Hosstory - Let it Have LifeHosstory - Let it Have Life
Chapter One
The beams of sallow sunlight shone through the dirty glass of the small laboratory window causing the Professor to stir from a restless tormented sleep.
Scattered around him lay the remnants of his first attempts at reanimated life, all seeming to have promise but every one ending in failure. There was the arm that on rejuvenation raised the middle finger of its hand and after that done nothing else. Not a lot of use, except for hanging a coat on the professor had thought. Then there was the spleen. On applying the current it wasn’t clear whether the thing was alive or dead, and if it was alive, not a lot could be done with it. Then of course there was the arsehole. There it had sat for several days not doing much except twitch. Finally the professor had got totally fed up with it and come to the conclusion that no one really has any use for an extra arsehole, well maybe Jimmy the puff might, who knows? On disconnection it had given one last mighty twitch and there lay motionless and totally useless.
The organ that had given the most promise of reaction and staying alive the longest also had given the professor the most unease and concern. It was an eye. On connecting it up and applying the power, all it did when he entered the room was wink at him. Every time he glanced across the room in its direction it gave him a shifty wink. He remembered that it had been taken from a Hunmanby man who’d died under suspicious and violent circumstances and finally he began to wonder what sort of person the man had been. For piece of mind and sanity he’d placed a hat over it and got on with the rest of his work. Eventually out of curiosity he’d lifted the hat to see if the thing was still alive, and there to his astonishment noticed that tears had been flowing from its corner. The thing had been crying.
Now here at last lay his penultimate creation, his attempt at bringing together all he had experimented on and worked on for the past long months. Strapped tightly to the slab that it had been bit by bit assembled on lay a man. At least he had decided it was to be a man. It being male by his design, the only thing it needed now to make it so was a dick and he knew that it was to have no paltry appendage. It being the best, it would have the biggest. Remembering something of what he had been told at school he knew that the animal with the largest male member in the world was the barnacle. He looked it up, and sure enough it was stated that the barnacle has one five times the length of its entire body.
“Well.” he thought. “If it’s big enough for the barnacle. It’s big enough for my creation.”
And so the final part that was to make it masculine in every way was so precisely and with the greatest medical skill, grafted on.
For the past countless days and every long hour of every long night he had toiled relentlessly on this thing. He knew if he had the body, and he had it assembled in the right order, he knew for sure he could instil life into it. If he could assemble a B&Q kitchen from scratch, he could do anything.
From head to toe it was near six feet six inches, and there in the very place it now was, slowly but with a precise determination it had been assembled, bit-by-bit, organ-by-organ. On awakening from his restless sleep, the professor again looked at it with a certain self inward admiration for he knew that it was his creation, and he would very soon play his own God and give it life.
This assemblage of spare body parts had come about as quickly as the professor had gone rapidly off religion.
One night a perfect stranger had called and told him how wonderful it was in heaven. How everything and everyone was at piece with everything and everyone else, and how he too could be this way. All he had to do was donate half his yearly earnings to the address on the broacher, and not give any blood.
What he was sure the man hadn’t told him was that he would have to be dead for all this piece and wonderfulness to happen. No. He’d found this out quite by accident when in the pub one night, the shifty undertakers assistant had tried to sell him a flat pack coffin, ‘cheap’. The man had mentioned all the things told to him before, saying that when he died, in the cask he would be in heaven and at piece with everyone and everything.
Sod that for a game of marbles. From then on he’d given religion a body-swerve and had devoted all his spare time to finding a way of cheating death.
Surprisingly the body parts that made up this being had been quite easily come by. The professor found that all he had to do was wait quietly and out of sight at the rear of the Scarborough crematorium buildings. As the coffins were wheeled from the rear of the chapel to have all their brass parts removed for re-sale and re-use he would shout ‘fire’ at the top of his voice. The two idiots given charge of removing all the metal parts and shifting the stiffs would immediately evacuate the premises, leaving in turn the coffins with their valuable contents fully accessible to anyone who required them.
To prevent suspicion due to the change in weight, the professor would only remove certain parts from certain coffins, a liver from one, a leg from another, an eye from a third replacing it of course with a glass one to overt suspicion; and in that way, no one was the wiser as to what was going on. Taking only a few parts at a time also made it easier to smuggle them out of the building and away.
