The Thackery T. Lambshead Cabinet of Curiosities

by Vandermeer, Jeff

  Ichor Whorl—Small, coarse, black object suspended in a yet-to-be-analyzed solution. Object is variable in size—averaging one cubic inch—and vortical in shape. Date of manufacture unknown. Lambshead journal fragment 729 notes the item’s place of origin as “a polluted shoreline of a former Soviet republic.” Dr. Lambshead sent the item to Tillinghast Laboratories, which provided the following report: “Keep organic matter one meter from contents. Empirical tests reveal living tissue placed within one meter is remotely hollowed (by undetermined means) to the limit of solidity without liquefying. Spectroscopic results inconclusive. Presence of organic matter within one-meter orbit is accompanied by slight phase change in object, from solid to non-Newtonian fluid, and extension of one spiral arm to three centimeters covered in half-centimeter protrusions. Authorization for further tests required.” Donated to Dr. Lambshead by Maximilian Crabbe, 1989. (Ben Woodward)

  Rikki Ducornet’s still-life mug shots, drawn from her encounters with disgruntled artifacts

  Jug, Disgruntled, et al.—A series of cabinet artifacts, generally from antiquity, depicting human facial features that appear to differ in expression following the cabinet fire, based on records of their expressions prior to the fire. While the catalyst for the change may be apparent, the agency is not. (Art by Rikki Ducornet)

  Kepler the Clock—Franz Kepler’s rigorous attention to his many appointments made him susceptible to Chronometrophilia. Initially, the disease manifested in twitches of his right hand, as if he were reaching for a pocket watch. Had he sought treatment then, he may have been cured. But Kepler had no time for illness. Gradually, his features began to resemble a clock face. Within a month, his moustache would rotate to indicate the time. When his legs became mahogany, he adjusted by scheduling meetings in his office, ensuring none would fall on the hour, whereupon he would utter a loud “bong.” One Monday, Kepler’s colleagues arrived at work to find a grandfather clock behind his desk. Dr. Lambshead purchased the clock some years later from a private collector. Kepler is, we assume, still alive. He keeps excellent time and should continue to do so if he is regularly wound. (Grant Stone)

  The map for creating an Assassin’s Twist (plot twist included).

  Kris (“The Assassin’s Twist”)—A kris whose every turn and twist on the blade is supposed to inflict a certain wound or an affliction upon the victim. However, unlike in all other krises, the twists in this one have been forged in a way that any attack by the tip or part of the blade will surely kill the target, yet when the large kris is pushed into one’s body up to the hilt, it will leave the person alive (owing to a secret twist devised on the blade below the hilt). This geometric weapon increases the assassin’s chance of killing the target (for even a single scratch would be enough) yet introduces a final plot twist to the weapon by leaving the target alive once it is pushed up to its hilt to the body. (Incognitum)

  Leary’s Pineal Body—This epiphysis cerebri was pickled in vivo by the late American psychologist most famous for his mantra “Turn on, tune in, drop out.” Dr. Leary opened gates heretofore unknown beyond the speculations of H. P. Lovecraft, and this gland is noteworthy for its ability to have survived multiple encounters with beings from beyond—and otherwise. Research is pending on a way to safely experiment on it; the Stanford Asylum has a special wing for those who have attempted, to date. (Kaolin Imago Fire)

  Mellified Alien—The enlarged head and oversized eyes of this diminutive, mummified humanoid creature would indicate that it is of the Grey type of extraterrestrial. That it has been preserved in honey is clear. What is less clear is if it feasted upon, willingly or unwillingly, “the golden stuff,” before it died. For only if it had ingested honey in sufficient quantities over a number of days would its remains be truly mellified and impart their healing properties to whoever had been nibbling on it. The application of forensic dentistry may confirm the conjecture that this sweet confection once belonged to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle before coming into Dr. Lambshead’s possession. (Julie Andrews)

