The Cabinet of Dr Blessing (The Dr Blessing Collection Parts 1-3): A Gothic Victorian Horror Tale

by Rollins, Jack

  To his left he saw a man peering from the rooftops, four or five houses away.

  “You look like you need a doctor!” Blessing goaded from the roof.

  Charles wheezed and got to his feet. In a moment, he scrambled over the wall dividing Blessing’s yard from that of his neighbour. He stood on the neighbour’s coalhouse roof and drew his revolver.

  “What the hell are you doing?” The Bear yelled.

  Charles ignored him and watched as Blessing picked his way down the furthest drainpipe.

  The first shot cracked out, the report reverberating violently in the enclosed yards of the terrace. Brick dust burst from the wall above Blessing’s head.

  Charles took aim again, one eye squeezed shut, one eye wide open. He could see the panic in Blessing’s movement, sliding and scraping down the wall. The second shot roared out and again missed.

  Charles breathed deeply; in a moment, Blessing would be obscured by the yard wall. Charles knew that he could take the time to make the shot, but if he missed, Blessing could make good his escape. If he abandoned the idea of firing again, he might be able to race around the yards with enough time to catch his man.

  He fired. This time he heard the doctor yelp. The doctor fell a few feet and vanished behind the brick walls. A cacophony of glass striking glass met Charles’ ears. He put away his revolver and dropped from the coalhouse roof.

  Blessing’s neighbours peered at him from the windows. Charles wanted to tell them what a deviant had lived among them, endangering their lives with his secrets, but what could he tell until the secret was brought fully to light? He made his way from the yard with all haste and wanted to sprint along the lane to the end of the terrace, but his legs would not bear him quickly enough.

  By the end of the terrace, he limped and wheezed. He could see a trail of blood and another fluid leading to the end of the lane, around the corner and out onto the open street where he was obscured in the hustle and bustle.

  Blessing had escaped, but without his home, there were only a few places it seemed likely he would go. Only a few people it seemed he could trust. Charles collected himself and returned to The Bear, Freddy and the housemaid.

  Fifteen.

  Mary had carried herself with dignity through the reception of the Seraphim Hotel, covered with soot and reeking of smoke though she was. She cleaned up in her room and changed her clothes, restoring her respectability once more. Her cleansing had been rushed, though, as the documents she had taken from the clinic demanded her attention.

  From one of the journals, Mary caught a description of a young creature – a creature not known to most people, but only too familiar to her. The journal entry was dated almost three years ago. She wondered what size the creature was presently, if it was indeed alive.

  Reading through the weeks and months she found evidence of the doctor’s interactions with the creature and various measurements. It seemed that the creature was not feeding freely and as such had remained only very small. Some entries held more interest for her than others. She read:

  “Now sedate, and fastened securely to the table, she managed to struggle and evade my scalpel. Her evasion was so precise one could be convinced that this is evidence of some higher brain function, even beyond consciousness. It would appear to be a form of precognition. Since observing this behaviour, and since returning her to her jar, I have had time to wonder, and to grow concerned. How long will it be before she takes precautionary action against the chloroform gas I employ to subdue her? Thus far it is the only method I have of bringing her to heel.”

  Mary realised that she had been correct in her theory about the gas mechanism in the laboratory. She returned to the journal and fell upon another entry of interest:

  “I managed to extract some of the clear secretion from her fangs. When introduced to the bread, water and milk, ingestion of this fluid shows no immediate effect on the mice. The bacteria in her mouth must be tolerable to the mice, unless it is sterile. Time may be a factor. I shall continue to observe.”

  Another entry:

  “The observation jar has shown some growth of mould, indicating that the secretion is not sterile. I can assume that either the bacteria lies dormant, or is susceptible to the digestive processes of the mice.”

