History contains many noteworthy happenings. Some catch the eye, some the mind, and some the heart, but others, a select few, grip the soul and refuse to relinquish their hold. The tale that I am about to relate resides decidedly in the final category.
Our story occurred in June of 1946. Our protagonist, Brookes Whitmore, had finally returned to his home state of West Virginia after participating in Hitler's war. A young man of 25 when Pearl Harbor was bombed, he was not lucky enough to avoid the draft. He was, however, lucky enough to come home in one piece. He had yet to find consistent employment, instead taking odd jobs here and there. That is where our story gets interesting, or, shall we say, odd.
Brookes sat at the bar in the only diner in Philippi, WV, sipping on a cup of below-average joe. It was still early. He knew it was sometime between 8 and 10 because Uncle Ed (he was nobody's uncle in particular) was in the corner trying to sober up (after 10 he'd be out drinking again). As he choked down his coffee, he perused the morning paper, thumbing through the classified in search of work. An unusual ad caught his eye. It read:
"Martha!" he yelled across the bar. "Can I use your phone?"
"You got it, babe!" she yelled back.
"You're the best, Martha!" he said as he strolled to the corner of the diner. He dialed the number featured in the ad, the rotary dial clanging with every digit.
It rang.
And rang.
And rang.
Finally, a voice answered.
"Hello," the deep--almost sultry--voice said. "McDaniels residence, Elwood speaking. How may I help you?"
"I saw your ad in the paper. Are you still looking for help?"
"I am," the voice replied succinctly.
"And...what kind of help do you need?" Brookes continued.
"I need...uh...there are many things that require attention."
"Well, I'm a pretty handy guy. I can pretty much pick up anything I try," Brookes assured him.
"Are you strong?" Elwood asked.
"I'm pretty well put together," Brookes said confidently.
"Are you quick-witted?"
"I didn't do that great in school, but I think I have street smarts," Brookes said.
"Do you have any medical training?"
"I learned a little in the service."
"Are you...squeamish?"
This one caught Brookes off guard. "Uh...I don't think so," he replied.
"Well, then, how soon can you be here?" Elwood said.
Brookes scanned the ad for the address. "Give me a couple of hours," he said.
"Hurry along then!"
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Brookes was not financially stable enough to own an automobile, so, there he was, riding his bike up and down the treacherous country roads. After getting thoroughly lost numerous times, he finally found the turn he had missed. The main road, shoddy enough by itself, careened and gave way to a dirt path. He followed the path, as cautious as he was desperate, until he arrived at a gate. It was unlocked with a sign hanging next to it that read:
The path continued for another half mile or so. What lay at the end of it would have surprised and dazzled the eyes of a man of any class. There, tucked away in the heart of Appalachia, stood an enormous mansion. He felt small standing in the shadow of the daunting edifice. It was ragged, yet beautiful.
He proceeded in astonishment, the dirt path yielding to broken pavement. He climbed the stone staircase to the front door, images of lions crouching on either side, as if ready to pounce. The oaken door was the largest he had ever seen and featured an archaic door knocker, again in the shape of a lion. He utilized it eagerly. The heavy thud reverberated back and forth through the immense halls. A few moments passed and the knock remained unanswered. Again he knocked, this time more loudly. After a few moments he heard the sound of dogs barking and feet shuffling.
"Shut up!" he heard. "Or I'll shut you up!"
The door slowly creaked open. In the dim light stood a diminutive figure, his face obscured by long, gray hair and scraggly whiskers. His pale blue eyes and rippling crow's feet suggested that he had resided here for a considerable number of years. He was so frail that Brookes feared he might topple right over. His clothes were tattered and his back had a noticeable arch, or, more precisely, a protrusion. An offensive odor clung to his person.
"Welcome, welcome," the strange figure said, motioning him in. Brookes complied, somewhat against his better judgment. The inside of the mansion was as impressive as the outside, though equally unkempt. Beautiful paintings and hand-carved railings were covered with a permanent layer of dust, though the dim, sparse lighting hid it well. Animal busts, equally impressive as they were exotic, lined the walls.
"What a magnificent home you have here, sir!" Brookes complimented him.
"Thank you," Elwood replied. "I am the third generation of McDaniels to reside here."
The large grandfather clock that graced the staircase landing announced the arrival of 5:00 P.M., catching the attention of both men.
"It's getting late," Elwood said.
"I hadn't noticed how much of the day had passed," Brookes replied. "I got redirected a couple of times."
