placed left ear was my handiwork. Nearly twenty years ago, in the chaos and horror of the Great War, I had handled his body and performed surgery upon it. I had repaired his mortal wounds and attached that ill-matched ear. I had made him whatever he now was.
Perhaps the Countess Sylvia would agree to giving him a place at her Clinic, where I could keep him under my eye. There was that vacant janitor's post…
"So how did you lose that job? At the Kodak factory."
His eyes drifted away from mine, to his collection of lab ware.
"It wasn't anything much," he said. "Just borrowing something, like a cup of sugar or a few eggs." He shrugged.
"Well, Seale," I said, facing him and trying to hold his eyes with mine, "I can help you, if you want help finding work. But I must warn you that no one will be sympathetic to pilfering, or to" – I glanced at the jars – "soul collecting."
"I don't do that anymore," said Seale. "I've found a better way." He stepped over to the metal table beneath the suspended lamp and flipped back a folded cloth that lay upon it, exposing a number of knives, a small saw, some forceps and other tools. They had been laid out like surgical instruments ready for an operation. The knives bore rusty stains. A few pale granules clung to the saw's teeth, and beneath it the cloth was stained brownish red.
Seale noticed my interest. "That's why I asked you here, Doctor. You know something about ether, don't you? How to administer it so it works for… as long as it takes? The… patient has to breathe it in, I know that. I've rigged up a thing with a sponge, but –"
The room had grown warmer from the two lamps and our body heat. The chemical odour I had barely noticed before was now stronger, sickly, almost fruity.
"Ether?" Suddenly, I recognized the smell. That glass jug… "Seale, how long since you brought that ether here?"
"A couple of months," he said. "Just that half jug. You don't think it's gone bad, do you?" He picked up the jug and started to unscrew the lid.
"No! Don't –!"
The force of the explosion hurled me across the room, along with shards of glass that lacerated my face and hands. I landed hard on the floor, slamming my head on the baseboard as the soft, heavy mass of Seale's body slid against me.
I opened my eyes to see flames starting to lick the wall behind the lab bench. Struggling to my feet, I nearly fell as I bent down, grabbed Seale's arm and dragged him toward the door. Once we were out, I slammed the door shut and stood grasping my ankles, head swimming and throbbing.
Blood. Too much blood for a few skin lacerations. Seale's neck was gushing blood, probably from a severed artery. I had to get both of us out of there immediately.
Leave him! Get out and leave him to die and burn. You heard what he said, you saw those knives and things, and guessed what he's been up to. He's a monster.
"He's my monster. I made him."
Fighting dizziness, I hoisted Seale over my shoulder and prepared to grope my way toward the outer door. The lantern had been left behind in the burning laboratory, and the outer room was pitch dark. For an instant, I considered reopening the door of the lab so as to light my way, but was alert enough to reject the idea.
Twice, I nearly fell over something, but finally reached the outer wall. Uncertain of the location of the door, I ran my hand along the wall, hoping to find the doorframe. I bumped into something – probably the bookshelf I had noticed earlier – and tripped over it as it fell, nearly losing my grasp on Seale's limp form. Warm liquid ran down the side of my neck. I wondered how much blood he had lost, and how long it had been since the explosion. It felt like an eternity or two.
My hand bumped the doorframe. I groped farther down, seeking the door handle, hoping like hell Seale hadn't locked the door when we came in. There it was, but it wouldn't turn! I heard the crackle of flames. Orange light burst into the room and smoke billowed around me.
Desperate, I kicked at the door, all the while thinking I would have to lay Seale down and search his pockets for his keys. My kick must have dislodged something, though. The door gave way and swung open.
I had forgotten the stairs. With Seale's weight propelling me, I fell.
The Crossroads
We moved swiftly through lumpy, muddy terrain, a sense of imminent disaster poisoning the air. "Quick, boys – faster, faster!" said a commanding voice, and I urged my weary legs to a greater effort. The mud sucked at my boots, and I struggled to get good purchase for every step.
An intense, prolonged scream overhead, ending in a thud and an engulfing white light. Then chaos.
I awoke to thick darkness, earth beneath my hands and its dank smell in my nostrils. Groping about, I felt for Seale. We had to get going!
