Dark Designs

by Flowers, Thomas S.

  Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  Witness our Dark Designs

  LIFE AMONGST THE INSECTS

  HOW THEY MET THEMSELVES

  THROUGH THE SLIP

  DEATH RAY POTATO BAKE

  THE PROJECT

  THE HIDDEN WAR ON TERROR

  THE OBLIVIONIST

  DISCERNING THE ADVERSARY

  UNDERNEATH THE FOAM

  THE PROMETHEAN BRIDE

  THE BURDEN

  BELUGA

  WOLFENCORN

  THE MIRROR WINDOW

  LOOKING AFTER THE PARENTS

  THE ASCENSION OF HENRY PORTER

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  MORE FROM SWP

  presents…

  DARK DESIGNS

  Tales of Mad Science

  First Published in 2017

  Copyright of each story belongs to its listed author.

  Edited by Thomas S. Flowers & Duncan Ralston

  Published by Shadow Work Publishing

  Cover design by Travis Eck

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  ISBN-13: 978-0995242395

  ISBN-10: 0995242395

  Witness our DARK DESIGNS…

  From Jeffery X. Martin:

  When you're a young horror fan, you get exposed to the imagery of mad scientists almost immediately. Your parents won't let you watch the real blood and guts stuff when you're little, but for some reason, Frankenstein is all right. No big deal. Just grotesque physical deformities, graverobbing, an attempt to bring the dead back to life and angry mobs inciting violent riots. Here you go, Junior. Have some chocolate milk. Enjoy the show.

  It was The Tingler with Vincent Price that really sucked me into the genre. That movie gave me nightmares for years. The interesting thing about that is the movie eschews a lot of the mad science tropes. There's no hidden laboratory with a Jacob's Ladder buzzing madly in the corner. It involves pure science, making a strange discovery, and being practically unable to control it. In a lot of ways The Tingler is the spiritual grandfather of movies like Splice and Lucy.

  We're surrounded by science, yet a majority of us know very little about it. How many of us can correctly explain how electricity gets into those thin little wires? What kinds of household chemicals can be mixed to create weapons of destruction? How do you explain the empty space between particles of matter? We enjoy the products of science, but we don't fully comprehend it. "I don't know," we say. "It's all computers and shit."

  Well, computers are science.

  Life is science.

  So is death.

  The quest to understand our own existence is the true genesis of the genre we celebrate in this anthology. The more we learn, the more questions we have about the world, the universe, even our own bodies. We are mysteries unto ourselves. Atoms and quarks, platelets and islets, sweat, shit and piss. We're all made of mad science, baby, so why not cross some lines? Find out what's really going on and damn the consequences? What's the worst that could happen? Do you really want to know?

  From Duncan Ralston:

  My early appreciation of "mad science" began with the Time-Life Books series Mysteries of the Unknown. When I was young I'd spend hours pouring through these books looking for exciting mysteries of the paranormal and unexplained. I was fascinated by the Egyptian pyramids, the Bermuda Triangle, alien abductions, the Manhattan Project, and the like. But it was the explorations into the limits of the human mind and consciousness, often without the consent of the participants, that interested me the most.

  To me the “mad science” subgenre is strongest when dealing with moral quandaries. How far is too far, and would we recognize that line before it’s too late to put the evil back in Pandora’s jar? When J. Robert Oppenheimer, Father of the Atomic Bomb, witnessed the mushroom cloud over the Trinity nuclear test site he was alleged to have said, “I am become death, the destroyer of worlds.” In the almost 72 years since the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki we have yet to see his prophecy come true, but only by the skin of our teeth.

  Mad Science speaks of Forbidden Knowledge. We live in an age ruled by science (although many would love for us to return to ignorance), but we are still fearful of the potential terrors lurking within the Unknown. But are we right to be fearful? When Swiss scientists announced their intention to recreate the Big Bang in the Large Hadron Collider, even Stephen Hawking seemed worried about the possibilities. When surgeons are on the verge of transplanting human heads, when scientists have been given the go-ahead to use stems cells to "reactivate" dead human brains, when futurists predict we’ll soon become indistinguishable from the computers we rely on, and tech billionaires convinced we’re living in a computer simulation spend a fortune to break us out of the “matrix,” wouldn’t it be far more ignorant to not be afraid?

  From Thomas S. Flowers:

  Growing up, I never paid much attention to the distinction between horror subgenres. I never really referred to the Friday the 13th and Nightmare on Elm Street movies as “slashers.” I never watched Army of Darkness or Young Frankenstein associating them as horror-comedies. Nor did I think Tremors or Gremlins were “creature features.” They were just horror movies to me, at least back then.

  The same could be said of mad scientist flicks. When I watched David Cronenberg’s The Fly (1988) for the first time, I didn’t ponder the fate of the mad scientist, I thought I was just watching a really cool monster flick starring the sumptuous Jeff Goldblum. And when my folks took me to see Jurassic Park (also starring dreamboat Goldblum) in 1993, “mad science” was the furthest from my mind.