  Mooney & Finch Somnotrope—These sleep simulators (pictured on page 301) have become rare artifacts; even though they were mass-produced in the Mooney & Finch Sheffield facility, each one of them emerged as a unique object due to the pressures of the oneiric centrifuge. However, they were only sold for three months, prior to the first reports of somnambulance addiction and peripatetic insomnia. The idea of experiencing four or five hours of sleep within a mere few minutes held almost unlimited allure for the world’s busiest captains of industry and harried matrons. But few were prepared for the intoxication of the Somnotrope’s soothing buzz, the sheer pleasure of watching its central piston raise and lower, gently at first and then with increasing vigor, until your mind flooded with dream fragments and impression of having sailed to the nether kingdom and back, all in a few minutes. It only took a few unfortunate deaths for the whole line to be recalled. (Charlie Jane Anders)

  Mother of Spirits—Drab olive in color, with copper flecking, this three-inch-long sessile organism resembles a desiccated asparagus spear mated with a tiny artichoke. Once rehydrated in a suitable measure of clean water, it manifests a most peculiar phenomenon. When placed into a vessel containing fermented alcoholic beverage—beer, wine, mead, etc.—the Mother of Spirits catalyzes a secondary fermentation up to 120 proof (provided sufficient sugars are available). The Mother extrudes rootlike growth during this process, which can last several months, and it is speculated these function in a symbiotic relationship with residual yeasts to effect the unusually high secondary fermentation. Daughters form at the root nodes once alcohol content surpasses 50 percent, as the Mother is spent during the process. The resulting liquor is of fine quality, but a distinct aroma and flavor of cilantro renders it unpalatable to some. (Jayme Lynne Blaschke)

  Ron Pippin’s optimistic vision of the Much Smaller Cabinet’s contents.

  Much Smaller Cabinet—This miniature cabinet is a duplicate of Dr. Lambshead’s in nearly every respect, a 1/1000th-scale model incorporating scorch marks and splintered frame down to the smallest detail. A single variation: the door remains locked. The doctor dropped the diminutive key in his squid tank and failed to retrieve it before Longfellow’s greedy tentacles snatched it from view. Peering through the keyhole—itself no wider than the head of a pin, with no room to spare for dancing angels or other divine revelers—one can glimpse a mere hint of the curios stored inside. Perhaps someday a scholar of all things underestimated will write a short story seeking to describe and comprehend the dwarf contents. (Paul Kirsch)

  The Steampunk Workshop/Jake von Slatt re-build of a Mooney & Finch Somnotrope

  Night Quilt, American—A notable example of a hand-stitched night quilt featuring unusual subject matter: smallpox, penury, and death by hanging. The thread and dye indicate the quilt originated in the small farming communities of east-central Wisconsin around 1850.

  The quilt was purchased during the 1902 decommissioning of Lake Covenant Church near Oostburg, Wisconsin. “Absolutely no return” is handwritten on the receipt. Two newspaper articles are attached to the receipt. The first, from the July 19, 1871, Plymouth Herald, reports on the acquittal of Samuel Ronde in his trial for the brutal murder of the Denne family in Oostburg and his unlikely escape from mob justice following his release. The second article is from the November 13, 1871, issue of the Sheboygan Courier. In reporting the great Peshtigo fire the previous month, the article reports that one S. Ronde, lately of Oostburg, is among those missing since the conflagration.

  All three of the quilt’s existing panels show exquisite and extensive detailing and remain in remarkable condition. Based on cut work, threading, and style, each of the panels was created by a different family member. The quilt’s blue border is worked with alternating white stars and black circles, probably by the creator of the third panel.

  In clockwise order, the appliqué panels show: first, a naked boy, covered in small sores, asleep atop a rough pine bed. The bed covering in the panel is worked with mi
niature red versions of the stars and circles that line the quilt’s borders.

  Second, a blond man at night, his felt pockets turned inside-out, standing in a fallow field. He appears to be holding a jug. A plow with empty traces is visible in the background. There is a waning quarter-moon visible in the night sky, but no stars.

  Third, the same blond man from panel two, hanging from a leafless tree. On the right side of this panel, three women (wearing matching red bonnets) weep vibrant cloth tears. On the left side of the panel, a stout preacher wearing a black felt hat watches. What appears to be a sliver of moon is visible through the tree branches. Again, there are no stars.

