by Peter Rawlik
I had apparently been too absorbed in my work, for in March Miss Soames chastised me for failing to notice that someone new had moved onto the street. I had never been much for socializing with my neighbors, the nature of my secret experiments was not conducive to such casual acquaintances; and the relationship I had with Peaslee and any of his family had long since ceased after Peaslee had recovered from his affliction. Soames knew that I was not very personable, but she also knew that certain modes of decorum had to be conformed to. The neighborhood doctor simply had to introduce himself to the two new bachelors who had moved in down the street.
I put off the visit for a few days, but eventually became annoyed with Soames’ periodic badgering, and one fine Saturday morning I wandered down the street to give my regards. From a distance it was obvious that they were still in the process of moving in, for boxes and crates of all sizes, some bearing familiar markings, littered the front lawn. As I drew closer, the markings and shapes of the packing crates grew more familiar, and I soon recognized the brand of a local medical supply firm.
A house away I could hear voices that seemed startlingly familiar, and even though I could not place them, I was suddenly filled with a menacing foreboding and the overwhelming need to turn and flee. I could not, though. Something more powerful drew me forward, and with each step my desire to flee grew but my need to see grew as well. There was no denying this fearsome magnetic force and it drew me to my new neighbors like a moth to a flame. The voices grew louder, and just as I reached the edge of the property the two men who were in conversation appeared in the doorway and sauntered down the flagstones toward the pile of crates.
The sight of them broke whatever spell I had been subjected to, and I casually slipped behind a large elm to conceal my presence. I peeked around the trunk and watched surreptitiously as they maneuvered a large wooden crate up the path and through the door. The one man, the one with ebon hair and a subservient demeanor, I recognized immediately, and I cursed the day that I found it necessary to allow Dr. Daniel Cain to remain free. That the man had not been banished from the city and state for his monstrous acts and horrific medical experiments was wholly my fault, for it was I who had convinced the investigators that his written confession was the result of a drugged-induced hallucination. I had hoped that upon his release, free from the unholy bonds that linked him to Herbert West, Cain might have returned to his native Illinois. Instead, the years of servitude had apparently robbed Cain of any real capacity at self-motivation, and he had fallen back into familiar habits, remaining in Arkham and catering to the most meager and least discriminating of patients. What had suddenly possessed him to move into new more genteel accommodations, and on my own block for that matter, I could not immediately fathom.
It was only after the second man turned slightly that I understood why Cain was here. The slight figure that directed Cain as he carried the various crates into their new abode had changed since I had last seen him. His hair was no longer yellow but had for some reason turned shockingly white. As he moved about I could see that he had suffered some degree of physical trauma, for scars encircled his neck, wrists and shoulders. I thought at first that he must have suffered an injury during the war, but recalling Cain’s confession there was no mention of such an event. Not that it mattered much, and despite his change of appearance I had no doubt of the identity of the man who along with Daniel Cain now occupied the abode just a half of a block away from my own. As the two men returned to the interior of the house I caught sight of the sign that had recently been installed on the wall to the left, the sign that in its simplicity confirmed what I had already deduced. It was a simple wooden plaque, with four words painted in white that declared to the world a horror that most would not understand.
Cain and West, Physicians
The prospect of having these two monsters residing and practicing just yards from my own home filled me with dread. I had no desire to engage them socially, but knew that such an encounter was likely. What’s more, I also knew that those two were not likely to have abandoned their old practices, despite the fact that Cain had already confessed to a multitude of crimes including multiple murders and grave robbing. I had no doubt that the authorities were watching Cain, and had good reason to believe that if they acquired proof of West and Cain’s renewed activities, any investigation would surely expand to include my own practice and residence. Such inquiries were something I surely could not afford.
I considered a variety of options, and will not deny that the act of murder crossed my mind. Other less drastic measures, including trading places with White, closing down my offices on a temporary, or even permanent basis, were evaluated and also dismissed. In the end it seemed that I had little choice but to do as I had done so many years ago. I would shadow these two men, watch them and wait for an opportunity, and when it came I would inflict on them a wound so terrible that they would have no choice but to abandon Arkham and flee. At least, that was my plan.
Whatever had happened to West during his two-year hiatus had changed him and his understanding of medicine and the science of reanimation. Their nightly excursions took us, Cain and West in one car, and I in another, throughout the city and the county acquiring the bodies not only of humans but of animals as well, for not only did we haunt morgues, cemeteries and funeral homes, but stockyards, pet stores and zoological gardens as well. For weeks such material flowed into the basement laboratory that they had equipped, and although I never saw what they produced with such raw materials, the sounds that emanated from the cellar door hinted at things both marvelous and hideous. That none of this organic material ever left the house, while the furnace seemed to run constantly, suggested that West and Cain were not above routinely disposing of whatever they were creating.
