Of Herbert West, who was my friend in college
and in other life, I can speak only with extreme terror. This terror is
not due altogether to the sinister manner of his recent disappearance,
but was engendered by the whole nature of his life-work, and first
gained its acute form more than seventeen years ago, when we were in the
third year of our course at the Miskatonic University medical school in
Arkham. While he was with me, the wonder and diabolism of his
experiments fascinated me utterly, and I was his closest companion. Now
that he is gone and the spell is broken, the actual fear is greater.
Memories and possibilities are ever more hideous than realities.
The first horrible incident of our acquaintance
was the greatest shock I ever experienced, and it is only with
reluctance that I repeat it. As I have said, it happened when we were in
medical school, where West had already made himself notorious through
his wild theories on the nature of death and the possibility of
overcoming it artificially. His views, which were widely ridiculed by
the faculty and by his fellow students, hinged on the essentially
mechanistic nature of life; and concerned means for operating the
organic machinery of mankind by calculated chemical action after the
failure of natural processes. In his experiments with various animating
solutions he had killed and treated immense numbers of rabbits,
guinea-pigs, cats, dogs, and monkeys, till he had become the prime
nuisance of the college. Several times he had actually obtained signs of
life in animals supposedly dead; in many cases violent signs; but he
soon saw that the perfection of his process, if indeed possible, would
necessarily involve a lifetime of research. It likewise became clear
that, since the same solution never worked alike on different organic
species, he would require human subjects for further and more
specialized progress. It was here that he first came into conflict with
the college authorities, and was debarred from future experiments by no
less a dignitary than the dean of the medical school himself- the
learned and benevolent Dr Allan Halsey, whose work in behalf of the
stricken is recalled by every old resident of Arkham.
I had always been exceptionally tolerant of
West's pursuits, and we frequently discussed his theories, whose
ramifications and corollaries were almost infinite. Holding with Haeckel
that all life is a chemical and physical process, and that the
so-called "soul" is a myth, my friend believed that artificial
reanimation of the dead can depend only on the condition of the tissues;
and that unless actual decomposition has set in, a corpse fully
equipped with organs may with suitable measures be set going again in
the peculiar fashion known as life. That the psychic or intellectual
life might be impaired by the slight deterioration of sensitive
brain-cells which even a short period of death would be apt to cause,
West fully realized. It had at first been his hope to find a reagent
which would restore vitality before the actual advent of death, and only
repeated failures on animals had shown him that the natural and
artificial life-motions were incompatible. He then sought extreme
freshness in his specimens, injecting his solutions into the blood
immediately after the extinction of life. It was this circumstance which
made the professors so carelessly sceptical, for they felt that true
death had not occurred in any case. They did not stop to view the matter
closely and reasoningly.
It was not long after the faculty had
interdicted his work that West confided to me his resolution to get
fresh bodies in some manner, and continue in secret the experiments he
could no longer perform openly. To hear him discussing ways and means
was rather ghastly, for at the college we had never procured anatomical
specimens ourselves. Whenever the morgue proved inadequate, two local
negroes attended to this matter, and they were seldom questioned. West
was then a small, slender, spectacled youth with delicate features,
yellow hair, pale blue eyes, and a soft voice, and it was uncanny to
hear him dwelling on the relative merits of Christ Church Cemetery and
the potter's field, because practically everybody in Christ Church was
embalmed; a thing of course ruinous to West's researches.
I was by this time his active and enthralled
assistant, and helped him make all his decisions, not only concerning
the source of bodies but concerning a suitable place for our loathsome
work. It was I who thought of the deserted Chapman farmhouse beyond
Meadow Hill, where we fitted up on the ground floor an operating room
and a laboratory, each with dark curtains to conceal our midnight
doings. The place was far from any road, and in sight of no other house,
yet precautions were none the less necessary; since rumours of strange
lights, started by chance nocturnal roamers, would soon bring disaster
on our enterprise. It was agreed to call the whole thing a chemical
laboratory if discovery should occur. Gradually we equipped our sinister
haunt of science with materials either purchased in Boston or quietly
borrowed from the college - materials carefully made unrecognizable save
to expert eyes - and provided spades and picks for the many burials we
should have to make in the cellar. At the college we used an
incinerator, but the apparatus was too costly for our unauthorized
laboratory. Bodies were always a nuisance - even the small guinea-pig
bodies from the slight clandestine experiments in West's room at the
boarding-house.
We followed the local death-notices like
ghouls, for our specimens demanded particular qualities. What we wanted
were corpses interred soon after death and without artificial
preservation; preferably free from malforming disease, and certainly
with all organs present. Accident victims were our best hope. Not for
many weeks did we hear of anything suitable; though we talked with
morgue and hospital authorities, ostensibly in the college's interest,
as often as we could without exciting suspicion. We found that the
college had first choice in every case, so that it might be necessary to
remain in Arkham during the summer, when only the limited summer-school
classes were held. In the end, though, luck favoured us; for one day we
heard of an almost ideal case in the potter's field; a brawny young
workman drowned only the morning before in Summer's Pond, and buried at
the town's expense without delay or embalming. That afternoon we found
the new grave, and determined to begin work soon after midnight.
