Denature Of Things

“By now, you should be able to see the building blocks of life precipitating before you.” The doctor’s voice was cutting in the cool, sterile room. “Behold, the essence of what makes us who we are.”

Joseph had to admit he wasn’t impressed. The substance materializing in the alcohol solution before him more resembled wet toilet paper than anything biologically profound. And compared to the experiments he and his fellow students had performed in prior classes, extracting DNA from mashed-up strawberries seemed like a major downgrade in the “coolness” factor. 

Dr. Leo Wagner normally taught high school Biology, but the elementary school had initiated a “Vocations” program, weekly ninety-minute blocks focusing on practical, advanced applications of a particular subject. Joseph and nine other fifth graders had been selected to participate in the “cool science” class every Thursday, and his time with Dr. Wagner was by far his favorite part of the week. 

“Take your wooden skewers and catch a strand of DNA on the tip,” Dr. Wagner instructed. “And tell me what it looks like.”

Joseph’s lab partner Bertrand dipped the skewer into their beaker and pulled out a colorless, glutinous fiber. The look on his face suggested he had some less-than-savory things to say about it too. “Looks like old shampoo,” he commented. 

“Mhm,” Dr. Wagner nodded.

“Chewed-up wads of paper,” a girl from another lab table offered.

“Interesting,” said the doctor. “Do you speak from experience?”

“My baby brother ate my homework last night.”

A titter of laughter rang through the classroom. “Ah yes,” Dr. Wagner chuckled. “Truly the appetite for learning comes early in development. Anyone else?”

“I’ll tell you what it looks like,” Joseph muttered to Bertrand, who silently mouthed his reply, and they both nearly choked on suppressed laughter. 

“What was that?” Dr. Wagner called out. 

Joseph and Bertrand froze. A collective blush rose in their cheeks as the class turned its attention to them. 

“Oh come on, boys, what was on your mind?” There was a faint curl on the doctor’s lips. “Why don’t you say it out loud for everyone to hear?”

“Frogspawn.”

The new voice sent a jolt throughout the class, even Joseph and Bertrand, despite the voice belonging to their other lab partner. Billy, the exchange student from across the pond, was normally quiet as a mouse, so on the rare occasion he talked it was as if an alien had exploded into the room. 

“‘Frogspawn,’” Dr. Wagner quoted. “That’s one of those million-dollar words, I feel. Very interesting.”

Billy gave a sheepish nod and looked away. Joseph and Bertrand locked eyes and gave each other a silent smirk. Billy was due to say another word approximately two weeks from now; it was truly a special occasion to hear him speak.

“Shampoo. Chewed-up paper. Frogspawn,” Dr. Wagner proclaimed. “All apt descriptions, but I hope you recognize the profoundness of the material you have brought out. Strawberries might not offer much in terms of scientific intrigue. But DNA is something all creatures, big, small, simple, complex, share. Everything that is you, as a species, an individual, captured in strands of nucleotides jam-packed in your cells.”

Joseph glanced back at the DNA, expecting some grand epiphany to descend upon him in that moment. So far, though, there seemed to be a scarcity of inspiration.

The bell rang. “Think about this as you write your papers!” the doctor called over the chiming clapper. “Remember, no later than the start of next class! You have a whole week to dwell on it!” 

“You brought it, right?” Joseph whispered to Bertrand as he stuffed his folders in his backpack. 

“Yep,” Bertrand said with a wink, pulling out the magazine from his bag. 

“Hurry, let’s get this crap cleaned up,” Joseph replied, dumping the beaker’s contents in the sink and running it under the faucet. Billy gathered up the soiled gauze and plastic bags and trashed them. Bertrand, meanwhile, flipped through the magazine and found the article he was looking for. 

“Alright, let’s go, c’mon,” said Joseph, striding up to Dr. Wagner’s desk — but he stopped himself with a groan. 

Lumpy had gotten their first.

Technically, his real name was Douglas Shaw, but everyone called him Lumpy. The kid had earned himself a reputation among his fellow pupils for his long-winded, stupidly obvious questions that brought the class to a grinding halt while teachers patiently explained basic concepts to him. He always seemed earnest about them, which only served to irritate his peers even more. 

As for the nickname itself, in one of their first classes, Joseph had stuck four toothpicks in a potato to imitate limbs and likened it to Douglas. The resemblance was uncanny. “Lumpy” was the unfortunate moniker that followed. 