Occasionally he had made minor mistakes, stealing two left legs for instance, which had inevitably meant an extra trip on a later date.
The body part that was the most difficult of all to obtain was the brain. This most complicated of organs could not be very easily or quickly removed from the cranium it rested in, it having so many intricate connections to the rest of the body and its nervous system. He had once thought of stealing the whole head and carrying out a do-it-yourself job at home, but seeing as the head was always on show, even inside the box, this would be all too obvious to anyone taking a final peek at the deceased. The brain he would have to obtain from somewhere else.
That somewhere else was sixty miles away in the city of York, and the exact place was the cellars of the Royal Institute of Medical Surgeons. That very place he had visited during his training and he could still remember the shelves upon shelves of every body part anyone could ever wish for.
That very next morning he left the rain swept streets of Filey and in his large white van, headed for Yorkshires capital city. He knew exactly what he was going to do when he got there, and he knew exactly how he was going to do it. He was well skilled by now at acquiring body parts and here, from what he could remember, there were loads.
Arriving at the buildings he parked the van inconspicuously round the back and adorning his white doctors coat, entered the main building foyer.
Surprisingly there were very few people around and he had no trouble finding the stairs that would lead him to the rooms below and his goal. For an old building such as this it was very well sine posted. How thoughtful they had been.
Reaching the room marked ‘Body Parts’ he turned and looked for a fire alarm button. There again these surgeons had thought of everything. Just beside the door an alarm button was fixed.
Quickly he hit the button a sturdy blow causing the alarm to burst instantly into life. The siren howled sharp and loud causing him to near jump out of his skin and he looked from left to right to see if there was anyone coming. Composing himself and being self-assured he was alone, he opened the door before him. There inside were shelves, dozens of shelves laid out in neat rows as far as he could see. On each of these were jars of all shapes and sizes, each containing a body part or organ suspended in a clear liquid. Some contained hearts, some livers, some lungs both single and in pairs; there were even ears, though no one had separated them into their individual sides. Some parts were for sale, some were on special offer of two for the price of one for this month only, but he was not interested in these. He needed only one thing.
He searched and searched row upon row, finally coming to the isle that had the shelves with the jars that contained the brains. There as on the others, in the neatest of rows as if on a supermarket shelf were jar upon jar. In these jars was also a clear liquid as had the others, but suspended in these was a brain.
As he began to look he found to his horror that all had been dissected in some way or another. This could not be. They all couldn’t be in this useless state. It just wasn’t fair.
Frantically he swept the jars aside causing most to crash onto the hard stone floor splattering their fragile contents in a soggy heap for some poor sod to clean up. He knew that his free time in the place was becoming short, and he knew also he would soon have to leave, brain or not. In a whirl of now frenzied panic he came to the end of the last of the shelves. There at the very back of the very last shelf, one jar remained. If he had have believed in a God, he would have prayed, but he didn’t, so now in anticipation he slowly reached out and grasped the jar.
Out of the shadow the vessel came and he could hardly look as it came into full view. He turned it and scrutinised its contents. There in this very last jar was a brain. A complete untouched brain with not a single mark on it. This one they must have missed.
With a certain relief and with the utmost care, he placed the jar into a padded bag he had brought with him and quickly made his way to his van.
As he drove away the fire brigade were just arriving but he knew that they would just call it a false alarm. Below in the cellar in the full beams of his crews high power lights, chief fireman Killingbeck threw up at what he saw. Never before had he seen such a horrific mess and never again did he want to.
There now on the slab the lifeless conglomeration of body parts lay waiting only for the one organ that would render it complete. The professor knew that to install this would be no easy task and he knew that once started, there could be no break until the job was complete.
For two long continuous days he toiled. The surgical machines around him whirring and banging as they did their jobs. He wished now that he’d have had an assistant to shout and bawl at when things didn’t go quite right, but hunchbacks in Filey were few and far between.
Came the time when the brain was lifted from its mixture of alcohol and formaldehyde and placed inside its’ new home. For long hour after long hour the professor sewed the many intricate nerve endings to their corresponding ends, connecting them the new body. Finally it was done and placing the skullcap on the top of its head, he stapled the bone together.
After his he fell into a deep, deep sleep and only awoke days later to the sound of a singing blackbird. With one swift move he reached for his 202 air rifle and shot the thing dead. Sod 1947 he thought.