  As I grew older, and became more involved in the horror genre, the meaning and interpretation of subgenres became more defined. Understanding what each subgenre brought to the collective table became more important to me. Sometimes these hidden meanings become intertwined but as I understand it, the subgenre for “mad science” asks and confronts our fears, which is bred in our misunderstanding science. Without knowing or understanding, it becomes easy to fall into what Goldblum stated in Jurassic Park, “Your scientists were so preoccupied with whether they could, they didn't stop to think if they should.

  There have been some really great “mad science” stories in our past; however, unfortunately most of the “mad science” subgenre has been kicked to the proverbial kid’s corner. There just doesn’t seem to be a good sampling of “adult” mad science stories. I hope Dark Designs: Tales of Mad Science, which boasts some of the darkest, creepiest, sickest stories I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading, will alleviate this glaring depression within the Mad Science horror subgenre.

  LIFE AMONGST THE INSECTS

  Tim Jeffreys

  Following the episode Catherine’s security clearance for the facility’s sub-zero levels had been revoked.

  No one in charge at the facility had been brave enough to impart this information directly. Doctor Erickson—the on-site psychiatrist Catherine had been assigned to—said he thought it best she avoided the underground levels, the D-corridor in particula
r. He’d also informed her that her colleague, Doctor Sunny Rashid, would be overseeing all subjects in this area from now on. But no one had actually told her she was barred. No, they let her discover for herself.

  She’d only been back on duty two days, when her urge—no it wasn’t an urge, it was a need—when her need to visit the D-corridor overwhelmed her. Instead of making for the canteen at one o’clock with her colleagues, she let the others walk on ahead. She then turned back with a muttered oh damn and a pat at her pockets, trying to act as if she’d forgotten something. It was only when she arrived at the lower floors’ entrance door that she discovered the truth. At a swipe of her ID badge the reader flashed red and an alarm honked—startling her. The automatic door remained closed.

  Besides blocking her entrance, Catherine knew that the reader would have registered her attempt at access. She had no doubt that, once those in charge at the facility were notified, this would result in another period of restricted duties, and more sessions with Doctor Erickson. Though she knew this as a certainty—after all, she’d watched it happen before hadn’t she? to others?—Catherine was compelled to pass her ID a second time over the reader, as if she thought the first refusal had been a mistake. Again, there was a honking sound and a flash of red. Catherine was surprised at the fury that rose up in her then. She let out a short, frustrated scream but managed to stop herself from smashing a fist into the reader. Turning from the door, she rested against the cold concrete wall and began to take deep breaths, clenching and unclenching her fists until her anger dissipated. On the wall in front of her was a laminated poster giving evacuation instructions for the underground levels in case of a fire. Directly above this, a fire axe had once been mounted. The two brass hooks the axe had once rested on remained, as did a faint imprint on the wall. Seeing this made Catherine think of the grey tennis bag back at her apartment, the one she had long ago shoved to the back of her wardrobe. She pushed the heels of her hands into her eyes in an attempt to clear her mind.

  What am I doing? Have to get it together. Have to get my head straight.

  Yet all she could think about was whether there was another way into the underground levels, some other way to the D-corridor, to reach Room MB-314. Waiting here for someone to come along, then tailgating her way in wasn’t an option. Staff working in the sub-zero levels would’ve been warned to look out for this. Perhaps if she explained…perhaps if she could just make them understand…

  “Catherine?”

  Turning, she saw Sunny Rashid approaching from the direction of the stairwell. He wore his white lab coat and carried a clipboard. He was a tall man, barely into his thirties, handsome and well-groomed, with thick black hair slicked back from his forehead and dark eyes always twinkling with suggestion.

  “It’s Doctor Mander when we’re on duty, if you don’t mind,” she told him, moving away from the wall.

  “That seems a little formal, considering our history.”

  “You and I don’t have a history.”

  “Really? Am I that forgettable?”

  She knew full well what he was referring to. The previous year, late one evening when they’d been alone together looking over subject notes in one of the meeting rooms, he’d begun flattering her. It had been a long time since anyone had paid her that kind of attention and to her acute embarrassment she’d let the situation escalate and had ended up having sex with him up against the meeting room door. Only days after did she notice his wedding band. No doubt he had a young wife, and maybe even children housed somewhere off base. The next time she found herself alone with him, she told him in no uncertain terms how much she regretted what had happened and how unprofessional she thought they’d been. There had followed an awkward period when he wouldn’t accept this. She’d had to make a real effort not to be alone with him, because every time they were alone he would start telling her what a great time he’d had that evening in the meeting room.

  We’ve got crazy chemistry, you and me, Catherine, he would say. Intense chemistry. I’ve never felt anything like that with anyone.

  Not even your wife?

