Felidae

As I sit here, at my cold and lonely desk, I find that I must tell my story to someone-- anyone. It's not right that I keep the horrible screeching and cawing of wild animals to myself, the scratching at my window in my study. It seems now that every branch tapping against that cold glass surface in the wind and rain makes me jump. The shadows stretching across the large fur rug strewn across my floor, making the stuffed animals seem to come alive, their glass eyes glinting in the light of the fire. I must write for what little sanity I have left. I have kept a small journal which I hope will help track what horrible things I have done.

* * * * *

12th of January, 1887

I found myself in another alcoholic stupor. I can hardly keep myself from kicking my leg under the table for what a stupid mistake I have made. The mix of absinthe and opium seems to dull the senses. Dr. Lindenbrok, the man I have been interning for and a good friend of mine, has taken advantage of my gullibility and stupidity to sign me on for his own thesis report on test animals. So far he has been rather vague about what we are going to perform on said animals but I doubt it could be anything good.

In other news, I have acquired a kitten from one of my friends. I think I shall name him Felix; it suits his friendly nature and speckled orange pelt. After my meeting with the Doctor, I found myself in a slight hangover, and the effects of having a feline companion to keep you company throughout the haze I seemed to be stumbling through was quite comforting.

17th of January, 1887

Dr Lindenbrock showed me to his laboratory today, which Oxford has lent him along with grant money. I listened with only slight interest as he chattered excitedly on how the test subjects will be given a dose of Rabies, and then watched to see the effects- we will attempt to find a cure. In theory, at least, I don't believe that this will work, but he shows me a few slides and I think to avoid confrontation I will agree to what he says. Felix has gotten bigger now, today he seemed intent on trying to gnaw on my fingers as I tried to sleep until I pushed him off the bed. He was less than pleased with this and so far has taken up to mewling until I get him a bowl of cream. With this, I depart.

4th of February 1887 We started testing today. The horrible crying of the caged animals still sends shivers down my spine as I write. Before today all I and another intern have been doing was studying the virus under a microscope and jotting down notes. It doesn’t seem right having to hold down a living animal by the scruff of their neck and forcefully inject a killer virus into them. So far none of the animals have shown any symptoms, but rabies is slow. I’m beginning to regret this contract with Dr Lindenbrock already. I feel like I’m already getting attached to some of the test subjects. I think Felix knows I am disturbed; I'm watching him pace lithely around my study like a caged tiger, his fluid amaranth tail flicking in anticipation. I have found that scratching behind his left ear triggers an interesting reaction; he winds up purring louder than any cat I have ever heard. His sound matches that of a steam engine even! It is a very comforting in the absence of other human life in my apartment. I find that shots of absinthe and the scratching of a cat's head mix quite well. 13th of February, 1887

The virus finally has set in in Test Subject 17. The previous have either died from shock or the virus set in too quickly. We even tried to test our vaccine before proper development on Test Subject 4. I had to look away as the horrible screeching form stilled my breath and chilled me to the bone as the subject's abdomen imploded, leaving a bubbling froth to drip from the subject's open mouth. My stomach still churns when I think of the wide-eyed terror of Subject 4's last few breaths before his brain was finally deteriorated. I am not entirely sure of the Doctor though, he seemed to watch intently as the horror was occurring, jotting down notes excitedly as the intern had to empty the contents of his lunch into the wastebasket. Felix has grown more, spending an unusual amount of time pacing or sitting at the windowsill looking out towards the Ashmolean museum, where most of our research has taken place. Perhaps he is watching the magpies which flutter around and caw hollowly to the chill English wind. I’m beginning to doubt I’ll ever see the sun again with this miserable weather; it’s been absolutely dreadful.

12th of December, 1888

It has been almost a year, since the university funded the professor's research, and little progress if any has been made. I fear that the research grant we have been given is slowly being drained for less than intelligent reasons, mostly liquor, to quell the Doctor's disdain for failure. It seems we are also low on test subjects, the few we have left being less healthy or the elder ones, which are not as likely to provide an adequate result. I'm not sure how to comfort the doctor in his mood swings, although I did offer him a meal and informed him of my liquor cabinet, which he accepted eagerly. I'm not entirely sure if I feel as grateful a host as I think I should be though. Felix on the other hand, has doubled in size, and other than the odd tail twitch, pacing, and looking out at the Ashmolean, he seems perfectly healthy. I’m afraid that I may have been overfeeding him as, well, he’s beginning to get rather tubular. Perhaps in my exhaustion I forget when last I fed him and continue to do so until he seems satisfied- the devil doesn’t know it’s not healthy. But, he still mewls like a small kitten and I find it hard to resist handing him something; I’m afraid I’ve gone too soft for this cat. 15th of December, 1888 I'm writing the night after Doctor Lindenbrok left my house from the supper I fixed for him. Admittedly I pride myself on my cooking, even if I had a very large orange tabby twining itself around my legs while I worked. The reason I am writing is not for the cooking, though. It was for how the professor acted around Felix. He seemed intensely interested around the orange tabby, never talking directly to me and always looking around for where Felix went, throughout the night he continually asked me questions as to where and how I had gotten a cat. I merely said Felix had turned up on his own, not wanting to tell him more than that because of his odd behavior- was that the truly right thing to do? I suppose it’s too late to regret my decision now.