Now, Lumpy was only further denigrating himself in Joseph and Bertrand’s eyes by wasting valuable time with his inane questions. “When you say a thousand words, how much over will you accept?” The boy’s voice was a nervous warble that seemed to emanate from his nose. 

“Within reason,” Dr. Wagner answered, piling papers into his case. 

“Like, a hundred words over? Two hundred?”

“Mr. Shaw, write as much as you think is necessary to convey your message.” Dr. Wagner affirmed. “If you think you need two thousand, so be it. But being too long-winded is something you want to avoid as well.”

Lumpy stood there oafishly, processing the instructor’s words. Joseph could almost smell the wires in his brain shorting out. “But,” Lumpy continued, “how long is ‘long-winded?’”

“All I can say is follow your instincts,” Dr. Wagner said. “You’ve written over a dozen papers for this class already. I think you know what I expect.”

Lumpy scratched his chin pensively. Oh, my, effing, God, Joseph thought.

“Okay, I’ll do that,” Lumpy finally said. “Thank you, Mr. Wagner. I won’t disappoint you.”

“Not a chance, Mr. Shaw,” the doctor said curtly as the kid finally lurched off to head to his next class. Joseph and Bertrand smirked, certain that he’d missed the impatience in Dr. Wagner’s tone. 

“Oh joy of joys, you three,” Dr. Wagner said, dramatically stuffing his case. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to be somewhere, anywhere, that isn’t around you three.” But the smile on his face betrayed his true sentiments.

“You have time for this, Dr. Wagner!” Bertrand insisted, shoving the magazine in his face. “Read the article!”

The doctor took the magazine and skimmed through the text. “See, they found one!” Betrand explained. “A real Atlantean! He has gills and webbed feet!” 

Dr. Wagner laughed. “Really, Mr. McDowell. An Atlantean? In Kentucky?” 

“Yeah!” Joseph interjected. “Look at the picture! The guy’s got flippers!” 

“I’m looking at it, Mr. Kane,” he assured. “And I’ll tell you what else I see: a Habsburg jaw. That, with the webbing between the fingers? Telltale signs of inbreeding.”

“Inbreeding?” Joseph and Bertrand said in unison. “Eugh!” 

“Now now, let’s be polite,” said Dr. Wagner, handing the magazine back to Betrand. “Although poor souls like him are exactly why we ought to love each other outside our own families.” 

“That’s really messed up, Dr. Wagner,” said Joseph. “Why do people even do that?”

“Ah, who am I to fathom the incestuous mind,” he answered, closing up his case. “Or judge, for that matter. But,” he added, “speaking of things that are supposed to have webbed feet, do you want to see something cool?”

“Yeah!” the two shouted.

Dr. Wagner grinned and reached into a drawer behind his desk. Joseph, Bertrand, and Billy craned their necks over to see.

The doctor pulled out a sanitary mat and laid it on the desk. Upon it sat a large, dead bullfrog, its colors slightly faded from its formaldehyde bath.

“Is that the frog we uh…gorvinized last week?” Bertrand asked.

“‘Galvanized,’” Dr. Wagner corrected. “But yes, it is. There’s something different about this particular frog, however. Can you tell?”

The three boys leaned in closer. At first it just seemed like your garden-variety, chemically-preserved amphibian corpse. But then…

“It’s alive!” Bertrand exclaimed.

Sure enough, despite its limp, deathly disposition, the skin under its chin was pulsing faintly in the manner of a very live frog.

“I don’t understand!” said Joseph. “Those are the same frogs we galvanized last week! You said that sending electricity through their muscles only imitates life!” 

“Well, do you see any electrodes here?” Dr. Wagner grinned, sweeping his hand over the frog. The boys simply gaped wordlessly at the frankenfrog. “However…this is only life in the loosest sense. As you can see, this frog seems unable to do much else other than, well…be.”

“How did you do that?” Bertrand breathed. 

The warning bell suddenly went off. “In due time, Mr. McDowell,” the instructor said with a smile. “But you all need to go now, I’d hate to be the one responsible for your write-ups.”

And with that, Joseph, Bertrand, and Billy scrambled out of the room, but not before giving the mounted display skeleton by the door a customary high five. 

They spent the rest of the school day chattering animatedly about the frankenfrog and how exactly the amazing Dr. Leo Wagner had done it.

*

After school, the boys walked home together before going their separate ways at an intersection in their neighborhood. As always, Billy waved goodbye to them silently before slouching off home, or rather, to the house of the family that was sponsoring him. 

“Looking forward to the day we have a conversation with him,” Joseph muttered as he disappeared around a corner. 