Now had come the time. The time when the total results of his work were to be put to there test. The time when he was to in sue life into his creation and he alone would play his own god to the thing that was to ‘be born’.
Connecting two large metal clip electrodes top the monsters scrotum and standing well clear, he applied several thousand volts at several hundred amps. He read from one of the trusted Filey web sites that electric current only travels on the outside of a conductor, therefore he’d have to use such high power to get everything up and running.
There was a screaming and howling from the thing as the high current flowed through its parts. The professor kept the power on for he knew that it must have been doing the thing good. Suddenly to his surprise through the hissing and sizzling that was now coming from its groin it shouted words.
“Turn that effin thing off yer stupid bastard.” It shouted at the top of its voice.
The professor heard this and jumped for joy. He’d done it. He created his own being, his own life. He was a god.
“Stop your effin jumping and turn it of before I effin kill yer!” it screamed even louder in its pain.
The professor realised what was happening and removed the power, there its body slumped and lay still, it occasionally drawing breath.
“You’re alive. You’re alive!” he shouted as he came closer to the thing.
With one swift movement it broke the strap holding its right arm and grabbed him by the throat.
“Beer. I want beer. I want an effin drink.” It cried out loudly in his ear. “Untie me and get me a drink. Now.”
The professor didn’t know what to do, but he did know one thing. It was certain what it wanted, and it was certain it wanted it now. He rushed away and returned with a single can of larger to which the creature snatched it and in a few short gulps finished it.
“More!” it hissed.
This is how things went on until the house was empty of alcoholic drink and the monster realising this turned and grabbed the professor again by the throat.
“Curry.” It demanded. “Effin hot curry.”
Quickly he reached out and grabbed the phone. In great pain he dialled the Indian restaurant and ordered a large hot meal to be delivered. On hearing this, the thing had released its grip was proceeding to tear the house apart looking for drink.
Out of what he thought was pure grace and that someone was out to save his life, the curry arrived. Quickly and to overt attention he paid the delivery boy and gave him a large tip just to get rid of him.
The monster smelled what had arrived and grabbing the bags from Cartwright’s had, it began to stuff greedily the contents into its mouth. Within minutes it had finished the meal and then suddenly without word or warning it farted. The room filled with a yellow gas that made the professors eye water and stink. Coughing and spluttering he staged towards the room door and to the life giving fresh air outside. Following him and not seemingly bothered by the gas was the monster.
“I’m goin’ out to get my hole.” It said sternly.
To that it bashed through the door and left, leaving the professor in silent shock. He knew not where it had gone, nor if it would return. Nor who he was or what he was doing there. In fact he knew nothing. The effects of what had erupted from the creature’s backside had in stowed amnesia upon him.
The thing did return at 1.15am and again bashed through the door and returned to the laboratory and it bed, the slab.
The professor watching it could only try and think what was happening. He could see in some distant memory things that had happened over the past few days, but he could not put any of them into a reasonable or logical occurrence.
This is how things went on, day after day. Night after night. All it seemed to do was swear, drink, and have sex constantly. The professor was slowly but surely beginning to realise that what he had created was an abomination.
Finally came the eventful night that was to change his and everyone’s lives that had anything to do with the whole affair. There was a harsh loud knock at the door and on answering it he was confronted by two police officers.
“Is this yours?” one of the officers asked trying to be as sarcastic as he could but not realising that the ‘this’ described exactly what they held between them.
“Why do you think it’s, he’s mine?” the professor asked back quickly correcting himself.
“He kept saying that he wanted more drink and mumbling something about this address. We had a hell of a job getting him into the van. Finally we told him there was more drink in the back and that seemed to work.” He explained.
“Now. Is he yours?” the officer asked more sternly.
“Well. He doesn’t really belong to me.” The professor answered. “We’re not actually related. But you could say I’ve looked after him since he was given life.” He explained nervously.
“What’s his name?” The other officer asked.
“Name. Er. He doesn’t have a name. I don’t suppose I’ve really ever called him anything.”
“You mean to say that you’ve looked after him since he was born, and he doesn’t have a name. Do you think we’re stupid? Don’t treat us like idiots sir. It can be very bad for you.”
“Born. Er, yes. Born.” The professor stammered.
He pondered. The thing that they held between them had never been born as one and a whole. The bits that it was made of though had been born, separately, to different mothers. He thought. So technically it had been born and everything was as the police had said. He’d never thought about it before.