"That's alright. There's no use you starting any projects tonight, I don't suppose. Why don't you just join me for dinner and stay the night? You can get started first thing in the morning."
"Oh, I wouldn't want to inconvenience you," Brookes said uneasily.
"A little company is no inconvenience for a lonely old man," Elwood insisted. "I'll have Martin set an extra place at the table." He turned his head painfully and yelled over his shoulder, "Oh, Martin!"
In shuffled Martin, whom Brookes assumed was some sort of butler. Somehow Martin appeared even older than Elwood.
"Yes, sir?"
"Martin, please set the table for three tonight. Mr...wait," he said, turning to Brookes, "what was your name?"
"Whitmore...Brookes Whitmore."
"Martin, please set a place for Mr. Whitmore at the table. He will be dining with us tonight. He will also need a bed made up in one of the spare rooms as he will be staying with us tonight."
Brookes figured further protests would be fruitless, and he really didn't want to ride his bike all the way back home anyway, so he smiled and nodded. Martin shuffled away into the shadows.
"So, what kind of work do you have for me to do?" Brookes asked. "Fixing up this place?"
Elwood smiled wryly, avoiding eye contact. "Let's not worry about that tonight. There will be plenty of time for that in the morning."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Brookes sat quietly in the immense dining room. His elbows were resting on a long, hardwood dinner table that was made of one of those hardwoods normal people have never even heard of. On his right, at the head of the table, sat Mr. McDaniels. He was pontificating about the war and the weather and anything else that came to his mind. Brookes remained silent with the exception of the occasional hmm or sure.
After Elwood had exhausted the topics about which he felt strongly, which were many, he prodded Brookes to speak. "So, Brookes, what are you doing with your life?"
With little interest in sharing his personal life, but even less interest in sharing an awkward silence, Brookes began to rehash his life story.
"I grew up in a small town about 50 miles from here," he began. He recounted his brief academic career and entrance into the military. "They shipped me overseas and made me a medic. I was lucky, I guess," he said, pausing just long enough to choke down a few tears, "a lot of guys didn't make it back."
"What now? What's next?"
"I'm not really sure," Brookes admitted. "I don't have much family or money. I'm just trying to stay alive at this point."
"Oh, c'mon, son!" Elwood said, a hint of disappointment latent in his voice. "You have your health. You're a strong-looking lad. Surely you can make something of yourself yet!"
"Maybe. I've thought about going to medical school, but I don't know if I have the grit to stick to it."
"Now that's an idea!" Elwood shouted enthusiastically.
"Were you a doctor?" Brookes asked.
"Heavens, no," Elwood responded, "but I would've liked to have been one. My daddy and his daddy before him were lawyers, as were all of their granddaddies, so that meant I became a lawyer, too. I dabbled a bit though."
"Dabbled?"
Elwood paused, his face bearing a look somewhere between pensive and confused. "Yes, I dabbled," he said. "It was mostly...experimental in nature."
"Experimental?" Brooked queried.
As the words left his mouth, Martin shuffled into the room.
"Dinner is served!" he announced. He placed the food in front of the pair and turned to leave the room.
"Aren't you going to join us, Martin?" Brookes said, glancing at the place setting directly opposite his own.
"No, sir. That is for Mrs. McDaniels," he said, exiting the room.
Turning back to Elwood, Brookes said, "Oh, will your wife be joining us?"
"Not unless she returns with the good Lord," Elwood replied, his tone surprisingly jovial.
"I'm sorry..."
"No, don't be. It's strange, I know. She passed a few years ago, but I still have Martin set out a place for her each night. I guess it makes me feel like she's still here," Elwood confessed. "Enough of that self-pity though. Let's eat."
Brookes looked down at the food set before him. It was unlike any traditional cut of meat he had seen and the aroma was difficult to place. His mother had trained him well, however, so he picked up his utensils and cut off a bite. He raised it reluctantly and forced it into his gullet. The texture, which approximated well-aged leather, challenged his molars. The flavor was bearable enough.
"Martin is a fine butler, but his cooking leaves much to be desired," Elwood joked. Brookes, his face full of meat, nodded and tried to manage a chuckle.
The remainder of the meal commenced in silence.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Brookes sat up abruptly! He was lying in a bed that was not his own (it was significantly larger than his) in a bedroom that was dark and unfamiliar. By the moonlight he made out the shape of the room and remembered where he was. His host had placed him in a secluded bedroom on the top floor of the west wing of the sprawling home, as if his encounter had not been creepy enough already.
