Cultwick: The Wretched Dead

by J. Stone

  Both Germ and Erynn frowned at Rowland without saying anything.

  “What?” he asked. “It is only a rug. It is not as though it is dangerous or anything. Just watch where you step from now on.”

  Rowland stood up and began to leave the kitchen, when he turned back and added, “Oh. If either of you want to keep your fingers, I would suggest not opening that cabinet.” He pointed back to where he had been and then left the room.

  “You ever wonder how we’ve survived so long here, Germy?” Erynn asked.

  “Constantly, ma’am,” the rat replied.

  As the younger Rowland disappeared from the room, so too did Germ and Erynn, disappearing like smoke. Rowland smiled at the memory and proceeded forward into the dining room. It was there that he witnessed another memory of their household’s past.

  Erynn, Germ, and Rowland sat at the table eating dinner. He estimated that the memory was when she was in her early teens. Erynn refused to eat what Rowland had served and Germ had chosen to eat a self-made salad instead.

  “You need to eat your meat, my dear,” Rowland explained.

  “Yeah, fine,” Erynn replied. “I’m just not sure that this technically counts as meat.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “Where did this thing come from?” she inquired, poking at the brown slab on her plate.

  “I made it,” the professor explained.

  “Yeah, that’s kind of my point, Max,” she replied. “I don’t think it counts as meat when you bred it in a beaker upstairs.”

  “I’m with her, sir,” Germ pointed out.

  “You two are always out to get me,” Rowland said. He then took his knife, sliced a chunk off his plate and shoveled it into his mouth. He chewed it for a few seconds before opening his mouth and simply letting the piece slide out of his mouth. “You might be right, my dear,” he said. “Germ, did you make any more of that salad?”

  The visions again vanished, prompting Rowland to continue into the next room. He entered the foyer where the front door entered into. The room, he was sure, had a plethora of important memories through his life there.

  The door opened, and Rowland saw himself enter along with Germ and a very young Erynn. He surmised that it was the very first time she had been in the home. Trotting along beside her was a much shorter and older version of Tern, who was carrying her bags for her.

  “This is it,” Rowland explained.

  Erynn looked around and up at the second floor from just outside the door, where she had stopped and remained.

  “What do you think, little ma’am,” Germ asked.

  “It looks nice,” she answered timidly, not moving from that position.

  “What is the matter, my dear?” Rowland inquired.

  She squirmed, rotating the front of her foot on the ground and answered, “How long are you going to let me stay here?”

  “Whatever do you mean?” he asked. “This is your home now.”

  “Forever?” she asked.

  “If you want to stay forever, you will stay forever, Ryn,” he replied. “It is up to you.”

  “But won’t I be in the way?” Erynn asked. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, ma’am,” Germ said. “The professor is happy to take you in. Isn’t that right, sir?”

  With a nod, Rowland added, “The thought of you out there alone on the streets is far more troubling to me than any possibility of you being a mild inconvenience, but safe in this home.”

  She finally stepped forward and into the foyer with Rowland and Germ and asked with a smile, “Can I stay in the basement?”

  The apparitions vanished once again, so Rowland moved from the foyer and into his first-level laboratory. Many of the glass syringes and beakers were broken and shattered on the dusty tabletops and wooden floor. All his various experiments rested in a state of perpetual pause, waiting for his return. The whole area smelled musty and dirty, and the corpse of Ms. Petunia’s cat still lay on the floor, where Gerald, his carnivorous potato, had slain and eaten it.

  Rowland sat his bag and the cage of rats on one of his tables, clearing a space and setting up a work area. He walked to the swiveling chalkboard and flipped it over on itself. Both sides were scrawled with faded white chalk that was quite nearly indecipherable. Beside the board, on the ground, was a box of notes and his scribblings of various formulas.