It was a repulsive task that we undertook in
the black small hours, even though we lacked at that time the special
horror of graveyards which later experiences brought to us. We carried
spades and oil dark lanterns, for although electric torches were then
manufactured, they were not as satisfactory as the tungsten contrivances
of today. The process of unearthing was slow and sordid - it might have
been gruesomely poetical if we had been artists instead of scientists -
and we were glad when our spades struck wood. When the pine box was
fully uncovered West scrambled down and removed the lid, dragging out
and propping up the contents. I reached down and hauled the contents out
of the grave, and then both toiled hard to restore the spot to its
former appearance. The affair made us rather nervous, especially the
stiff form and vacant face of our first trophy, but we managed to remove
all traces of our visit. When we had patted down the last shovelful of
earth we put the specimen in a canvas sack and set out for the old
Chapman place beyond Meadow Hill.
On an improvised dissecting-table in the old
farmhouse, by the light of a powerful acetylene lamp, the specimen was
not very spectral looking. It had been a sturdy and apparently
unimaginative youth of wholesome plebeian type - large framed,
grey-eyed, and brown-haired - a sound animal without psychological
subtleties, and probably having vital processes of the simplest and
healthiest sort. Now, with the eyes closed, it looked more asleep than
dead; though the expert test of my friend soon left no doubt on the
score. We had at last what West had always longed for - a real dead man
of the ideal kind, ready for the solution as prepared according to the
most careful calculations and theories for human use. The tension on our
part became very great. We knew that there was scarcely a chance for
anything like complete success, and could not avoid hideous fears at
possible grotesque results of partial animation. Especially were we
apprehensive concerning the mind and impulses of the creature, since in
the space following death some of the more delicate cerebral cells might
well have suffered deterioration. I, myself, still held some curious
notions about the traditional "soul" of man, and felt an awe at the
secrets that might be told by one returning from the dead. I wondered
what sights this placid youth might have seen in inaccessible spheres,
and what he could relate if fully restored to life. But my wonder was
not overwhelming, since for the most part I shared the materialism of my
friend. He was calmer than I as he forced a large quantity of his fluid
into a vein of the body's arm, immediately binding the incision
securely.
The waiting was gruesome, but West never
faltered. Every now and then he applied his stethoscope to the specimen,
and bore the negative results philosophically. After about
three-quarters of an hour without the least sign of life he
disappointedly pronounced the solution inadequate, but determined to
make the most of his opportunity and try one change in the formula
before disposing of his ghastly prize. We had that afternoon dug a grave
in the cellar, and would have to fill it by dawn - for although we had
fixed a lock on the house we wished to shun even the remotest risk of a
ghoulish discovery. Besides, the body would not be even approximately
fresh the next night. So taking the solitary acetylene lamp into the
adjacent laboratory, we left our silent guest on the slab in the dark,
and bent every energy to the mixing of a new solution; the weighing and
measuring supervised by West with an almost fanatical care.
The awful event was very sudden, and wholly
unexpected. I was pouring something from one test-tube to another, and
West was busy over the alcohol blast-lamp which had to answer for a
Bunsen burner in this gasless edifice, when from the pitch-black room we
had left there burst the most appalling and demoniac succession of
cries that either of us had ever heard. Not more unutterable could have
been the chaos of hellish sound if the pit itself had opened to release
the agony of the damned, for in one inconceivable cacophony was centred
all the supernal terror and unnatural despair of animate nature. Human
it could not have been - it is not in man to make such sounds - and
without a thought of our late employment or its possible discovery both
West and I leaped to the nearest window like stricken animals;
overturning tubes, lamp, and retorts, and vaulting madly into the
starred abyss of the rural night. I think we screamed ourselves as we
stumbled frantically toward the town, though as we reached the outskirts
we put on a semblance of restraint-just enough to seem like belated
revellers staggering home from a debauch.
We did not separate, but managed to get to
West's room, where we whispered with the gas up until dawn. By then we
had calmed ourselves a little with rational theories and plans for
investigation, so that we could sleep through the day - classes being
disregarded. But that evening two items in the paper, wholly unrelated,
made it again impossible for us to sleep. The old deserted Chapman house
had inexplicably burned to an amorphous heap of ashes; that we could
understand because of the upset lamp. Also, an attempt had been made to
disturb a new grave in the potter's field, as if by futile and spadeless
clawing at the earth. That we could not understand, for we had patted
down the mould very carefully.
And for seventeen years after that West would
look frequently over his shoulder, and complain of fancied footsteps
behind him. Now he has disappeared.
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