A symphony of strange sounds struck his ear. He slid his feet onto the hardwood floor and tiptoed to the door. He opened it slightly and stuck his ear in the crack.
"What in Heaven's name?" he thought.
He heard a mixture of power tools and dogs barking.
"What is he doing at this hour of the night?" he wondered. "And...I don't remember seeing a dog."
He opened the door a bit more and slipped out into the hallway, proceeding cautiously towards the source of the sound. He snuck down the wide staircase that marked the center of the mansion. As his foot met the floor, he felt vibrations pass through his body. He knelt to the ground and pressed his ear to the floor. The barking was unmistakable.
"Shut up!" he heard his new employer shout, accompanied by a grinding noise.
He stumbled back onto the bottom stair, frozen in fear and indecision. The front door stood 20' away. He could run. He could leave this place and never give it another thought (a skill he had developed in the service to preserve his sanity).
Or...he could follow the sounds into the basement.
Fear and valor waged war in his breast while curiosity and self-preservation tumbled around in his brain. He rose to his feet, his heart resolved but his legs shaking. Placing one foot in front of the other, he advanced in the direction opposite the front door. He pushed through doors and wound his way through corridors, the manic noises growing louder with each step. At last he reached a door that would not budge. He jostled and tugged at the knob, but the door would not yield. He kicked at it a few times, but it was much too sturdy for someone of his frame to muscle down. Desperate, he felt around in the dark for a blunt object.
"This will have to do," he thought, picking up an antique candlestick. He bludgeoned the door with the club. Suddenly the noises stopped, replaced by the echo of footsteps proceeding up the stairs. He froze. His fists tightened around the mangled candlestick. He began to back away, but his escape was impeded by an obstruction behind him. The world began to spin. Warm blood crept down his temple. His legs gave way as his eyes rolled back into his head.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Some people are not ready for progress, Mr. Whitmore."
Brookes's eyelids flitted open yet again to unfamiliar surroundings. This time, however, it was the intensity of the light that obscured his vision. He tried to rub his eyes, but his extremities were bound to a metal chair by leather straps.
"What the...?"
"I didn't want it to be this way, Brookes," Mr. McDaniels said remorsefully.
Dazed, Brookes looked up to see Elwood standing over him, dressed like a butcher prepped for surgery. The sight of mutilated animal carcasses was outdone only by the pervasive aroma of death and feces.
"I like you," Elwood said genuinely. "Because I like you, and to demonstrate the philanthropic nature of my work, I'm going to give you one chance to join me in my endeavor."
Brookes's spine straightened and his fists tightened around the rusty arms of the chair. "Endeavor?" he said.
"Endeavor...voyage...expedition. Call it what you like, Mr. Whitmore; it's progress."
Brookes looked, disgusted, at the carnage around him.
"This is the next step in human evolution!" Elwood proclaimed, ripping off his cloak to reveal his handiwork. Words fail to describe the horror that overcame Brookes as the protrusion on Elwood's back was revealed to be the face of a Doberman.
Despite his best attempts to restrain himself, Brookes vomited profusely.
"That was not the reaction I was looking for, but I guess I can't blame you. Progress is often difficult to stomach."
"Progress?" Brookes replied, spitting out bits of partially-digested meat. "This is not progress. This is madness!"
Elwood pulled a chair over and sat down across from Brookes. "Join me, Brookes," he whispered. "Embrace the future."
Brookes looked at the shriveled head dangling limply between Elwood's shoulder blades. The fur and skin were decaying, the sutures red and weeping.
"What have you done to yourself? You need to see a doctor immediately!" Brookes implored.
"Doctors...ha! They can't understand this. They can't understand me! I'm not human anymore. I'm something more than that...I'm beyond human."
"You're sick," Brookes said, writhing in his chair.
"No, I'm advanced," Elwood said. "You know, the Injuns believed that ingesting the body parts of their enemies would grant them heightened abilities. The white man scoffed at them, but they were on to something. They just didn't have the medical knowledge to fulfill their vision."
He stood up and steadied Brookes's face between his hands. "Don't fight it, my son. Embrace your new self. Reach your full potential!"
"I'd rather die!"
"I can give you strength...speed...instinct..."
"And if I refuse?" Brookes asked.
"Progress waits for no man, Mr. Whitmore."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Brookes awoke again in that unfamiliar bedroom, warm sunlight now replacing the cool moonlight. He heaved out a long sigh of relief.
"That was a crazy dream," he thought.