  Mary read on:

  “It appears the secretion simply requires a driver. Injecting the fluid into one of the mice revealed horrible consequences. The infected mouse almost immediately attacked his fellows with intense aggression, which continued into some cannibalistic feeding frenzy. The infected mouse seemed to draw forth the blood of his fellows from the wounds he inflicted…”

  “… the mouse has not eaten for two weeks, yet appears vital…”

  “… allowing the mouse to feed on another of its fellows appears to have had a direct effect on muscle mass, speed and intelligence…”

  “… the infected mice appear to work in harmony to slake their bloody thirst…”

  “… the newborn mice have taken on the traits of the infected father, feeding on their mother from within. Their distorted features, lack of eyes and tail give them an appearance similar to miniature versions of my child...”

  Mary raised a hand to her forehead and considered what she was reading. The experiments that Blessing had carried out in a clinic on mice were a microcosm of years of bloodfiend research on The Island. On The Island it had been much more difficult to gain useful samples, as the capture and harness of a live bloodfiend is no easy task. Blessing took his samples at his leisure and worked on rodents at his will, with many offspring in each generation, and a short gestation period.

  She reached the end of the first journal’s entries and scoured the second.

  “… almost impossible to crush underfoot. The gas works well at rendering the creatures unconscious, though, and from there it is a simple matter…”

  “… not as difficult to dissect a living infected mouse as it was to take samples from her. I have discovered in one of the dead newborns a deviation in the alignment of the teeth and what appears to be an additional gland or lobe on the brain, by comparison with the father and another, uninfected specimen…”

  “… The cholera-infected blood from the Bermondsey whore has not had the slightest effect on the mice, the rats or the dog. She is hungry again. She won’t let me sleep. This blood will be safe for her…”

  “… She is displeased with my efforts. She sees the dog as an abomination of her kind, a mockery. I wither under the weight of her disapproval. Although a fascinating aspect of my research, the dog will have to be destroyed. I must admit, the thought of unleashing the terrier in Lambeth or Bermondsey, has some appeal…”

  “… With the dog gone, I have returned to her favour. She has allowed me to retain the body of the dog in another vessel, away from her. I pray she understands the importance of my work…”

  “… hungry again. Under the pretence of finding a cure for her cancer, I managed to bring the maid back to the clinic. She took some convincing as my certainty at the fatal nature of her growth before had caused her to abandon all hope. She was resigned to her certain death. But why should one creature not benefit from the death of another? Otherwise, all would die and no good would come from any of it. Her belief in my blend of Redskin medicines has restored hope for her. It made my heart sink to see the maid’s unwarranted optimism…”

  “… it made my heart soar to see my child, my little Panacea, feed so greedily on the maid. Oh, she thrives again!…”

  Mary slammed the book down and bundled the journals and papers away into one of her bags. That poor man, she thought. His proximity to that fiend has quite warped his mind. He had even named the beast.

  She opened the trunk, which sat against the wall by the door and drew from it a garter belt upon which was attached a small pistol and three throwing knives. She fastened this to her left thigh. Two short, flexible swords, each just shorter than the length of her forearm slid home into folds in the sleeves of her dress. She
grabbed her bag, which among the items one would expect to find on a woman, also contained certain tools to assist her in her work.

  So armed she struck out to return to the Blessing home, hoping to free the poor doctor of his slavery – and to prevent any further deaths. Her mind was set. Blessing had caused the death of Henry Burton, and was likely behind the disappearance of Father Haddon.

  It was unclear to Mary if Blessing had acted under his own volition, but the doctor’s change from medical man to obsessed slave confirmed that the creature exerted some psychical control over his faculties – exactly as she had suspected when in his house the previous day.

  No matter how many unknown factors remained, one thing was clear: the baby in the bell-jar must die!

  Sixteen.

  “You have done brilliantly, Niamh... Whatever would I do without you?” I said, between gritted teeth as I slumped on the floor of the cab.

  “You are hurt, doctor,” she gasped, pointing at the wound on my right shoulder.

  “It is but a graze, my dear. I will be quite well, I assure you,” I said, beginning to gather my faculties as the cab roared along the busy afternoon streets of Tyburnia.

