more about the after life than she did. But as an after thought, she told him to stay. And he did, he entered her cell and sat next to her on the cot.
"Our Father, who art in Heaven..."
"No," Moira said, cutting him off. It sounded much harsher than she intended it to. "I'm sorry, Father. I didn't mean to sound like that. Please, I don't want to hear that. Can you please just sit with me for a little while? No prayers, no confessions, just quiet."
"If you wish, my child," said the priest. "But the Lord will forgive you, if you ask for it."
"I prayed last night before I went to bed, Father," said Moira. She didn't want to sound rude, but she wished for silence. For his comfort in her final hours. "If there is a God, He knows how I'm truly sorry for what I've done. Not just Thomas' death, any other wrongs I've done in my life. Now, can we please just sit in silence."
The priest said nothing but from the corner of her eye, Moira saw that he nodded. She let out a small sigh of relief, glad that she would have the comfort she desired, as well as the silence she desired.
Over the next few hours, he complied with her wishes and stayed quiet. They two sat there in silence, and Lola found that sitting in his presence was a great comfort to her. She felt herself remain calm as he was with her. She was no longer afraid to die, she excepted her fate. After those few hours of waiting with the priest, a group came to her cell. It was the warden, two officers, and two matrons. They all wore solemn expressions, and Moira knew that it was time to go to her destiny. Moira stood, her legs shaking. The priest helped steady her.
The warden opened the cell door and an officer the steel handcuffs around Moira's slender wrists. The officer grabbed her elbow and began leading her out of the cell, towards the door at the end of the hall.
They began walking towards the end of the hall, and Moira heard the clicking of her shoes against the floor. Time seemed to stand still and move far too fast at the same time for Moira. She walked with shaking steps. She had thought she was well prepared, she thought that she was ready for this. But she was scared. The priest began reciting the Lord's prayer once more, "Our Father, who art in Heaven, Hallowed be Thy name..." This time, Moira didn't tell him to stop. Everything around her seemed to fade away, leaving only the door to the execution chamber.
The warden stepped forward and opened the door to the execution chamber, and right in front of her, was the electric chair. It was made of wood, it was on a raised platform, and the straps hung off of it. The sight made her freeze. The guard holding her gave her a moment, and when she didn't move, he gently pulled her along.
As she stepped into the execution chamber, Moira saw the witnesses, in a separate room with windows. All of them were men. To her other side, in the chamber were to other men. One was standing by the switch, a sight witch made Lola shiver. The other was the prison doctor, who would pronounce her dead. Moira tried not to focus on them, but the only other thing for her to focus on was the electric chair. Moira took small slow steps to the chair. She was happy they weren't rushing her.
She made it to the seat and she turned around. The officer holding her arm undid the handcuffs and gestured for her to sit down. Moira didn't resist. She slowly but hesitantly sat down and rested her arms on the arm of the chair. The two guards began to strap her in. The one who brought her in tightened the strap on her left leg, right wrist, and across her waist. The other one strapped in her left leg, left wrist and across her chest, above her breasts.
On her left leg, she felt something. She looked down and saw the electrode being attached to her leg. She let out a soft whimper and turned her head, looking straight forward. All she saw was the door she had entered from. A door she would never leave. Then the electrode was placed on her head and strapped under her chin. One of the guards stepped away, but another, the one who sent her in, stayed close by.
"Moira Adams," the warden began, "you have been convicted of murder and sentenced to death by the passing of electricity through your body. Do you have anything to say before the sentence is passed?"
"I'm sorry, Tom," said Moira. Her voice was quiet and barely above a whisper.
The warden turned to the guard and the guard walked over to the chair. Moira's wide eyes turned to him and she saw something made of leather and her vision was completely blocked out. The mas covered her face and eyes, leaving only a hole for her nose.
She was all alone now as she heard the guard walk away. She couldn't see anything, save for the tiniest bit of light coming through the nose hole. A few tears fell from her eyes and she could feel herself trembling. The waiting seemed to take forever, only adding to her fear.
She heard the flip of the switch. She didn't have time to react by the time she felt the shock go through her. It was painful, but it was fast and she slumped over in the chair, not dead, but unconscious. She was lucky to be spared the humiliation of her bladder releasing. She didn't feel anything. Her skin was red and burnt, smoke coming from her head. She didn't know that the second shock was coming. And that second shock finished her off. She slumped over in the chair once more. The doctor waited a few moments before the smoke cleared before he went to look her over. He placed his stethoscope over her heart.
"Dead."
To her surprise, Moira had woken up feeling like she had the best night sleep of her life. Perhaps it was the sleeping pills that the doctor had given her. She had told him that she had barely had any sleep for the seven months she had been at the death house, as it was called, due to housing the prison's electric chair, as well as murder's row, those who were to die in that chair. He had offered to give her so sleeping pills the day before, during a medical examination, so that her last night's sleep would be her best night's sleep. She had taken two pills, as he was only allowed to give her two. Prisoners were never allowed to have bottles of any medication, for fear they might try to do the job of the electric chair.