He slid his legs out from under the covers and onto the floor. As he took a step towards the door, his body crumpled helplessly to the floor. He writhed on the splintered floor, fire raging through his veins. He looked down at his legs and screamed. Beginning at his knees, his legs had been replaced with those of a deer.
The End
Brookes sat at the bar in the only diner in Philippi, WV, sipping on a cup of below-average joe. It was still early. He knew it was sometime between 8 and 10 because Uncle Ed (he was nobody's uncle in particular) was in the corner trying to sober up (after 10 he'd be out drinking again). As he choked down his coffee, he perused the morning paper, thumbing through the classified in search of work. An unusual ad caught his eye. It read:
Help Needed: Lazy Fellas Need Not ApplyThe blunt honesty and pessimistic tone of the ad were refreshing.
"Martha!" he yelled across the bar. "Can I use your phone?"
"You got it, babe!" she yelled back.
"You're the best, Martha!" he said as he strolled to the corner of the diner. He dialed the number featured in the ad, the rotary dial clanging with every digit.
It rang.
And rang.
And rang.
Finally, a voice answered.
"Hello," the deep--almost sultry--voice said. "McDaniels residence, Elwood speaking. How may I help you?"
"I saw your ad in the paper. Are you still looking for help?"
"I am," the voice replied succinctly.
"And...what kind of help do you need?" Brookes continued.
"I need...uh...there are many things that require attention."
"Well, I'm a pretty handy guy. I can pretty much pick up anything I try," Brookes assured him.
"Are you strong?" Elwood asked.
"I'm pretty well put together," Brookes said confidently.
"Are you quick-witted?"
"I didn't do that great in school, but I think I have street smarts," Brookes said.
"Do you have any medical training?"
"I learned a little in the service."
"Are you...squeamish?"
This one caught Brookes off guard. "Uh...I don't think so," he replied.
"Well, then, how soon can you be here?" Elwood said.
Brookes scanned the ad for the address. "Give me a couple of hours," he said.
"Hurry along then!"
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Brookes was not financially stable enough to own an automobile, so, there he was, riding his bike up and down the treacherous country roads. After getting thoroughly lost numerous times, he finally found the turn he had missed. The main road, shoddy enough by itself, careened and gave way to a dirt path. He followed the path, as cautious as he was desperate, until he arrived at a gate. It was unlocked with a sign hanging next to it that read:
Friends May Enter; Fiends May NotBrookes chuckled and walked through. It was probably too early to tell, but he was going to consider himself a friend for now.
The path continued for another half mile or so. What lay at the end of it would have surprised and dazzled the eyes of a man of any class. There, tucked away in the heart of Appalachia, stood an enormous mansion. He felt small standing in the shadow of the daunting edifice. It was ragged, yet beautiful.
He proceeded in astonishment, the dirt path yielding to broken pavement. He climbed the stone staircase to the front door, images of lions crouching on either side, as if ready to pounce. The oaken door was the largest he had ever seen and featured an archaic door knocker, again in the shape of a lion. He utilized it eagerly. The heavy thud reverberated back and forth through the immense halls. A few moments passed and the knock remained unanswered. Again he knocked, this time more loudly. After a few moments he heard the sound of dogs barking and feet shuffling.
"Shut up!" he heard. "Or I'll shut you up!"
The door slowly creaked open. In the dim light stood a diminutive figure, his face obscured by long, gray hair and scraggly whiskers. His pale blue eyes and rippling crow's feet suggested that he had resided here for a considerable number of years. He was so frail that Brookes feared he might topple right over. His clothes were tattered and his back had a noticeable arch, or, more precisely, a protrusion. An offensive odor clung to his person.
"Welcome, welcome," the strange figure said, motioning him in. Brookes complied, somewhat against his better judgment. The inside of the mansion was as impressive as the outside, though equally unkempt. Beautiful paintings and hand-carved railings were covered with a permanent layer of dust, though the dim, sparse lighting hid it well. Animal busts, equally impressive as they were exotic, lined the walls.
"What a magnificent home you have here, sir!" Brookes complimented him.
"Thank you," Elwood replied. "I am the third generation of McDaniels to reside here."
The large grandfather clock that graced the staircase landing announced the arrival of 5:00 P.M., catching the attention of both men.
"It's getting late," Elwood said.
"I hadn't noticed how much of the day had passed," Brookes replied. "I got redirected a couple of times."
"That's alright. There's no use you starting any projects tonight, I don't suppose. Why don't you just join me for dinner and stay the night? You can get started first thing in the morning."
"Oh, I wouldn't want to inconvenience you," Brookes said uneasily.