“What’s his name.” The officer repeated angrily.
Now the professor had to think a bit faster. He could see that the police were getting agitated and were beginning to look at him as if he was taking the piss. A name, he thought. What could he call it?
“Pinder.” He blurted out. “His names David Pinder.”
Where the hell he’d got that name from he could not imagine. Maybe it had crept out of a locked away part of his distant past somewhere. Anyway that was that, and it seemed to have given the police what they wanted and calmed them down.
“Where did you find him?” He asked.
“Well sir. We found him in a shop doorway.” One of the officers said as he looked for some support to his colleague.
“On the main street of Scarborough.” The other added.
“Oh. He’d had too much to drink had he?” the professor asked. “Legless.” He tried to joke.
“Well yes he’d had quite a bit to drink. But it wasn’t what he’d had to drink that we picked him up for. When we found him he was standing on his feet in an upright position.”
The professor looked puzzled. Obviously as usual it was drunk. He was always drunk. But usually when he got really drunk, he fell over and stayed where he was. He never stayed in an upright position. What else could he have been doing?
A terrible and foreboding thought suddenly began to creep through his mind. He knew that his creation had an insatiable appetite for drink. He also knew that it had an even greater appetite for the most basic of animal instincts, and what he had given it between its legs it needed to constantly go some to be satisfied.
“He wasn’t? He couldn’t have been!” he exclaimed. “Not in the middle of Scarborough on a Saturday night?” he said as he looked at the two, hoping that it was something like murder or GBH. “Not a knee trembler?” he whispered slowly.
The taller of the two police officers nodded slowly. “I’m afraid so. Can we get him inside? He’s getting a bit heavy.”
What the professor was hoping for now was that the monster did not awake from his drunken slumber. He knew that if he did, the two police officers were in certain trouble for he knew that before he went out, Dave had been force-fed raw sprouts and raw shredded wheat to keep his tissue healthy.
Without warning the unthinkable happened and it was likened to the First World War trenches of the Somn. Dave awakened and immediately let rip causing a cloud of yellow green gas to erupt from his trousers. Instantly as if a reflex, the professor delved into his pocket and pulled out a mask that he always now carried. With one swift movement he pulled it over his face and breathed. The two police officers were not so lucky. Each took a single breath of what wafted through the air, and each clasping their throats, they staggered off down the drive, their eyes watering and both coughing and gargling loudly.
Quickly the professor grabbed his creation and pulled him inside slamming the door tightly shut behind him.
With great effort and stress he bundled him down into the lab and laying him on the slab, secured him tight with the new high tensile straps he had bought for a reasonable price from Dixons. There he would have to stay until things cooled down. The only saving grace was that the coppers smelt the gas and they’d remember nothing.
The following morning the professor awoke and decided to go down to the cellar to see how things were. From the top of the stairway he could see below that the door of the room had been bashed open from the inside. Slowly and armed with a high voltage cattle prod he began to descend calling the monsters name as he went. By the time he reached the bottom he was breathing rapidly and sweat was running down his face. Holding the prod out in front of him, he switched on the rooms light and apprehensively entered.
There as he had suspected was an empty slab. The straps he had bought had been useless and had enabled Dave to break free.
The professor knew by the state of the door that Dave was gone. To where was any ones guess? He did know one thing for sure though. If Dave had got a drink down him, no one or anything would be safe. He did know that if anything happened this time, the blame would surely rest on him both legally and morally.
He. Living all his life in the pleasant seaside town of Filey, amongst its pleasant folk and characters. He knew that if anything did happen due to Dave, he was certain he would not be able to forgive himself.
The professor did have a conscience, and that day he placed all his personal belongings into his large white van and setting fire to the building that had been his home for so many long years. He was off.
What Dave got up to from now on was bugger all to do with him.
These days few know of what happened all that time ago, and those that do refuse point blank to talk about it for certain fear of being shunned or called mad by the rest of the community.
The monster? Well, he’s still around. Still the same height, but with slightly less hair. He still manages to drink his way through several barrels of beer a night, but since his operation, he’s a lot more normal in the lower regions, and his appetites have changed.
The mad professor? He’s long gone from Filey. To where and doing what, who knows? Some say he’ll return but between you and me, I doubt it.
End