  She’d expected him to be embarrassed when she said this, but instead he laughed. When you and I got together, Catherine, it was like—boom boom boom—fireworks.

  Am I supposed to be flattered?

  Didn’t you feel it too?

  No, she told him. And it won’t be happening again.

  He had sulked for a while, then seemed at last to accept the situation. He still, however, insisted on addressing her informally wherever they met which she had long begun to find irksome.

  Looking at her now, he had a smug, questioning look on his face which made her want to slap him. He glanced from her face to the closed door.

  “I expected this,” he said in a resigned tone.

  “What? What did you expect?”

  “You’re still not recovered, Catherine.”

  “Like I said, it’s Doctor Mander.”

  “You’re trying to get back to MB-314, aren’t you?”

  She had to think fast. “Of course not,” she said, retaining her indignant air. “Actually, I was looking for you. I thought you might be having trouble deciphering some of my notes. I wanted to make sure…”

  “I did look over your notes,” he said. “But to be honest I couldn’t make much sense of them. I’m not sure what it was you were doing all those months.”

  “I was doing my research, as instructed.”

  “Yes, until you had that little meltdown over MB-314. The technician downstairs—Jean is it?—still can’t close her right hand properly. I heard it took five of them to pin you down. And where is it they’ve stuck you now?”

  “Stuck me?”

  “What are you studying now?”

  “Don’t play dumb, Doctor Rashid, you know what I’m studying now.”

  “Ah, yes. That’s right. The east wing, isn’t it? With the molluscs. The Christmas tree light of the animal kingdom. Very boring.”

  Catherine felt her anger surge again. She hid her clenched fists behind her back. “I wouldn’t say that. The octopus, for example...”

  “Yes, the octopus! The mimic. I forgot about him. He’s an interesting creature, isn’t he? It’s almost as if he’s thinking, don’t you agree? Plotting. Pretending to be a female crab, so he can lure a male crab and eat it. Pretending to be a sea snake so predators will leave him alone. Cunning little fellow. Devious.”

  “Hardly. It’s instinct. Survival. It’s how he’s programmed.”

  “Yes. He’s just using what he’s got. His own particular set of charms, if you like. Like we all are.” He laughed. “It’s hardly real metamorphosis though, it is? He’s nothing, is he, compared to the subjects downstairs. They don’t just impersonate, they actually…” He paused. He looked into her face and smiled. “When a mimic octopus pretends to be a sea snake, does he actually thinks he is a sea snake, do you think?”

  “I…of course not.”

  “You think he knows he’s still an octopus?”

  “I shouldn’t imagine he thinks at all. Like I said, it’s instinct.”

  He smiled again. “And what about our subjects downstairs? After they change, after they become, do you think they remember what they were before? What they are? What they really are?”

  “I…I wouldn’t know. There’s a chance they could become confused. Over time. I suppose they could become conditioned to believe…My research wasn’t complete. I’d need to carry out further studies.”

  “Imagine if they did forget. Then imagine what would happen if you introduced a trigger to remind them. They’d begun believing they were one thing, then you tell them that they’re actually something else, and that they’re just impersonating the thing they think they are. What do you think would happen?”

  “That’s…yes…that’s an interesting hypothesis. I’d be very interested to work on that study with you. Definitely.”

  He sighed and shook his head; and she saw that he’d been humou
ring her. “You know the lower floors are off limits to you now, don’t you? The subjects down there…you’re vulnerable.”

  Incensed, she snapped at him. “No one actually told me I was barred. All they said was that I should try and stay away.”

  “Still it has to hurt. How many years did you work here before they let you go below ground? It only took three for me. I knew as soon as I saw all the paperwork they wanted me to sign that they had something really interesting down there. More interesting than rain frogs and cuttlefish.”

  “The work we’re doing above ground is just as important.”

  “So what’re you coming here for now?”

  “I told you, I—”

  Reaching past her, he swiped his ID badge across the door’s reader. The door began to glide open. He stood for a moment, staring at Catherine, a half-smile on his lips; as if he were waiting to see what she might do, like she was one of his subjects. The urge to enter was so strong she bit her lip until it hurt. In the end, it was Sunny who moved forward and slipped inside just as the door began to close again.

  “Good day. Doctor Mander.”

  She’d been correct, of course. Her attempt at entering the sub-zero levels led to her being relieved from duties that afternoon, and the next day she was back in Doctor Erickson’s office. He was a man in his seventies, with white wisps of hair scraped across his bald pate. He assumed a fatherly air which she found irritating. He wanted to know what her attachment was to the subject in Room MB-314; or rather what she believed her attachment was. He wanted to understand, he said, why she was so insistent on trying to get back to the underground levels when she’d been encouraged—his word—to stay away. As in her previous sessions with him, Catherine told him she couldn’t remember what had provoked the episode. Whatever it was, she was over it now. She’d only attempted access to the sub-zero levels to check that Doctor Rashid could understand her notes, not having realised she was barred.