"A little company is no inconvenience for a lonely old man," Elwood insisted. "I'll have Martin set an extra place at the table." He turned his head painfully and yelled over his shoulder, "Oh, Martin!"
In shuffled Martin, whom Brookes assumed was some sort of butler. Somehow Martin appeared even older than Elwood.
"Yes, sir?"
"Martin, please set the table for three tonight. Mr...wait," he said, turning to Brookes, "what was your name?"
"Whitmore...Brookes Whitmore."
"Martin, please set a place for Mr. Whitmore at the table. He will be dining with us tonight. He will also need a bed made up in one of the spare rooms as he will be staying with us tonight."
Brookes figured further protests would be fruitless, and he really didn't want to ride his bike all the way back home anyway, so he smiled and nodded. Martin shuffled away into the shadows.
"So, what kind of work do you have for me to do?" Brookes asked. "Fixing up this place?"
Elwood smiled wryly, avoiding eye contact. "Let's not worry about that tonight. There will be plenty of time for that in the morning."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Brookes sat quietly in the immense dining room. His elbows were resting on a long, hardwood dinner table that was made of one of those hardwoods normal people have never even heard of. On his right, at the head of the table, sat Mr. McDaniels. He was pontificating about the war and the weather and anything else that came to his mind. Brookes remained silent with the exception of the occasional hmm or sure.
After Elwood had exhausted the topics about which he felt strongly, which were many, he prodded Brookes to speak. "So, Brookes, what are you doing with your life?"
With little interest in sharing his personal life, but even less interest in sharing an awkward silence, Brookes began to rehash his life story.
"I grew up in a small town about 50 miles from here," he began. He recounted his brief academic career and entrance into the military. "They shipped me overseas and made me a medic. I was lucky, I guess," he said, pausing just long enough to choke down a few tears, "a lot of guys didn't make it back."
"What now? What's next?"
"I'm not really sure," Brookes admitted. "I don't have much family or money. I'm just trying to stay alive at this point."
"Oh, c'mon, son!" Elwood said, a hint of disappointment latent in his voice. "You have your health. You're a strong-looking lad. Surely you can make something of yourself yet!"
"Maybe. I've thought about going to medical school, but I don't know if I have the grit to stick to it."
"Now that's an idea!" Elwood shouted enthusiastically.
"Were you a doctor?" Brookes asked.
"Heavens, no," Elwood responded, "but I would've liked to have been one. My daddy and his daddy before him were lawyers, as were all of their granddaddies, so that meant I became a lawyer, too. I dabbled a bit though."
"Dabbled?"
Elwood paused, his face bearing a look somewhere between pensive and confused. "Yes, I dabbled," he said. "It was mostly...experimental in nature."
"Experimental?" Brooked queried.
As the words left his mouth, Martin shuffled into the room.
"Dinner is served!" he announced. He placed the food in front of the pair and turned to leave the room.
"Aren't you going to join us, Martin?" Brookes said, glancing at the place setting directly opposite his own.
"No, sir. That is for Mrs. McDaniels," he said, exiting the room.
Turning back to Elwood, Brookes said, "Oh, will your wife be joining us?"
"Not unless she returns with the good Lord," Elwood replied, his tone surprisingly jovial.
"I'm sorry..."
"No, don't be. It's strange, I know. She passed a few years ago, but I still have Martin set out a place for her each night. I guess it makes me feel like she's still here," Elwood confessed. "Enough of that self-pity though. Let's eat."
Brookes looked down at the food set before him. It was unlike any traditional cut of meat he had seen and the aroma was difficult to place. His mother had trained him well, however, so he picked up his utensils and cut off a bite. He raised it reluctantly and forced it into his gullet. The texture, which approximated well-aged leather, challenged his molars. The flavor was bearable enough.
"Martin is a fine butler, but his cooking leaves much to be desired," Elwood joked. Brookes, his face full of meat, nodded and tried to manage a chuckle.
The remainder of the meal commenced in silence.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Brookes sat up abruptly! He was lying in a bed that was not his own (it was significantly larger than his) in a bedroom that was dark and unfamiliar. By the moonlight he made out the shape of the room and remembered where he was. His host had placed him in a secluded bedroom on the top floor of the west wing of the sprawling home, as if his encounter had not been creepy enough already.
A symphony of strange sounds struck his ear. He slid his feet onto the hardwood floor and tiptoed to the door. He opened it slightly and stuck his ear in the crack.
"What in Heaven's name?" he thought.
He heard a mixture of power tools and dogs barking.
