by P. K. Tyler
I accepted all as my own foolish doing. I should not have wandered off so far into the middle of nowhere, but kept nearer to the safety of the rectory and its grounds; I had been taught a very valuable lesson that day. I did vividly remember my horrible experience, but I did not mention it to anybody.
I spent a great deal of time sitting and reliving the events over and over in my mind. I began to question myself again. Was I suffering visions? Had I fallen asleep and dreamed it all? No. I am not a fool and, impossible though it seems, I know with absolute certainty that I had encountered some unknown beast which appeared to my own eyes to be part man, part pig. Furthermore, I believed the creature to have murdered the man I had found in the cupboard by smashing his head with some heavy object and then hiding his body there.
With the burden of this knowledge, I became restless. Over the following weeks, my mind simply refused to maintain focus on my studies. I would read a book only to find that my thoughts had wandered to the image of that creature and then I had no recollection of the contents of the last dozen or so pages in front of me.
I determined that the only way to reassert my being was for me to precipitate a subtle investigation of my own. I began to mention the farmhouse discreetly in casual conversation to my fellows at the club in order to open up the subject for any possible clues that I might ascertain. I was eventually told of a gentleman by the name of Barnes, a scientist by profession with extensive knowledge of his contemporaries in the field who may well be of assistance to me. He dined at The Savage Club on Adelphi Terrace on Wednesday evenings.
Though not a member of The Savage Club, I was accepted from time to time via a professional acquaintance of mine, and so I took supper one Wednesday. Afterwards, I watched from behind my copy of the Times and waited for Barnes. I had him pointed out to me and, when he was alone, I took myself over to his table and introduced myself. The man invited me to sit opposite him and I told him of my misfortune in the Shropshire hills, of my interest in historical architecture and of the building I had encountered there.
"Scientific equipment, you say? Could well be," he mused after I had finished my discourse.
"I am sure," I replied. "My question to you is if you are aware of anyone who would have run such an establishment, so far away in the middle of nowhere; and furthermore, what nature of work was likely to have been conducted there?"
Barnes nodded mournfully, "I have heard of one such establishment that was operating some time ago. I was a young medical student at the time." He lit a cigar as he cast his mind back. "It was in the news some years ago in that neck of the woods. A strange fellow, a researcher, as you correctly determined; foreign I think. Dressler was his name. His license had been revoked, on reasonable grounds in my opinion. At that time, he was set up and well-funded in Flitwick, Bedfordshire. They closed down his laboratory, but he transferred on a smaller scale to the countryside and continued independently. He leased an isolated house where he continued his work in secret, illegally. I don't know much about all this but the authorities found out about his continued operations and closed him down once more, this time for good. Sounds to me like you may have stumbled upon what remains of his laboratory."
I was intrigued "He had his license revoked, you say? Why was that?"
"Something to do with the nature of his research," he flicked ash into the tray, "Deemed to be somewhat pushing the moral boundaries. The board had repeatedly warned him. He was trying to obtain street beggars, all of them women, and all willing, with payment of course, to be his subjects. We all know that kind of thing isn't in the rulebook, thank goodness."
I began to suspect what was to be the answer to my next question, given what I had seen in that house. "What were the specifics regarding this research?" I asked, and then held my breath.
"Oh." Barnes wrinkled his nose in distaste. "'Embryo preimplantation and in-utero manipulation.' Pretty grim stuff, I must say. You know, they say that when they cleared out the laboratory at Bedfordshire, there were great formaldehyde-filled jars containing the fetuses of animals. Two-headed abominations, cyclopes, multiple-armed monstrosities, all of which had been created whilst in the womb. It was quite clear that Dressler was a madman."
Barnes averted his gaze and furrowed his brow as he recollected, "Come to think of it, a chap I used to have on my cricket team claimed to have met Dressler once, briefly. Name of erm... Stevens, that was it. I recall him telling me that his wife and Mrs. Dressler had become friends—same social circles, you see—Mrs. Dressler had invited the Stevens' to her and her husband's London apartment one afternoon. He recalled that Mrs. Dressler was the epitome of kindness and hospitality, which was quite at contrast with her husband, who had returned unexpectedly from his work midway through their tea and scones. He was in a foul mood; some disagreement with a colleague of his had irked him somewhat and he had brought this irritation home with him. Stevens described Dressler as a bully to his wife, asking her, in front of her guests, quite boldly if she had, ‘spent the entire day devoted to idle gossip and chit-chat with strangers.’ Stevens and his wife naturally felt most uncomfortable and were inclined to leave, though they were somewhat apprehensive to leave Mrs. Dressler at the hands of her husband. It was a long time ago, but I distinctly remember Stevens telling me that." Barnes smiled grimly to himself as he remembered.
My heart thumped. I spoke cautiously, quietly. "Did this Dressler actually attempt to carry out any experiments using human subjects?"
Barnes sighed once; I suspected that he was growing tired of my pressing the subject. "There was no evidence of that. Animal experimentation certainly, but human? I doubt that very much."