“If he’s quiet, that must mean he’s a genius,” Bertrand said sagely. “In other words, don’t be mean to him, ‘cause we might end up working for him when we’re grownups.”

Joseph laughed, and they trudged off towards his house. The mid-May sunshine was pleasantly warm, not yet the scorch of high summer, but they were still thankful to get inside where there was shade.

“Think we should get started on Wagner’s paper tonight?” Bertrand asked as they settled at the kitchen table with a snack.

“Nah dude,” said Joseph through a mouthful of watermelon. “That’s what weekends are for.”

“Or the night before in your case,” Bertrand commented. 

“Oh shut up, I have important things to do,” Joseph quipped. 

Bertrand grinned. “But I think we’re all missing the important question.” He screwed up his face into a dweebish complexion. “‘Exactly how many words over a thousand?” 

They cracked up; Joseph had to stop himself from spewing melon juice over the tabletop. “Oh my God,” he snickered. “Dude, I swear…” He looked around to ensure they were alone. “Fuck Lumpy.”

“Dude!” Bertrand gasped, but a millisecond later he was back to laughing along with Joseph. “You are so going to H-E-double-toothpicks.”

“We are men of science,” Joseph declared with a pompous timbre. “We don’t believe in…H-E-double-toothpicks.”

“What is with you today?” Bertrand smiled. “Cursing and blasphemy? Did you drink too much of that alcohol solution?”

“Sorry, it’s just that Lumpy always gets to me,” Joseph said with a shrug. “You understand, right?”

“Yep.”

They ate their watermelon for a few minutes more.

“But seriously,” Joseph finally said. “How did he do it?”

“There had to be some kind of trick,” Bertrand postulated. “Remember the time Wagner pranked us with the fake blood?”

“That was, like, Halloween stuff,” said Joseph. “But I don’t see why he would prank us with something like this. He seemed like he was keeping it a secret. And that he wanted to try again.”

“Life in the lifeless,” said Bertrand. “That’s exactly what he said about galvanism. Those old-timey scientists thought they could bring things back to life with electricity. He probably hid a battery underneath it or something.” 

“I don’t know,” Joseph commented. “I mean…I don't normally gossip, but…did you hear what happened to he and his wife last year?”

“No, what happened?” Bertrand leaned in closer, his eyes attentive. 

“I don’t know if this is true or not,” Joseph murmured. “I heard my mom talking about it with Ms. Tyler. Apparently they had a baby last year and it was…stillborn.”

Bertrand’s brow furrowed. 

“It means it was born dead,” Joseph clarified.

“Oh.” Bertrand leaned back, as if guilty for showing such curiosity. “Sheesh…” 

“I’m just saying,” Joseph said, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t want to speak poorly of our teacher…but…it’s understandable why he’d be obsessed with, you know…putting life in the lifeless.”

A cold, uncomfortable silence followed. The rest of their watermelon sat untouched. 

The front door opened and Mrs. Kane walked in; Joseph and Bertrand headed over immediately to greet her. The morbid conversation was forgotten.

*

By the time next Thursday rolled around, the energy throughout the school was manic and buzzing; one more full week and it would be summer vacation, the end of fifth grade and the hallowed big jump to middle school. Both Joseph and Bertrand agreed, however, that the only part they’d miss about fifth grade was Dr. Wagner’s Vocation. Billy, who still tagged along with them outside of class, had nodded assent. 

“At least there’s always high school with him,” Joseph commented as they headed towards the classroom.

“If he’s still here by then,” Bertrand said ominously. 

The three entered the room and gave the model skeleton another passing high five. This time, however, the boys noticed a huge stack of boxes next to it, almost as tall as the display. “What’s in the boxes, Dr. Wagner?” Bertrand asked as he procured his completed paper and set it on the instructor’s desk. 

“In due time,” Dr. Wagner replied with a wink.

“Always ‘in due time,’” Joseph rued, setting his own paper on the desk. His handwriting was scrawled and rushed; true to Bertrand’s joke, he had vomited it out the night before. 

“Well, another week, another foray into the wilds of science,” Dr. Wagner announced as the class of ten settled in. “Before we begin today, it pains me to tell you all that this class will be the last one with me.”

“What?” Bertrand blurted. “Like, no class next week?”

“No class next week,” Dr. Wagner confirmed. “Or…ever, for that matter.”

A shudder rippled throughout the room. Joseph locked eyes with Bertrand. Holy crap, you were right, he mouthed. 