Not that the two madmen were particularly cautious. For all their knowledge and medical skill, they were exceedingly sloppy and left a host of clues and trails in their wake, any of which could have easily led investigators back to the two of them. Knowing that if they were exposed I too was put at risk, I was faced with the unenviable task of cleaning up behind them. I swept away footprints and tire tracks left in sawdust, mud and grease. I destroyed receipts that documented their purchase of certain chemicals and equipment. When necessary, I called in false alarms to draw police away from wherever they were. On one occasion I even recovered Cain’s billfold containing not only his business card but his identification as well. I returned it to him by depositing it on the back porch of their residence in a location where he would assume he had dropped it as he and West left for their sojourn the night before.
I did these things, knowing full well that I was aiding the very people I had reason to despise. These men through their actions had killed my parents, assaulted dozens, committed crimes against natural and human laws, and through me could be blamed for the deaths of millions throughout the world, though I doubted they were aware of that particular fact. All these horrible things could be laid at their feet, and only a few others and I knew the truth. A good man would have done something about it, but somewhere along the line I had ceased being a good man. My need for vengeance had corrupted me, seduced me, and I had become immune to the morality of life, death and the strange undeath that we in our arrogance wielded. One day I would be free to reveal my reagent to the world, but until then I had to keep it a secret. West and Cain were no longer my nemeses, but rather bumbling fools who through their base actions and crude experiments might reveal my own purer goals before they were entirely congealed. Frustrated, I once more considered a plan of action and resolved myself to doing what I thought needed to be done.
Late one moonless night, one that was unseasonably warm for May, my two subjects casually left their residence and afforded me the opportunity that I had been waiting for. Carefully I climbed through an unlocked second-floor window and with care and speed made my way into their basement laboratory. I quickly found West’s logbook and scanned the most recent pages for the formula of his late
st batch of reagent. It was a satisfactory concoction, one that I had experimented with myself several years ago, and I could discern what West was trying to gain from this particular direction. Unfortunately, as West had noted, the formulation as it was led to a certain kind of instability in his subjects, and was prone to instances of rejection, particularly at the juncture of distinctive tissues. Thankfully, my own version showed none of the weaknesses inherent in West’s and as quickly as I could I went about emptying the contents of the prepared syringes and replacing them with my own formulation. After I finished, I retraced my steps and left the way I came in, secure in the knowledge that I had left no trace of my unauthorized visit. The whole excursion had taken me little more than thirty minutes, and it was easily another hour before West and Cain returned. Where they had been I was not sure, but it must have been nearby. After ascertaining that the streets were clear, the two opened the back doors of their sedan and with no great amount of care unloaded what, even though it was draped in a blanket, was clearly a body, though somewhat small in stature.
The lights of the basement burned brightly that evening, and through the dawn as well. I left soon after the sun rose, not because I believed that whatever the two were doing was completed, but rather because in the light of day I could no longer conceal myself from my neighbors and the tradesmen who would soon be arriving to carry out the business of the day. As I left I noticed a sign on the front door that announced that the practice was closed for the day, and wondered when either West or Cain had mounted it, and how I had missed it, even in the dark of the night.
Whatever they had accomplished that night, West remained out of sight for a week, although Cain actively saw patients. Late one night I watched as Cain carried what appeared to be the same slight body, wrapped in the same blanket, back out to the car and drove off with it. I followed him and was shocked when after a few minutes he slowed and casually parked the black sedan near the back entrance of the University’s museum of ancient history.
I quickly turned the corner, secreted my car on a side street, and dashed silently to a spot where I could observe Cain’s actions. Furtively, he unloaded the wrapped form and carried it easily onto a loading platform at the back of the museum. Even from a distance I could see the key that he produced from his vest pocket and then used to open the service door. I waited, and within twenty minutes was rewarded for my patience, for he emerged and scanned the streets before exiting the loading dock. Surprisingly, he was still carrying the blanket-wrapped form, though now he seemed less thoughtful, even careless in his manner. Once back at the sedan he opened the trunk and without much thought roughly deposited his burden in the cramped space.
Cain returned home, and was just as careless unloading the body as he had been at the museum, dragging it down the stairs by its feet and allowing it to bang against the runners and wall. After a few moments I heard the unmistakable sound of the furnace firing up, and soon smoke billowed from the stack on the roof. I left for home, concluding that whoever it was that had been hidden within the blanket had been fed to the flames and destroyed.
After a week of inactivity West reappeared, and was soon meeting with University officials both at his offices, and those of the Department of Ancient History. I made subtle inquiries and learned that West had volunteered to serve for several months as physician to one of the University’s many expeditions. In particular, he had expressed a desire to join the expedition that was continuing the excavation of a peculiar set of tombs in the deserts of Egypt. Several artifacts, including the sarcophagus and mummy of a hieratic sorcerer, had already been unearthed and were on display in the museum. That West had volunteered to pay his own passage served to assure that he would gain a position with the team.
West left Arkham during the middle of May, leaving Cain to maintain the illusion of their medical practice. I continued my nocturnal observations, but Cain showed no inclination towards solely undertaking the activities with which he regularly aided West. The man seemed generally incapable of even the most common of social activities. One afternoon I watched as he undertook what I considered to be a simple act of shopping for groceries. He seemed honestly confused on how to select produce and meat or even a loaf of bread. The more time I spent watching Cain, the more I realized how under West’s thumb he must be.