  The fourth panel is missing. (Tom Underberg)

  Oneyroscope—A device designed by French inventor Louis Lumière after the invention of the cinematograph. His purpose was to record dream experiences, showing them on a screen, like motion pictures. Lumière’s brother, Auguste, was the first subject of the experiment, and there is a silent movie directed by George Méliès registering the entire process. In the film, August Lumière is lying on his bed wearing a steel helmet on his head, connected by a bunch of wires to a strange machine operated by his own brother. Behind them, a silver screen is showing us what he’s dreaming: a flock of clay pigeons flying underwater. On April 15, 1900, the first public demonstration of a prototype Oneyroscope was given at the Exposition Universelle held in Paris, France, becoming a huge success. At the time, Sigmund Freud, the father of the psychoanalysis, reportedly said that the Oneyroscope could be “the most revolutionary discovery in history.” (Ignacio Sanz)

  “Our Greatest President,” Reel 3—A single reel of film with a yellowing, typewritten label that reads OUR GREATEST PRESIDENT—1939—REEL 3 OF 5. Notable for its size (38 millimeter instead of the standard 35 millimeter), the aging film is of interest for two other reasons. First, the movie features performances by Sarah Bernhardt, Marilyn Monroe, and someone who bears a striking resemblance to Steve Guttenberg. Second, and most intriguing, the plot of the movie seems to revolve around America’s seventh president: a man called Ronald Smith Washington, purportedly the son of George Washington. The third reel tracks his last term in office and his struggle against the Japanese in the War of 1812. Despite the strange nature of the film’s content, preliminary lab results have indicated the reel itself is consistent with other prints from the late 1930s. The other four reels have yet to surface. (Tucker Cummings)

  Reversed Commas (box of)—The ordinary comma creates pauses in text; it logically follows that the reversed comma gives prose a push, accelerating it sometimes beyond the point of breathlessness into a blur or scream. A full box of these extremely rare punctuation marks turned up inside a volume on the laws of motion: the pages of that tome had been cut away to make a secret hollow space sufficiently large to securely hold the box. Dr. Lambshead does not remember how the book and thus the box came into his possession. He once sprinkled a handful of reversed commas into a copy of the Highway Code: the text immediately broke its own laws by exceeding the mandatory speed-limit in an urban zone. Reversed commas are more properly known as ammocs, hence the phrase “to run ammoc.” Serious attempts to create interstellar engines by composing entire books exclusively with reversed commas are destined to fail: nothing can exceed the speed of lightheartedness. (Rhys Hughes)

  Sea Scroll, The—A live spiny eel (Mastacembelus mastacembelus) 40 centimeters long, the Sea Scroll has puzzled mystics and biologists alike. The scales’ coloration and shape produce visible text in Akkadian cuneiform; more unusual yet, the fish continues to flop about in its small glass-and-teak aquarium, apparently unhindered by the absence of water and food for some years. Somehow imperishable, the eel shows no sign of age or illness, apart from its atypically molting scales. The message it bears changes regularly as new scales grow, attested to by accompanying diaries with nine centuries of transcriptions. The text has proven untranslatable thus far into Akkadian or any other language, and marginalia indicate that previous owners believed the writing was a divinely encrypted mystery time might uncover. Dr. Lambshead offers a different conjecture: “What if,” the last entry in the notes reads, “the fish is merely illiterate?” (Hugh Alter)

  Silence, One Ounce—Origins unknown. Found amongst the possessions of the recently deceased Frank Hayes, thirty-four, who tragically lost his life when he stepped in front of a public bus that failed to stop. Its provenance is thought to include M. Twain, W. Wilson, and the Marquis de Sade. Handle with care, not to be administered more than one drop at a time. Silence is golden, but too much will kill you. (Willow Holster)

  Skull—Human, probably male. Physically unremarkable. Attached tag reads B. S. LONDON, 20/4/1912. The skull appears normal in all respects except during the new moon of every month, when it screams uncontrollably. (Amy Willats)

  A Decadent-era example from Lambshead’s prodigious and largely anonymous skull collection.