“I mentioned forays into the wilds of science just a moment ago,” the doctor elaborated. “As much as I’ve enjoyed teaching my high school classes, and especially each and every one of you smart, talented young people…a greater opportunity has called, and true to my pioneering spirit, I must answer it.” 

“So we’ll never see you again?” Joseph asked.

“Well, I don’t know about ‘never,’” Dr. Wagner shrugged. “Never think in absolutes, that’s one of the first things I taught you. But we can talk after class if you wish. So.” The doctor put his hands together. “In lieu of an experiment, today’s lesson will be of the more instructional variety.”

Joseph and Bertrand looked at each other again, their hearts dropping as one. Not only was the coolest teacher they’d ever known leaving forever, but their very last class together would be a lecture? Joseph wondered if they really were in H-E-double-toothpicks.

Dr. Wagner dimmed the lights and turned on the projector. “I’d like to introduce you to the studies of one Duncan McDougall…”

Even though the lecture, which detailed early experiments on the weight of a human soul and metaphysical evidence of its existence, was interesting, none of that mattered compared to the bombshell dropped in Joseph and Bertrand’s laps. Even Billy looked more sordid than normal, the shadows giving his round, pale face a grave, ghastly complexion. 

Throughout the lesson, Joseph only had one thought on his mind. Get to Wagner before Lumpy. 

“...and I’ll leave you all with this, a reminder actually,” the doctor concluded. “Never, ever think in absolutes. Imagine what we know now, compared to what we did fifty years ago…and then imagine fifty years down the line. That is the essence of science. That, friends…is the essence of the soul.” 

The bell rang and the lights flared to life. Joseph immediately sprung out of his seat, practically sprinting to the front of the room — but his backpack snagged on the corner of the lab table and he nearly fell over — he blocked off Bertrand and Billy as he tugged desperately, trying to free it — finally calming down, he swung the strap off the corner and nearly fell over again from the momentum — but he scrambled to his feet and rushed forward — 

“No!” he hissed. 

Lumpy had beat them.

“Mr. Wagner, will we get our strawberry papers back?” he asked.

“Dr. Wagner,” he corrected. “And I’ll have them delivered to you in your regular science classes tomorrow.”

“Because I was just wondering, you know,” Lumpy rambled. “About the detergent and the salt. Like, I know what each thing did, but I was just wondering if, you know, the brand of detergent or the type of salt really mattered. Like, does it have to be iodized salt? And my mom uses off-brand detergent, is there like a special chemical in certain brands that helps or hinders it?”

Get out of our way, Joseph mouthed at Lumpy’s back, but silent words fell on nobody’s ears, and Lumpy kept talking. Dr. Wagner’s face was polite yet stony.

A solid minute had passed, and Lumpy was asking about nucleobases, when Joseph finally couldn’t hold back.

“Lu — Douglas,” he said sharply. “We want to talk to Dr. Wagner too.”

Lumpy turned to look at them, his expression infuriatingly neutral. “Okay,” he said with complete innocence, back to Dr. Wagner. “I’ll just look in the library. I had a good time in class, Mr. Wagner. Thank you for everything!”

“Take care, Mr. Shaw,” Dr. Wagner said as Lumpy lumbered off. “That boy needs to see someone,” he muttered as the kid disappeared. 

“Yeah, like an orderly,” Joseph suggested.

“Or a vet,” said Bertrand. 

“But seriously, sir,” Joseph said. “You’re leaving?”

“I know it’s difficult,” the doctor lamented. “You three were my favorites, bar none. If you’re free tomorrow morning, you can catch me then.”

“No. We’re not. We want to talk to you now! For as long as we can!” Joseph pleaded. “Like, what about the frog?”

The warning bell rang. “Can you at least tell us what’s in the boxes?” Bertrand demanded, pointing. 

“In due time,” said Dr. Wagner. “Now go, get to your classes.”

“Not ‘in due time!’” Joseph shouted. “Now!”

“Young man, do not get short with me,” Dr. Wagner said sternly. “Now go.”

Joseph and Bertrand stammered silently like beached fish. But eventually they unglued themselves and rushed out of the classroom, Billy glumly following behind. 

“Crap!” Joseph seethed as they melded into the hallway. “I can’t believe that!”

“Well we can’t be late again,” Bertrand said. “I’m one more tardy away from detention, dude. He has a point.”

“Fine,” Joseph said bitterly, rolling his eyes.

“But I think we can agree on one thing,” Bertrand offered.

“Yeah, what’s that?”

He looked around to make sure no one could hear. “You’re absolutely right. Fuck Lumpy.” 