  Though he had come home to have a place to work on the cure to Erynn’s treatment, he did have an ulterior motive. Over the past few weeks, Rowland had noticed that Germ was beginning to experience fatigue, insomnia, headaches, and heartburn - mostly innocuous ailments, but symptoms he had predicted before the rat’s rebirth as Germ.

  Ever since he noticed these symptoms, the professor had worried that the serum he concocted to create Germ would wear down and degrade. With its degradation, it would likely take Germ with it, killing him in a painful process. If he was able to create a new batch, however, the professor might be able to delay that. Unfortunately, Rowland had been unable to remember what the exact formula had been that allowed him to create Germ, so he hoped that he might find a scrap of paper with that information on it.

  He rooted through the box at his feet, but found no sign of the formula he sought. When he turned around, Rowland saw the chamber that Germ had been bred inside of. He slunk down, leaning against the chalkboard watching, as a younger version of himself lifted the circular door to the chamber and revealed the rat inside. A green steam escaped from the tube and rose to the ceiling of the room, dissipating in the cracks of the plaster overhead.

  The younger version leaned forward into the chamber and injected the rat with a serum that was designed to allow him to more quickly learn basic functions, like language, movement, and even more intellectual concepts that his rat mind wouldn’t be accustomed to. He stepped backward and allowed his creation a moment to awake and acclimate itself to its new body and mind.

  The rat’s eyes flickered and opened, exploring the tube and then himself. He held out his paws in front of his face, touching one with the other, and noting the sensation. Eventually, Germ swung his legs out from the tube and attempted to stand.

  Instead, the rat fell to the ground, but managed to catch himself with his hands. Shaking, he again attempted to stand - this time with greater success. He stood and finally caught a glimpse of the professor standing in front of him. He cocked his head to the side and inspected Rowland curiously, sniffing at the air and tickling his whiskers back and forth. There was no fear in the rat’s eyes, as he looked on his creator, simply an eagerness to learn and understand.

  “My name is Professor Maxwell Rowland,” he explained. “You are a Genetically Engineered Ratman that I have personally created. Over the next few days, I will begin teaching you everything you will need to know to function in our world.”

  The newborn rat vanished and was replaced with a young Erynn. She sat in the corner crying and another version of Rowland approached her and knelt at her side.

  “What is it, Ryn?” he asked.

  “I miss my brother,” she said with a sniffle.

  “I know you do, my dear,” he replied. “But he would not want you to be so sad, would he?”

  “I guess not,” the young Erynn said.

  “Maybe you would like to help me with something,” he suggested.

  “What?” she asked, wiping the tears from her eyes.

  “I know Germ has been feeling neglected lately,” he explained. “What I need you to do is go out in the yard and get as dirty as you possibly can.”

  “How would that help Germy?” she asked.

  “Germ absolutely loves to clean up after you,” Rowland replied with a smile. “It gives him purpose. So, you go outside and play and be sure to not come back, until you are completely filthy.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked questioningly.

  “Most positive,” he replied brazenly.

  “Then I’m on it, Max!” she proclaimed.


  Erynn bounced up from the ground and smiled with childish glee, as she ran out the door. The vision finished abruptly, however, and tears began to streak down Rowland’s face. “No,” he said. “I am not ready. Do not leave me yet.”

  He pulled out another syringe and injected himself with a higher dose of his biojunk in an attempt to summon more memories for his perusal. Rowland could not face the idea that he might have to give up one or both members of his family.

  Rather than a single coherent memory, however, Rowland saw a plethora of different versions of himself, Germ, and Erynn all throughout the years they had spent together. Before his eyes, he saw Erynn grow from the sad little girl she once was into the strong, independent woman he knew her to be. He saw Germ, on the other hand, change from the simple experiment that Rowland created on a whim and into a dear and loving friend that he feared he might lose.

  One of the memories did give the professor a clue though, when he saw himself shoveling a box of files under the chamber in which Germ had been created. He stood and stumbled past the various apparitions of his mind toward the chamber.