  Niamh ran her fingertips through some fluid on the floor of the cab and inspected it. She glanced at the sacks I carried and nodded at one of them.

  My heart raced. No! Don’t let her be harmed in any way. Say it is the jar of the rat, say it is the shrunken head. Anything but her!

  My fingers peeled away the sack to find her one-third exposed above the level of the fluid, which seeped from a deep crack in the glass of her jar.

  “Those men wanted to kill you, didn’t they, doctor?” Niamh asked.

  “I do not know, child,” I replied.

  “They wanted to kill you, and it was for her. She makes you do things, horrible things and I know it!”

  “Niamh! Hold your tongue!” I barked.

  Niamh lunged for the jar, her fingers slipped on the wet glass as I tore at her hands. “This would never have happened if that thing was dead!” she cried. “It has made you cruel!”

  She kept struggling for the jar, clawing at my hands. I twisted away, and felt the burning wound on my shoulder open up further. Blood ran freely down my right arm.

  “Leave her alone!” I boomed, shoving Niamh back into the seat, with enough force to frighten her. I raised my hand, ready to strike her, should she attack my child again.

  “You have changed, Doctor Blessing, sir,” Niamh sniffed.

  I knocked on the roof of the cab and felt our momentum slow.

  “You will need a bigger jar soon,” Niamh said, staring at the cracked jar.

  “You are quite correct; she is growing rather rapidly, is she not?” I said, tilting the bell-jar slightly, considering Niamh’s observation.

  The cab stopped and Niamh stood, pointing an accusing finger at me.

  “No! For the other monster! For you!”

  And with that, Niamh leapt from the cab and ran pell-mell among the other pedestrians. I slumped back to the floor. “On, driver,” I called.

  Quite exhausted from the afternoon’s exertions, and my wound, I felt I could sleep. I secured the child in the jar upright and open on the floor and I lay across the seat. For a moment I caught sight of my reflection in the cracked glass. Soulful eyes – a kind, caring, doctor’s eyes looked back at me. Savage movement beyond the glass snapped me out of my reverie.

  I did not care for the way the child thrashed in the murky fluid and sniffed at the surface of the glass, clawing in my direction. I did not care for it a bit.

  Seventeen.

  Charles stood before Lily. The Bear stood by the door, making sure the maid could not escape. Freddy was wandering about the house looking for clues to where the doctor might have escaped.

  Charles struck Lily with the back of his hand, holding back at first, not wishing to knock her insensible, and merely seeking to set the tone of the interview. Lily collapsed onto the chair and stared up at him with hatred in her eyes.

  “Where has the doctor gone, pretty?” Charles growled.

  Lily sat in silence, defiant.

  Charles grabbed her by the hair and pulled her to her feet in a moment. His face was inches away from her cheek and as he spoke, flecks of spittle sprayed onto her face. “Where has that murdering bastard gone?”

  Lily spat in Charles’ face.

  Charles released her hair and delivered a solid punch to the woman’s midriff.

  “Jesus Christ, Charles,” The Bear groaned.

  Lily yelped in pain as she doubled over and dropped to the floor.

  “I have all day, my lovely,” Charles warned. “The longer you take to tell, the further away he goes. That means I have to be absolutely sure you send me in the right direction, do I not?”

  Charles leered down at the maid. She was a very attractive woman. He certainly knew how to pick them, did the doctor. He crouched beside her. “I will never understand why he had to look elsewhere for whores, with you stopping under his roof,” Charles sneered.

  “You lie! He loves Margaret! He has no other!” Lily cried.

  “I lie, do I?” Charles licked his lips. “I bet he has barely touched her in months, has he? I bet you would hear them at it… if they was at it at all.”

  Lily blinked rapidly.

  “I knew it. She has not had a man between those thighs of hers for long enough, has she? Perhaps if you told me where she is, I could help her.” Charles felt warmth in his trousers, spreading, surging, growing. “How could he have the energy, anyway? What with seeing to Mrs Burton, that other young whore he tried to burn in his clinic. And I am not sure I do believe he would miss out on you, though-”

  “What are you-?”