Moira had slept terribly since the day of her arrest for murdering her husband. She hadn't meant to. It was a stupid mistake that would cost her her life. She had been married to a wealthy doctor, thirty-five years older than her, and he left her all of his money when he died, and those factors did not help her case. Her husband was ill, and Moira, being the adoring wife that she was, gladly tended to his every need. He told her that there was a medication in the cabinet, and he told her to mix it into his tea. Moira had followed all of his instruction, but he passed away not even ten minutes after drinking it. Lola had immediately called the ambulance, and an autopsy had shown that it wasn't his illness that killed him, it was cyanide poisoning.
When she found out that not only had her husband been poisoned, but she had been the one to do it, she sunk to her knees. She didn't cry, and that had been used against her as well. Though the reason she didn't cry, was due to how shocked she was by this whole ordeal. She couldn't wrap her head around the fact that she had accidentally killed her husband. She had been rather poor when the two of them met, and they had married after only six months of knowing each other. Despite that, the two of them were very happy together. Her husband, Thomas Adams, indulged her every whim, he bought her whatever she wanted no matter the price. Diamonds, furs, and expensive nights out, whatever she wanted, her would get it for her. But she did adore him, and couldn't picture life without him. They had been married five years prior to Moira's current situation. She had only been nineteen at the time. Most people saw her as a gold digger, and many of her husband's wealthy friends shunned her. But her time married to him had been the happiest of her life, she adored him as much as he did her.
She had been unable to attend his funeral. She had been arrested so soon after her husband's death, and charged with his murder. The trial had been quick. She pleaded not guilty, and hoped for mercy. But she didn't get it. She was found guilty and sentenced to death by the electric chair. She had tried to appeal, but it was quickly denied. Since she had arrived at murderer's row, she hadn't been outside. The last seven months she had been confined to the four walls of her cell, only being allowed out to go to the shower and see the doctor every few weeks. Though there were two beds in the cell, she was the only one in there. She was the only woman in the death house, the only woman on murderer's row.
Only a short time ago, she had been wearing the latest fashions, dripping in diamonds and furs. Now, she was wearing a plain gray prison dress that buttoned up. She always left the top few buttons undone, exposing the lace lining of her black slip. She wore black stockings and plain black flat shoes. She had long ago accepted the fact that she was going to die in the electric chair. She had cried herself to sleep during her first few nights in prison, after she was sentence. but then she came to the realization that crying wouldn't do anything. She had since accepted that she was going to die. Since then, she had tried to prepare herself so that she could die with dignity, instead of scared, kicking and screaming. She wasn't going to go looking embarrassed.
Yesterday had been her final doctor's appointment. Along with the sleeping pills, he had given her a medical examination to make sure that she was fit to be executed. He deemed that she was and she had been moved from her cell on murderer's row, to the death cell. She had spent the night in a room next to the one that she would die in. She had seen men come into this room many times before. She found it so grim that once a prisoner went through those doors, they would not be seen alive by anyone there again. The man who had the cell across from her told her that she would be the first woman to die in the 'old sparky' in the state. That was something that invoked more fear in her. As much as she had accepted that she was to die, she was still scared. She didn't know why, but the fact that she would be the first woman to die in 'old sparky' was so frightening for her. Perhaps it was because it was far more rare for a woman to be executed than it was for men. Women, especially women killers, always had more high profile cases.
It was eight in the morning, and her execution was scheduled for midnight. She had told the matrons that she didn't want any last meal, or any meal in general. She just wanted it all to be over. She hated prison, she felt so much guilt over her husband's death. She knew that nobody thought she had any love for him, but he was the love of her life, even if he had been fifty-four and she had been nineteen when the two of them married. She didn't mean to kill him, it was an accident, but she felt like she had needed to be punished for that. She had taken the life of a man who had been so good to her and who had shown her nothing but kindness, who had given her anything she wanted and asked for little in return.
Moira had spent the morning in the death cell alone throughout the morning. She had no contact with anyone, but through the doors to the death chamber, she could hear the final preparations being made. She didn't know exactly what they were doing, but she heard scuffling coming from inside. It wasn't until one in the afternoon when a man came in. He was dressed like the prison doctor, wearing a grey suit and a white lab coat. But Moira knew the prison doctor and this man wasn't him. He had her sit on the wooden chair in the cell as he trimmed and shaved a small patch of dark brown hair off of her head. The rest of the hair was left as it was, in the short curly bob that was in fashion.
He also allowed her to shave her legs, something she had missed while she was in prison. She knew that all that really needed to be shaved was her left calve for the electrode, but he had been nice enough to allow her to have the entirety of both her legs shaved. It was a nice, last comfort for her to run her hands up and down her legs and feel the smoothness of it all. It helped to take her mind off of the fate that awaited her. After she had done that, she decided not to put her stockings back on, knowing she couldn't wear them on the chair. At this point, she was just eager to get it over with. She was terrified, but the waiting was horrible. She just wanted it to end. The wait was worse for her at this point. The pain of the chair wouldn't last. It would be over soon enough. The wait was longer than the actual death.