I could sense two of Barnes's friends hovering about the table, so I thanked him for this information and wished himself and his fellows a good evening.
As I walked the quiet streets homeward alongside the calm, still Thames, I clung onto the name which I kept repeating over and over in my mind—‘Dressler.’
* * *
VII
Several days later, as a hound on the scent of a fox, I spent an entire day at the British Library. Most of my time was spent tediously scouring the library's vast collections of scientific journals, scanning these articles for any mention of the name Dressler. My reward for the day consisted of two articles of relevance, both appearing in Scientific Review Magazine, both dealing with the controversial new subject of 'Eugenics'.
In the first article entitled 'Theories of Selective Breeding', dated February 1865, it was written that Dressler had been experimenting with combining the tissues of certain differing types of passerine bird in order to create a stronger species and wean out certain weaknesses such as weaker flight characteristics. I am not a man of science and so, much of what was written was barely absorbed by my limited understanding of such matters. I guessed the article to have been published prior to Dressler’s being shunned by the scientific community. At one point, reference was made to his Bedfordshire facilities. I believed I was on firm ground with this article, as the subjects of eugenics and selective breeding could plausibly be of relevance to that thing which I had seen.
The second article of interest was dated March 1871, entitled ‘Accounts of Those Who Have Striven’, which set about to explain what had become of several controversial but nevertheless innovative scientists, one of whom was Dressler. The following notes are quite self-explanatory:
...Dressler had been greatly annoyed by the loss of his laboratory and more so by the cessation of his work. This had furthermore been exacerbated by the tragic miscarriage and loss of his and his wife's child during late pregnancy. Those who knew him say that he had begun to show worrying signs of lunacy manifesting in his frequent bouts of aggression and violence, as well as his obsessive ravings about ancient mythology and of chaemera, the Greek mythological monster possessing a lion's head, a goat's body and a serpent's tail...
...After the loss of their unborn child, Kathleen Dressler withdrew completely from society. It is s
aid by the few neighbours that, for a while, she could frequently be seen through a window of their farmhouse, rocking back and forth in a chair whilst talking to and fondling a child's doll. She was recognised by a distinct streak of white hair which contrasted with her otherwise dark locks...
...Activities at the laboratory at Shropshire had been reported to police by a young assistant who claimed to be in Dressler's employ for two months. He stated that the research conducted was fairly unremarkable, consisting of the study and investigation of reproductive biology of living animals—these subjects being pigs, sheep and dogs which were purchased from nearby agricultural livestock wholesalers. The assistant reported that Mrs. Dressler, who lived with her husband at the house, had become hugely pregnant in an impossible matter of mere weeks. He claimed that he frequently noticed Dressler studying his wife’s pregnancy, 'prodding and listening with much animation. Not in the intimate manner of a husband towards his wife'. The couple spent a great deal of time within areas of the laboratory where the assistants were not permitted to go. He described Mrs. Dressler as a 'deeply unhappy woman'...
...When the time came to issue proceedings to dismantle the Shropshire laboratory, Dressler and his wife had simply disappeared. Neither has been reported since. The building was found to be in a state of dereliction. The laboratory had been smashed apart and the building left to the mercy of the elements...
From this, I can only assume that twenty years ago Dressler succeeded with his experiments. It seems uncomfortable, impossible even, to consider that he may have created some hybrid pig-man. All the worse that it could somehow have been implanted and grown within the belly of his own wife. I truly hope I am wrong with my speculation, but I cannot fit this information together in any other way to explain the existence of that pitiful creature which I had encountered.
The whole affair makes me shudder. From now on I will leave the matter well alone.
* * *
VIII
I did return once to the old farmhouse, although I have no reason or desire to ever do so again. On this occasion, I took Jack with me and we walked in the light of a late summer afternoon with a good map and compass. We found the house easily. Jack was surprised at my melancholy demeanour, but he must have put this down to my remembering the distressing experience I had suffered being lost and exposed that night.
The entire place was exactly as I had left it. I was even able to retrieve my coat, which still rested on the fireguard where I had left it. There was no sign at all that the elusive creature had ever been there. I even checked the door on the cupboard which led to the priest's hole. It did indeed have a strange door-catch which could easily jam in a closed position. Luckily, this time, I had Jack to release me.
I left Jack downstairs, telling him that I wished to make notes of the panelling in some of the upper rooms. In fact, I went straight into the room in which I found the corpse, the body of which I suspected to have been Dressler—perhaps I could obtain some proof of his identity about his person—not a task I looked forward to. Confronted, once more, with that corpse, surely I would be duty bound to inform the police and then I would inevitably have to make mention of the creature I had seen. I would be ridiculed!
It was an apprehensive and lonely walk across the empty bedroom. My footsteps reverberated mockingly as I approached the cupboard. I took the doorknob in hand, held my breath, closed my eyes and pulled the door open as I re-opened my eyes. The cupboard was completely empty. Perhaps this was just as well.