  Charles grabbed Lily roughly. “Shut up! And that child he has been at an’ all! Yes, yes! He has been quite a busy chap has your old doctor. Not been looking after the wife, though, has he?”

  Charles let his bandaged hand glide up Lily’s calf, higher, higher. She squirmed and kicked, clawing at him. She could see that she was being attacked by a madman; there was something in his eyes… something detached, something inhuman.

  He pinned her to the floor, his bulk pushing her thighs apart.

  Lily screamed, feeling his thick fingers around her arms, forcing her back to the ground. An arm now braced across her chest, his free hand tore at her dress and undergarments.

  The Bear gulped, unsure what he should do.

  Freddy appeared at the door. “Charlie! Jesus Christ, Charlie! Fasten your trahsers ap! You need to see this.”

  Freddy shoved a young girl into the room.

  “Niamh!” Lily gasped.

  “Lily!” Niamh cried, racing to Lily’s side.

  “Caught her in the kitchen, messing on with the stove, she was,” Freddy declared.

  The Bear looked relieved, as Charles’ lust seemed to be broken as he got to his feet, towering over Lily and Niamh, his face contorted in confusion.

  “What were you doing in there, eh?” Charles barked.

  Niamh shrugged. “Nothing, I swear to it!” she said.

  “You leave her alone!” Lily shrieked, holding Niamh’s head tightly to her breast, wishing she could spirit the child away.

  “Shut it, you!” Charles leaned forward and shouted in Lily’s face. “And do not fool yourself that I have finished with you, yet!”

  “Yes you have,” The Bear muttered.

  “What was that, old chum?” Charles asked, teeth gritted, rotating his head to loosen the muscles in his neck and shoulders.

  “I said, yes you bloody have! I didn’t come out here wiv you to watch you try and rape girls! What the bloody hell is wrong wiv you?”

  Freddy eyed Charles with disgust. “Charlie? What you thinkin’, eh?”

  Charles scratched at his bandaged hand and breathed heavily, his shoulders rising and falling, ready to burst out of his suit.

  “You gone bloody mad, or what?” Freddy cried.

  �
��Mad? I shall show you mad!” Charles said, rushing at Freddy.

  Lily shrieked and held Niamh ever closer, wondering what fate would befall them at the hands of these bickering men.

  The Bear grabbed Charles before he could reach Freddy and twisted, throwing him towards the fireplace.

  Freddy drew a small club from inside his jacket. “Charlie, let us discuss this, eh?”

  Charles reached into his jacket and pulled his revolver. “Like that, is it, Freddy?”

  The Bear raised his hands and began to inch closer to Charles. “Come on, old friend. This won’t do us any good… Come on, now.” The Bear was about six feet away from Charles. The revolver was still pointed at Freddy, who had backed away towards the door.

  “Charlie, please, put that away,” Freddy pleaded. “We are still friends. We need only make a plan. I mean, where is his wife? She hasn’t noticed all this hammering on in her house. She must be out. Maybe she has gone to meet him. Maybe she has no idea he has even gone. She could be home any moment, with answers. Who knows? But we should find out.”

  “You know the Peelers hadn’t the stomach for all that violence, Charles. They shan’t take kindly to it any more now that you’ve left them… Let us put the bad buggers in jail, not join, them, eh?” The Bear said, keeping his voice as soft and calm as he could. He was four feet away and inching closer all the time.

  The room was filled with the sound of breaking glass, as two cylindrical objects smashed through the windows and rolled across the floor, spewing a noxious fume as they went. It was at that second, when the glass shattered, that Charles discharged his revolver. The Bear had twisted to see the exploding windows, and the bullet glanced across his back, tearing his clothes and flesh, causing him to cry out in pain at the searing heat.

  Charles was moving for the door, his left lapel and hand clamped over his mouth. He recognised the smell - chloroform.

  Eighteen.