By mid-July, West had returned from Egypt, which apparently was a life-changing event. I watched as he moved around town, and even risked peering through windows into his house, and there was something changed about him. He was, if it was possible, even more arrogant than he had been before. He walked as if he had inherited the world, that Arkham itself belonged to him, and all those who resided within were his subjects, to do with as he pleased. At least that is how I saw him. What had motivated such a change I could not say, but I was determined to find out. If I understood West, such a change in behavior was the result of some perceived triumph. Perhaps he had made a breakthrough of some sort or another; perhaps he had made progress on his own reagent. I had to know.
One evening about a week after West had returned from Egypt I decided to spy on the two men as best I could. This was not going to be as easy as it had been when the two had occupied a remote farmhouse, to which I had a key. I had to wait until after dark and then most carefully secrete myself in the rear garden where I could watch them through the windows. Their behavior was almost normal; one would not have thought them monsters as they sat there eating dinner, washing dishes and listening to the radio. At one point Cain made a move toward the cellar, but West waved him off. Cain was puzzled at that, but did not argue with his partner. Instead he picked up the evening paper and perused it for a few moments. The paper must have been uninteresting, for soon Cain put it down, bade West goodnight, and then made his way down the hall to his room on the side of the house. I could see his silhouette through the curtain. He moved about for a few minutes, and then the light went out and I turned my attention back to West.
Dr. Herbert West sat listening to the radio and reading a book. Yet as I watched him, I realized that he was doing more than that, he was watching the clock. Every few minutes he would glance up and note the time. I found it very odd, worrisome even. Then, after about an hour, West carefully closed his book, stood up and walked toward the basement door. He opened it slowly and then slipped inside. I took the opportunity to move from the garden toward the foot of the window where I could get a better view. Just as I finished secreting myself, West returned. I knew that something was afoot, for in his hand he bore a syringe radiating green with the tell-tale luminosity of reanimation reagent. The emerald light of the compound cast an eerie glow across West’s face as he crossed the room and moved down the hall towards Cain.
I crept along the wall until I found myself beneath Cain’s window. There was a gap in the curtains, and light from the hallway allowed me to see West standing over Cain’s bed. He lunged forward and clasped his free hand around Cain’s throat. Cain woke with a start and struggled, but could not break free of his mentor’s grasp. I heard West mumble something, but the walls made whatever he said unintelligible. Cain’s body shuddered, ceased its struggles, and then became still. Dr. Herbert West had strangled his long-time companion Dr. Daniel Cain!
Yet as I sat there watching in horror, I knew what was to come. West lifted Cain’s head and plunged the syringe he carried deep into the soft spot at the base of the skull. Then, he withdrew and stepped back, a look of supreme confidence and satisfaction on his face. I watched, waiting for Cain to react, keeping time in my head. After ten seconds there had been no response, but West remained still. Twenty seconds, still nothing. Thirty seconds, and I glanced at West, hoping to see some semblance of concern cross his face, but there was nothing. Time crawled forward, unstoppable and uncaring. At forty-five seconds I stood up slowly, careful to keep out of the light. A minute passed, and finally I saw West take action, but it was only to check his pocket watch, and then take a step toward the body.
The bedroom erupt
ed in a horrific, ear-splitting scream that made me stumble back and fall to the earth. The curtains were suddenly ripped from the window and a pain-wracked body rose up from the bed to tower over West’s suddenly tiny form. It was screaming, thrashing about in agony. I saw West move forward, and then fly back against the wall like a rag doll. There was a grunting sound, like a pig rutting, and then the window exploded, sending shards of glass showering down on me, while the raging form flew past me and out of the garden. Daniel Cain had returned from the dead!
I climbed to my feet, threw off my glass-covered coat and dashed after the reanimated Cain. It was apparent that he had come back wrong, that West’s reagent had failed, that it was somehow insufficient to the task. Part of me wanted to run back and confront West, to demand he turn over his notes and admit his mistake, but I knew there were more pressing matters. Cain was moving down the street toward the University, and I was suddenly reminded of that night so many years ago when another of West’s creations had rampaged through this very neighborhood. This time, I was prepared to do something about it. Though it cost me precious time, I ran back to my house and retrieved my medical bag and the syringes full of my own version of the reagent, and the pistol I brought back from the war.
Honestly, I did not know what I was going to do. The gun might be useless, and I wasn’t sure what effect injecting a reanimated body with a second, albeit slightly different dose of reagent would have. Yet what were my choices? As I returned to the street, I could see the stumbling form of Cain in the distance. I ran after him, my feet pounding on the worn stones and echoing through the neighborhood. I wasn’t fast, but neither was the thing I was pursuing. In mere moments I had closed the distance between us, and left my own home blocks behind. Cain had turned down a side road, one lined with warehouses and tenements, and I could see I was just a block or so behind him.