  Under the old tank, Rowland found the set of files still sitting there. Sifting through them, he discovered a formula that looked very familiar, but it was smudged and part of it was indecipherable. He tossed the paper aside and continued to feverishly look through the contents under the chamber, but he never found another sheet with the information he needed.

  Looking back and picking up the paper with the incomplete formula, Rowland stood and ran to the chalkboard. Using his sleeve as an eraser, he rubbed off most of the already faded chalk and picked up a small piece, beginning to write out the formula. He thought that if he wrote it out on the board, perhaps it would trigger the rest.

  He finished, however, and there was nothing coming to mind. Frustrated, Rowland retrieved yet another syringe of biojunk and injected it into his arm. Rather than inducing another memory though, it simply made him nauseous. He began to teeter side to side and eventually fell to the ground and blacked out on his laboratory floor.

  Chapter 23. Isabelle and the Ball

  Isabelle stared into the tall, standing mirror at her reflection. She wore the beautiful green dress that Owen had bought for her, and the brown bow that had come with it was draped elegantly around her waist. Looking at her slender form, in the tight-fitting dress evoked a vague memory of dancing, but it seemed almost like a dream or from another life. She pushed it from her mind and focused on that evening’s event.

  “You look ever-so-lovely, Mrs. Sloan,” Gwen told her, also staring at her in the mirror.

  “Thank you, Gwen,” she replied with a polite smile. “I’ve got to make a good impression on Owen’s friends tonight. I haven’t met most of them before, and I don’t want them to think I’m simply some trophy wife.”

  “No one will think that, ma’am,” Gwen assured her.

  “You don’t really know what they’ll think, so please don’t try to placate me,” Isabelle said.

  “Apologies, ma’am,” the maid responded despondently.

  Isabelle sighed and continued, “Just help me finish getting ready, Gwen.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” she said.

  About half an hour later, just as the sun was waning in the distance, Isabelle gracefully descended the stairs, ready to go to the ball being held in her honor. At the base of the stairs, her husband, Owen, waited alongside his ever-present attendant, Konstantine Deckland.

  “Beautiful, as always,” Owen said, as she reached the base of the steps. Deckland, on the other hand, simply glared at her with dead eyes, watching her every move.

  “Thank you, my love,” she replied warmly.

  “All ready to go?” he asked her.

  After a brief pause and a moment of slight trepidation, she answered, “Yes, I believe I am.”

  “No more head pains or strange memories?” he inquired. “We can always cancel if--”

  “I appreciate your concern, dear,” she said, interrupting him. “But I feel just fine. Don’t worry about me.”

  “If you insist,” he replied. Owen walked to a nearby closet, picking up a heavy, fur coat. As she approached him, he held it out for her, and she slid her bare arms inside the warm furs one at a time. Once she wore her coat, Owen pulled out his own from the closet and put it on. Together, they walked out to the front door where a black and gold carriage with crimson drapes covering the windows from the interior was waiting for them.

  In front of the coach were strapped two of Owen’s horses - Brownie and Clyde from the glance she gave them. Deckland climbed the vessel, situating himself in the perch alongside the driver, while Owen held out his hand to Isabelle, helping her into the coach. The insides were covered with the same cloth as the crimson drapes, which were lined with black trim and golden buttons. The interior wood was also painted dark black, and there were intricate golden etchings adorning the walls. Owen joined her inside the carriage, closing the door behind him.

  The coach soon began to move forward, and she could hear the crunching of snow outside, as the tires pressed slowly forward. The inside of the carriage was quite warm considering the conditions outside, so she presumed that the vehicle was equipped with a small heating unit.

  Not long after they left the mansion, the carriage was stopped, and Isabelle could hear someone talking with Deckland at the front of the vehicle. It sounded like a security checkpoint of some sort, but none of the guards inspected the carriage’s occupants, and they were soon on their way again.

  “I wonder what that was about,” Isabelle said.