She had seven months to herself to contemplate her fate, to worry about the afterlife, whether she would be granted an eternal paradise, and be reunited with her husband, or if she would be damned for all eternity. Or perhaps she would be met with nothing. Just black. That was what Moira hoped for. That would be most relaxing for her to deal with. There would be no worry for her like that. At about seven o'clock that evening, a priest came. She had almost sent him away. She didn't think he knew any more about the after life than she did. But as an after thought, she told him to stay. And he did, he entered her cell and sat next to her on the cot.
"Our Father, who art in Heaven..."
"No," Moira said, cutting him off. It sounded much harsher than she intended it to. "I'm sorry, Father. I didn't mean to sound like that. Please, I don't want to hear that. Can you please just sit with me for a little while? No prayers, no confessions, just quiet."
"If you wish, my child," said the priest. "But the Lord will forgive you, if you ask for it."
"I prayed last night before I went to bed, Father," said Moira. She didn't want to sound rude, but she wished for silence. For his comfort in her final hours. "If there is a God, He knows how I'm truly sorry for what I've done. Not just Thomas' death, any other wrongs I've done in my life. Now, can we please just sit in silence."
The priest said nothing but from the corner of her eye, Moira saw that he nodded. She let out a small sigh of relief, glad that she would have the comfort she desired, as well as the silence she desired.
Over the next few hours, he complied with her wishes and stayed quiet. They two sat there in silence, and Lola found that sitting in his presence was a great comfort to her. She felt herself remain calm as he was with her. She was no longer afraid to die, she excepted her fate. After those few hours of waiting with the priest, a group came to her cell. It was the warden, two officers, and two matrons. They all wore solemn expressions, and Moira knew that it was time to go to her destiny. Moira stood, her legs shaking. The priest helped steady her.
The warden opened the cell door and an officer the steel handcuffs around Moira's slender wrists. The officer grabbed her elbow and began leading her out of the cell, towards the door at the end of the hall.
They began walking towards the end of the hall, and Moira heard the clicking of her shoes against the floor. Time seemed to stand still and move far too fast at the same time for Moira. She walked with shaking steps. She had thought she was well prepared, she thought that she was ready for this. But she was scared. The priest began reciting the Lord's prayer once more, "Our Father, who art in Heaven, Hallowed be Thy name..." This time, Moira didn't tell him to stop. Everything around her seemed to fade away, leaving only the door to the execution chamber.
The warden stepped forward and opened the door to the execution chamber, and right in front of her, was the electric chair. It was made of wood, it was on a raised platform, and the straps hung off of it. The sight made her freeze. The guard holding her gave her a moment, and when she didn't move, he gently pulled her along.
As she stepped into the execution chamber, Moira saw the witnesses, in a separate room with windows. All of them were men. To her other side, in the chamber were to other men. One was standing by the switch, a sight witch made Lola shiver. The other was the prison doctor, who would pronounce her dead. Moira tried not to focus on them, but the only other thing for her to focus on was the electric chair. Moira took small slow steps to the chair. She was happy they weren't rushing her.
She made it to the seat and she turned around. The officer holding her arm undid the handcuffs and gestured for her to sit down. Moira didn't resist. She slowly but hesitantly sat down and rested her arms on the arm of the chair. The two guards began to strap her in. The one who brought her in tightened the strap on her left leg, right wrist, and across her waist. The other one strapped in her left leg, left wrist and across her chest, above her breasts.
On her left leg, she felt something. She looked down and saw the electrode being attached to her leg. She let out a soft whimper and turned her head, looking straight forward. All she saw was the door she had entered from. A door she would never leave. Then the electrode was placed on her head and strapped under her chin. One of the guards stepped away, but another, the one who sent her in, stayed close by.
"Moira Adams," the warden began, "you have been convicted of murder and sentenced to death by the passing of electricity through your body. Do you have anything to say before the sentence is passed?"
"I'm sorry, Tom," said Moira. Her voice was quiet and barely above a whisper.
The warden turned to the guard and the guard walked over to the chair. Moira's wide eyes turned to him and she saw something made of leather and her vision was completely blocked out. The mas covered her face and eyes, leaving only a hole for her nose.
She was all alone now as she heard the guard walk away. She couldn't see anything, save for the tiniest bit of light coming through the nose hole. A few tears fell from her eyes and she could feel herself trembling. The waiting seemed to take forever, only adding to her fear.
She heard the flip of the switch. She didn't have time to react by the time she felt the shock go through her. It was painful, but it was fast and she slumped over in the chair, not dead, but unconscious. She was lucky to be spared the humiliation of her bladder releasing. She didn't feel anything. Her skin was red and burnt, smoke coming from her head. She didn't know that the second shock was coming. And that second shock finished her off. She slumped over in the chair once more. The doctor waited a few moments before the smoke cleared before he went to look her over. He placed his stethoscope over her heart.
"Dead."
excellent story I would probably wear socks if that was me but you know I just love socked or stocking feet giggle.
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