"What is he doing at this hour of the night?" he wondered. "And...I don't remember seeing a dog."
He opened the door a bit more and slipped out into the hallway, proceeding cautiously towards the source of the sound. He snuck down the wide staircase that marked the center of the mansion. As his foot met the floor, he felt vibrations pass through his body. He knelt to the ground and pressed his ear to the floor. The barking was unmistakable.
"Shut up!" he heard his new employer shout, accompanied by a grinding noise.
He stumbled back onto the bottom stair, frozen in fear and indecision. The front door stood 20' away. He could run. He could leave this place and never give it another thought (a skill he had developed in the service to preserve his sanity).
Or...he could follow the sounds into the basement.
Fear and valor waged war in his breast while curiosity and self-preservation tumbled around in his brain. He rose to his feet, his heart resolved but his legs shaking. Placing one foot in front of the other, he advanced in the direction opposite the front door. He pushed through doors and wound his way through corridors, the manic noises growing louder with each step. At last he reached a door that would not budge. He jostled and tugged at the knob, but the door would not yield. He kicked at it a few times, but it was much too sturdy for someone of his frame to muscle down. Desperate, he felt around in the dark for a blunt object.
"This will have to do," he thought, picking up an antique candlestick. He bludgeoned the door with the club. Suddenly the noises stopped, replaced by the echo of footsteps proceeding up the stairs. He froze. His fists tightened around the mangled candlestick. He began to back away, but his escape was impeded by an obstruction behind him. The world began to spin. Warm blood crept down his temple. His legs gave way as his eyes rolled back into his head.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Some people are not ready for progress, Mr. Whitmore."
Brookes's eyelids flitted open yet again to unfamiliar surroundings. This time, however, it was the intensity of the light that obscured his vision. He tried to rub his eyes, but his extremities were bound to a metal chair by leather straps.
"What the...?"
"I didn't want it to be this way, Brookes," Mr. McDaniels said remorsefully.
Dazed, Brookes looked up to see Elwood standing over him, dressed like a butcher prepped for surgery. The sight of mutilated animal carcasses was outdone only by the pervasive aroma of death and feces.
"I like you," Elwood said genuinely. "Because I like you, and to demonstrate the philanthropic nature of my work, I'm going to give you one chance to join me in my endeavor."
Brookes's spine straightened and his fists tightened around the rusty arms of the chair. "Endeavor?" he said.
"Endeavor...voyage...expedition. Call it what you like, Mr. Whitmore; it's progress."
Brookes looked, disgusted, at the carnage around him.
"This is the next step in human evolution!" Elwood proclaimed, ripping off his cloak to reveal his handiwork. Words fail to describe the horror that overcame Brookes as the protrusion on Elwood's back was revealed to be the face of a Doberman.
Despite his best attempts to restrain himself, Brookes vomited profusely.
"That was not the reaction I was looking for, but I guess I can't blame you. Progress is often difficult to stomach."
"Progress?" Brookes replied, spitting out bits of partially-digested meat. "This is not progress. This is madness!"
Elwood pulled a chair over and sat down across from Brookes. "Join me, Brookes," he whispered. "Embrace the future."
Brookes looked at the shriveled head dangling limply between Elwood's shoulder blades. The fur and skin were decaying, the sutures red and weeping.
"What have you done to yourself? You need to see a doctor immediately!" Brookes implored.
"Doctors...ha! They can't understand this. They can't understand me! I'm not human anymore. I'm something more than that...I'm beyond human."
"You're sick," Brookes said, writhing in his chair.
"No, I'm advanced," Elwood said. "You know, the Injuns believed that ingesting the body parts of their enemies would grant them heightened abilities. The white man scoffed at them, but they were on to something. They just didn't have the medical knowledge to fulfill their vision."
He stood up and steadied Brookes's face between his hands. "Don't fight it, my son. Embrace your new self. Reach your full potential!"
"I'd rather die!"
"I can give you strength...speed...instinct..."
"And if I refuse?" Brookes asked.
"Progress waits for no man, Mr. Whitmore."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Brookes awoke again in that unfamiliar bedroom, warm sunlight now replacing the cool moonlight. He heaved out a long sigh of relief.
"That was a crazy dream," he thought.
He slid his legs out from under the covers and onto the floor. As he took a step towards the door, his body crumpled helplessly to the floor. He writhed on the splintered floor, fire raging through his veins. He looked down at his legs and screamed. Beginning at his knees, his legs had been replaced with those of a deer.
The End
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