  Owen shrugged and replied, “With so many threats in the city these days, I’m sure they’re just being careful.”

  Isabelle nodded and then inquired, “I never asked, but where is this being held?”

  “The Danielle Deverall Concert Hall,” Owen explained.

  “Someone you knew?” she asked.

  “Mmm, no,” he answered. “Long-since dead, I’m afraid.”

  “Who was she?” Isabelle continued.

  “Just another blue blood trying to make her mark on the city,” he replied.

  Isabelle smiled before asking, “And how are you going to make your mark?”

  “Who’s to say I haven’t already?” he replied coyly with a smile stretching across his face.

  Raising a single eyebrow, she asked, “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing specifically,” he explained. “I’ve just got a lot of coals in the fire is all.” He pushed the drape aside from the window nearest him to peek out the window. “Looks like we’re almost there,” he said.

  Moments later the carriage came to a stop, and the door was opened from the outside. There stood Deckland, holding open the door for Owen and her. She and her husband exited the cabin and made their way into the concert hall. The building was a shiny silver color and looked like an expanding balloon, as it came out toward them and rose up toward the sky before curving back in on itself. Inside the entryway, two attendants greeted them.

  “Your coats?” one of them said.

  Owen helped Isabelle take hers off, and then he handed it to the attendant. After taking off his own and giving it to the other man, the attendant gave Owen a pair of tickets, which he placed in his pants pocket.

  She and Owen then proceeded into a nearby hall with vibrant red carpeting and golden walls. At the center of the room was a large area with black tiling, where couples were dancing to music. A live band composed of a violinist, pianist, and bassist sat in the corner of the hall playing for the party. A line of tables along the wall held a staggering amount of food that some of the guests were helping themselves to. The room was crowded with people, and Isabelle felt completely overwhelmed.

  “All these people,” she said.

  “They’re all here to celebrate you, my dear,” he replied.

  “But they don’t even know me,” she countered. “Why would they care?”

  “This is how things are in the ari
stocracy,” he explained. “Everyone comes together to inspect one another and pass judgment on each other.” After a momentary pause, he continued, “Literally in some cases.” Owen raised his hand as a man and woman came over and greeted them. “Jack. Karoline,” he greeted them.

  “Owen,” the man said. “How are you doing tonight?”

  “Quite well,” he replied. “Allow me to introduce my new wife, Isabelle. Isabelle, this is Jack and Karoline Kipling.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” she said, daintily holding her hand out to Jack. He took it and lightly kissed the back of her hand.

  “Jack and Karoline both work in the courts,” Owen continued. “He’s a judge and she’s a lawyer.”

  “Let’s hope I never have to see you there,” Isabelle commented.

  “Indeed,” Karoline replied. “Though, considering who it is you married, I suspect you could get away with murder.”

  “Is that right?” she asked, looking over to her husband.

  “Oh, yes,” Jack agreed. “You’ve managed to catch a man with quite a bit of pull in this city.”

  Karoline placed her hand on her husband’s shoulder and said, “Honey, I think I just saw the Dunnocks. We should say hello.”

  “Quite,” Jack replied. Turning back to Isabelle, he continued, “It was lovely to meet you, my dear, and congratulations to you both.”

  After they had left, Isabelle smiled and turned to Owen saying, “Seems you have acquired a bit of clout. Perhaps you have already made your mark.”

  “I have influence over this entire room,” he elaborated. “Pick a person, and I can tell you exactly where and how to squeeze them.”

  “What about the Kipling’s then?” she asked.

  “They’re easy,” he replied. “Their daughter ran away from home some time ago. From what I understand, she wound up performing in the Weaver’s Circus.”

  “Impressive,” she said.

  “Pick someone else,” he insisted.

  Surveying the room, Isabelle spotted an elderly woman endowed with a large fur wrapped around the back of her neck and over her shoulders. She pointed inconspicuously toward her and asked Owen, “What about her? What’s her secret?”