  Skull, Parsimonious—The foul-smelling skull of a large owl, albeit with three eye-sockets, reputed to be of sentimental value to the doctor because of his dear departed mother’s fondness for owls, particularly those possessing unusual congenital characteristics. Tufted with feathers and a patch of moldering owl flesh, the skull was lost on the moorlands of Tasmania after Lambshead’s porter, a drunkard named Hendrick Carmichael, gambled it away on a wager with an unnamed fellow traveler. According to Carmichael’s widow, the skull answered yes/no questions with astonishing accuracy and foresight, blinking with eerie illumination from within, once for yes and twice for no; this amounted to a useful basis for gambling and drinking games. Found unharmed in Lambshead’s cabinet neatly wrapped in a pair of striped shorts thought to belong to legendary pugilist Gerald Jenkins, known to be on walkabout in Australia at the time of the doctor’s travels to Tasmania. (Tracie Welser)

  South American Insult Stone—This item came into the doctor’s possession by way of his drawing-room window, through which the stone was hurled one evening. Six inches in diameter and almost perfectly spherical, one side of the stone had been carved into a stylized face reminiscent of Incan art. Upon picking up the stone, Dr. Lambshead was greeted by a voice emanating from within, which addressed him gruffly and at length in an obscure South American dialect, centuries dead. Transcribing and translating the words took over a week. It turned out that the stone had, in fact, been insulting the doctor, calling into question both his parentage and personal hygiene, among other things. Though the stone had obviously been thrown by a rival or malcontent, Dr. Lambshead was far too enamored of the device to dispose of it. (Nicholas Troy)

  St. Blaise’s Toad—A 6-inch × 6-inch × 3-inch plastered and gilded wood, glass-and-taxidermied common toad. Referred to as “the miracle of the toad.” In 1431, a vision of St. Blaise appeared to a farm boy catching toads near a spring in Bromley, Kent. The saint called upon the boy to be kind to all amphibians. After the vision, an image of St. Blaise appeared on the back of a toad near the edge of the pool. The creature was skinned, stuffed, and enshrined by the church. This gilded toad reliquary was decommissioned by the church during the Calvinist reformation. The toad remained in the collection of Rawsthorne Family of Denbies Hall, Dorking, until won from Lord Rawsthorne by Dr. Lambshead in a game of skittles. Glass damaged in lower right corner resulting in mild molding and mouse damage to the epidermis. Papal seal on verso, canceled promissory note pasted on side. (Dr. Galubrious)

  The St. Blais Toad at rest, as photographed by Dr. Galubrious.

  Tomb-Matches—Half a dozen square-stick lucifers, secured in a waxed-paper wrapping. The attached card indicates, in slightly shaky, faded handwriting, that these matches, when struck, produce not light, nor a means of igniting a cigarette, pipe, candle, or lamp, but instead a bloom of impenetrable, sound-muffling darkness. This darkness lasts for as long as the match burns. If, the card notes, members of the match-striker’s party are missing when the light returns, it is only to be expected. (Nadine Wilson)

  Tycho’s Astronomical Support
Garment—Designed by the sixteenth-century astronomer Tycho Brahe (1546–1601) as a device to combat chronic neck and back pain caused by years of stooping over observational instruments. The garment resembles an oversized corset stiffened by stays of horn, buckram, and whalebone. The center front is further reinforced by a busk made of ivory. The garment was fastened to the body via a complicated system of leather straps. How this was done remains a subject of controversy, as it is not obvious how certain straps were used. Tycho was not wearing the garment on October 13, 1601, when his bladder burst after he drank too much wine at a dinner party, which resulted in his eventual death. It is not clear that the abdominal support afforded by the garment could have prevented this tragedy. (Steven M. Schmidt)

  Unhcegila’s Scales—Vacillating between sickly virescent and rotted plum hues, these peculiar lamina are rumored to be found in the darkest corners of the North American Badlands’ caverns. Thirty were found in Lambshead’s cabinet, with each being roughly the size of a fig leaf. He said that he won them in a poker game with a hand of aces and eights in the Berlin Hellfire Club on April 28, 1945. The graybeard he won them from claimed to be the bastard son of Jesse James and said that he stole them from Bill Hickock as a boy. Hickock had told the boy that Sitting Bull gave them to him when they toured together in Buffalo Bill’s Wild West shows. The scales are said to allow a man to make his enemies mysteriously disappear, when ground up and put into their food or drink. Curiously, his ledger shows he sold some to gangsters with connections to both Jimmy Hoffa and Elvis. (Christopher Begley)