The more alcohol the professor imbibed in, the more talkative he grew talked as to how the tests were going to fuel the grants and science as a whole. He spoke of things so darwinian and ancient- almost chilling if it weren’t so intriguing. He spoke of “if we could cure beasts of their burden, then we may cure man of all ills- this is merely a children’s project compared to what might be done when we succeed”. He spoke of many evils, most of which I deemed to be the rantings of madness and perhaps absinthe. The professor told me how he could make man immortal- to which I responded that he was a madman. I would not have him ranting about such insane subjects in my apartments, but he went on. His voice grew louder and more excited as he continued; saying that when man had nothing to fear, there would be no need of religion. Nothing to hold us back from what can come next. Men would become gods. After he reached the culmination of his tirade, we sat in a long moment of silence, I watched ill-at-ease as the professor paled. I think he realised how much information he had given me. Standing, we said goodnight and though I offered to take him back to his house, he politely declined my offer and left in a drunken stupor.

18th of December, 1888

Felix is missing. I don't feel like writing much due to my alcohol content and my current state of mind.

20th of December, 1888

I fear the worst for my dear Felix. I have looked everywhere for him and yet he is unable to be found. I am also beginning to hear rumors of the neighborhood strays beginning to disappear. The professor has been relatively silent, telling the other intern and me to take a break- though the last time I saw him he had a bandage around his hand and looked nervous. A thin sheen of sweat across his brow as we talked about his research paper. He replied rather sharply that perhaps I should take a break, that the subjects were probably just getting to me- and to save my nervousness I should take a rest. I don't know if I should trust Dr. Lindenbrok anymore though; he seemed rather odd throughout our conversation, the muscles in his face twitching ever so often, pulling up a sneer or an eyebrow.

21st of December, 1888

I still haven't found Felix, but the other Intern, Edgar, and I have devised a plan to see if the Doctor is all right and what he has been so secretive about. There is a window on the second story which leads directly to the testing room. With a ladder, Edgar will be able to get in and see how the Doctor is doing. Neither of us knows if this idea is even sane itself, but we both worry about Doctor Lindenbrok and we must know he is safe. Felix is still missing, and it seems every time I see a shadow under my door or through my window I always look up in a falsity of hope.

23rd of December, 1888

It's a miracle I can keep my pen straight while writing because my hand is shaking so terribly. I am not entirely sure who or what we saw in the laboratory. It seemed to be the professor, but salivating and screaming at us when Edgar first came through the window. At first he seemed perfectly normal, turned away from us and looked like he was checking over the test tubes. But when Edgar pried open the old window he turned quickly. Professor Lindenbrok was neither man nor beast now, the muscles in his neck twitched, making his head shake and convulse as he opened his mouth and emitted the most horrifying laugh I had ever heard; it was wet, half-drowned by the saliva from the virus but still carried throughout the auditorium. I felt Edgar try and back away but wind up slipping and with a scream he fell into the room as the rabid man began to shamble towards us, his feet turned inwards and the maniacal laughter still booming throughout the large room. The violently twitching figure charged at Edgar as I watched helplessly through the window. Lunging forward, the Doctor’s mouth distended into a wide hatch to which he latched onto my colleague with. Pulling back his head with a jerk, he torn out Edgar’s throat and left the bleeding hunk of flesh dribbling between his jaws as crimson mixed with the foam which dripped from his mouth. After he was finished and my colleague lay lifeless on the tile floor, what I believe to be Doctor Lindenbrok turned and stared at me viciously with bloodshot eyes and a foaming mouth. The vermillion pool at his feet growing swiftly, as the doctor chuckled darkly again through the bile in his mouth. My blue eyes meeting his bloodshot hazel ones for an instant.

I let instinct take over and I ran. I heard the professor scream and run after me... but fear kept me swift and I made it back to my apartment. Every noise of unknown origin, every shadow cast by the fire- I always think of the convulsing body of Edgar as he bled out on the floor; or the Doctor and his mad laughter which echoed through the night. I don’t think it’s right to write about such things, but I do not trust myself outside of my own home to contact authorities about such an incident. I should sleep, I can just now see the sun begin its slow arc across the sky, but I don't know if it's even safe to sleep anymore. Should I find myself awake with the rabid man standing above me, ready to sink his teeth into me, I don't know what would become of me.

* * * * *

I can just now hear the maniacal laughter outside my door. Should I put down my pen and reach for my revolver? Should I end it now? I don't even know if it actually is my imagination playing tricks on me. Perhaps it's not the professor that is the mad one, but I. The half empty bottle of absinthe sitting on my desk beside me almost stares at me mockingly, the green fluid taunting me. I can still hear the screams and yowls of cats echoing painfully in my head.. I don't know what to do anymore; is there balm in Gilead? What safety do I have left but in my words, on this very paper is my sanity. Sanity which I feel could leave me at any moment in a rush of madness. Nothing is right anymore.

Goodbye,

Charles Valois, 30th October, 1889