"Edwin, come on – let's go!" I shook his arm, found his hand and pulled him to his feet. "This way."
"Where?" Seale's voice grated feebly. "I can't see anything."
"Hold on and come with me. I know this place. I've been here before."
First, the passage through darkness. The iron bridge rang under our feet. Below us seethed black waters, above us flapped black wings, and all around us the Abyss echoed and clanged.
Don't think about the depth of the chasm, or the nature of its guardians.
"What's that noise? Where are we going?" Seale's hand tightened on mine.
"Don't worry, Edwin. Just keep putting one foot in front of the other."
After an unknown interval, something brushed my face, lightly groping. Circling my head, it chattered in my ear.
"Why your presence here? Why traverse the Abyss?"
I raised my hand in a gesture of placation. "I bring a soul seeking passage. By favour of the Abyss, I will come and depart."
"Come, come, come! By all means come! But depart – we'll see about that!" The voice dissolved into shrieks and cackles.
A passageway opened before us. It ended at a stretch of sand with pale, water-smoothed pebbles here and there, just visible in a soft glow of ambient light.
Until they weren't.
I stood with Edwin Seale by a tall stone that marked the place where three roads met. Seale was white-faced but calm. His small, rounded ears were evenly placed. I held out my hand to him.
"Edwin Seale, forgive me for using your body without your consent, and especially for pushing you into an impaired life that caused you grief and harm. I had no right to do that."
He took my hand, his grasp cold but firm. "Francis Dexter, I forgive you. And Herbert West as well." He smiled.
I bowed my head in acknowledgment. "And Herbert West as well. I thank you." I pointed down the road that led toward low hills, with a crescent moon descending into a ravel of dark clouds. "That way will bring you to the peace I stole from you."
He turned away and walked down the road. I watched him for a while, and then turned back to the place of brown sand and smooth pebbles.
"Pelican"
Now what? How do I get back?
I had been here before, in this place between life and death, where all ways begin and end. What did I do then? How did I recross the Abyss, from death to life? I knew a way existed, and hoped I would be shown it one more time.
I remembered it was not an easy road.
"Depart? You wish to depart? It's easy to come, hard to leave. Narrow is the way, and long. Cross, burrow and climb!" Again, the shrieks and echoes, the nameless heavings and convulsions in unimaginable depths.
"First, the bridge, the bridge! Narrow and long! Fragile but strong!"
Something formless pushed against me, and I stumbled onto wooden slats.
The bridge shuddered and swayed with every step, and its flimsy decking presented occasional foot-catching gaps. Phosphorescence glimmered here and there, hinting at, but not illuminating the enormous chasm I was traversing.
Don't look! Keep going! If you stop, you'll fall. Don't think, just walk!
Spongy shapes nudged me as I tottered along, grasping the ropes that served as handholds. Shrieks and laughter rang out at intervals, more than once startlin
g me to the point I barely saved myself from falling.
After an unknown eternity, I felt solid ground under my feet.
A pinion sliced across my eyes, at once sharp and yielding, followed by a soft titter and the rustle of wings withdrawing.
"You will return. Oh yes, you must return. But first you will learn to love darkness." Followed by a chorus of cackling, diminuendo. "Darkness, darkness, soon, darkness, soon, soon!"
What lies beyond the bridge? "Cross, burrow, and climb."
A tunnel, too low to stand up in, twisting through utter blackness. Upward through this stone intestine I crawled, scraping hands and knees, my progress impeded by occasional sharp protrusions. At long length, the tunnel ended at a vertical wall. Groping, I felt iron rungs.
Climb.
I climbed. I climbed until I forgot what it was like not to climb. The smell of iron filled my nostrils and my hands bled upon the rungs. I hardly knew what to do when the ladder ended, but managed to scramble onto some sort of level surface before me. My mind recoiled from the thought of the distance I had climbed, and the enormity of the fall should I lose my balance.
I stepped forward, stretched out my left hand, and felt unbroken rock.
"The Word, the Word! Say it if you wish to proceed!" It was as though the rock itself spoke.
What word? I've forgotten it!
Don't think, Francis! You're doing what needs to be done. When the moment comes, speak from your heart.
I stood, listening to my heart beating, and far, far below me the slither and churn of the Abyss.
I've been here before.