I will never know for certain if the body inside had been Dressler or what, in fact, had happened.
I remained for some time looking out of a window which overlooked the hillside at the front, staring towards a memorable heap of rocks standing ancient and alone in the landscape. I glanced back into the darkness of the room, and when I looked back to the window, my eye fell to a lone figure standing motionless in the distance as if he was looking back at me. He was so far away, I could hardly determine any details, though he was certainly a big man, and with a head which seemed to be large and somewhat out of proportion to his body. He held something which hung from his grasp like a thin branch about the length of a man's forearm.
At that moment, it all struck me, and a smile affected me. I looked away to the floor to clear my eyes but when I looked back once again, there was nothing there. Just open space and the wind.
I wondered if such a beast-like face was also capable of affecting a smile.
I still do not mention what I experienced to anyone, perhaps because I am afraid that I will be mocked and derided, or maybe because the creature did actually save my life by opening the cupboard door in my most despairing moments. Or maybe this was a conscious act of compassion for a fellow in trouble. I have to admit, this creature, however repulsive to my own eyes, had exhibited fine human traits. Empathy for myself being imprisoned in the priest's hole, sadness of his own isolation and loneliness, and even deep affection towards the woman I believe to be his mother.
Perhaps the least I can do now is to preserve this beast's anonymity and spare its inevitable treatment at the hands of scientists if ever it were captured. I know it is out there somewhere.
I shall carry on with my work, and my books, albeit less strenuously. Besides, I for one know that it does no good to become obsessed with one’s work.
Extract from the Midland's Satellite - October 4th, 1896
The bodies of two unidentified persons have been uncovered in shallow graves at the Upper Affcot area of the Long Mynd valley. Police Constable Jacob Dennistoun reported to the Midland’s Satellite that the bodies had been long-dead and were found in a state of advanced decomposition, however, they had been recently buried together at the site where they were uncovered by a sheep farmer who's dog had alerted the attention of its master.
This finding was a perplexing case for her Majesty's constabulary to solve. The bones appeared to have been gnawed on by some kind of animal-marks upon the bones were found to be consistent with those of which a pig or boar might inflict when feeding.
One of the skeletons was said to be that of a man of late middle years who had received severe head injuries, probably the cause of death—likely murderous. An entire arm was also missing from the body.
The second body belonged to a female, also of adult stature, and was found to have deep lacerations upon the wrist bone of the left arm. These were consistent with injuries sustained by that of a sharp razor blade; this is often an indication of a method of suicide. Rough weeds and vegetation had been placed around her body, which had been placed thus, with great circumspection into the grave.
The investigation continues.
About the Author
Jonathan Cromack is a new writer of historical macabre short stories and has three stories published in anthologies at this point in time. He is a British writer and draws inspiration from his hometown in the county of Shropshire, considered by many to be one of the most haunted places in the UK. By day, he works, and by night, he turns copious amounts of coffee into his stories. Books containing Jonathan’s stories can be found on Amazon Author Central.
The Last Star
By D. L. Orton
Summary: Two beings watch the last star in our universe wink out and discover the answer to how it all ends. And, perhaps, how it all begins.
“How long until heat death, Mr. Hobbes?”
He’s curled up in my lap purring but swivels one ear toward my voice, so I know he’s listening. I call him Mr. Hobbes, but over the millennia his name has changed from Miss Amelia to Professor Semmelweis to Lady Bao and a thousand others, most of which I’ve forgotten—even though I suspect he remembers them all.
Both he and I have changed genders countless times too, trying out every possible twosome from best friends to identical twins to illicit lovers, sometimes seeing the universe through the eyes of a child and her mother, or middle-aged boyfriends, or two young lovers.
The thought makes me smile.
Mr
. Hobbes was once a teenager for six billion years, saying he enjoyed the rush of powerful emotions it stirred up in him. I joined him for a million of those, awkward and moody and hopeful. We kissed and touched and fell in love while we watched Andromeda consume the Milky Way.
And we’ve been through all of Earth’s species together, mixing biomes and geologic eras with abandon: my velociraptor running with his wolf pack, his pterodactyl flying next to my Peregrine falcon, my lion sleeping next to his lamb. We once blew through a hundred billion years as spinner dolphins, frolicking across the galactic supercluster on gravitational waves, all thoughts of knowledge and science lost to the sheer pleasure of being alive.
But for the last million years, I’ve settled on my original self, a twenty-something woman, and he on a tabby housecat, a feline who becomes a man at his leisure—or my pleasure. I let my mind drift for a moment, imagining his hands on my skin, the soft wetness of his tongue caressing me, but his voice brings me back.
“The heat death of the universe,” he says, soft and resonant as a purr, “will occur in seventeen minutes and fifty-one seconds.”
“So soon. I feel like we’ve only just gotten to know each other, Mr. Hobbes.”
“Indeed. Would you like me to position us within sensor range of the last star, Chandra?”
“Yes,” I say. “Does it have a name?”
“No, just a number. It’s in the galaxy MACS0647-JD.”