*

They met up after school and scoured the building, but it took fifteen minutes for a department head to inform them that Dr. Wagner had left right after the day’s final classes. 

The three boys plodded out into the mid-afternoon sun, which seemed almost mockingly cheerful. This wasn’t supposed to be a happy, sunshiny day. Their teacher, mentor, hero, was about to be gone from their lives. 

“Dude. I am so pissed,” Joseph said savagely. Behind them, Billy simply nodded. 

“Why would he do that?” Bertrand wondered out loud. “Show us the frankenfrog and those boxes and then leave before telling us?”

“Not fair,” a small voice behind them agreed. Joseph and Bertrand wheeled around; Billy was making eye contact with them, an indignant spark in his eyes. 

“Totally not fair,” said Joseph. 

“Hey,” Bertrand said, throwing out his arm to stop them. “Look.” 

Up the street from them, Lumpy was walking obliviously by himself, presumably back home. The three boys stared daggers at him, willing them to pierce his stupid fat head. 

“He ruined it for us,” Joseph hissed. 

Bertrand glanced around. “Hm. No adults. Outside school hours.”

The realization set in like a dark stain.

With a little more spring in their step, they marched up to Lumpy, their footsteps like the herald of an angry mob.

“Hey, Lumpy!” Joseph called.

The boy stopped and turned around, wearing that same dumbass blank expression on his face. 

“You really couldn’t keep your retarded questions to yourself for once?” Joseph railed.

Lumpy’s brow lowered, but he remained motionless. 

“Or are you just gonna keep staring like an idiot?” 

“Seriously, how lame are you to constantly ask those stupid questions?” Bertrand chided. “You hold up class all the time, and you held us up the last two weeks trying to talk to Dr. Wagner.”

Lumpy’s lips parted, but no words came out. 

“Nothing?” Bertrand continued. “Well let me fill the silence, idiot: you’re a fat worthless tub of guts, and you need serious help to get that thick head of yours screwed on straight.” 

Billy spoke up. “You are a stupid —” What followed was a single-syllable word neither Joseph nor Bertrand had heard before, but Billy had said it with such stinging acid that it seemed to color the air silver and red, like a bloodied dagger. 

It was unlikely Lumpy had heard it before as well, but its intended effect was swift and brutal. The ungainly kid’s lower lip trembled. A muted sob broke free from his throat, and he turned and ran off the road, straight into the conifer grove off the side of the schoolyard. His weeping came out in spurts like the call of some nocturnal bird.

But they disappeared with him, and in moments it was just the three boys standing in the middle of the street, the sun continuing to shine down merrily. 

“Jeez,” Bertrand finally said. 

“That felt good,” Joseph muttered. “That’s been on my mind for years.”

“Think he’ll be okay though?”

“Honestly, he’ll be fine. I hear worse things in the cafeteria every day.”

“Speaking of which,” said Bertrand, turning to Billy, “what was that you said?” 

“Never heard that one before,” Joseph commented, peering down at the slight, dark kid with quiet fascination.

Billy looked at them and smiled. “It’s from back home.” 

*

Lumpy knew fully well his name was Douglas, but he heard the embarrassing nickname so often at school, and his parents talked to him so infrequently at home, that it had all but become the new name for himself in his mind. 

He also knew running away from his problems wouldn’t work forever, but now, as a dumpy, pathetic little boy, it was the best way to escape the pain he endured each and every day. Kids at school mocking him? Just run. Parents fighting? Just run. At least their scolding, nasty tones couldn’t chase him, even if they still hurt really bad inside. 

But what made this incident especially painful was that although Joseph Kane and Bertrand McDowell had never spoken to him, they seemed “alright.” They had never given any obvious inclination that he was a bother. But Lumpy had done it this time: he had finally gotten on the nerves of every single one of his classmates. Even the exchange student, Billy, who had only been with them for a semester…it had been too much for him as well. 

Lumpy privately hoped that he could just keep walking through the forest and disappear into the piney depths forever. But his doctor had warned him that he couldn’t naturally walk in a straight line; a few minutes later, Lumpy found himself at the treeline overlooking the soccer fields behind the school. He gave a great, shuddering sigh. It seemed every miserable road in his life would lead back to the school. 

Thankfully the fields were empty, so Lumpy could walk through them and cut his way through the school back to the road. At least the three boys would be long gone by then. 

With the fields behind him, he entered the building through a side door and headed down a hallway. His sneakers echoed eerily down the cold tile; the lockers on each side of him seemed to watch and judge him. He seemed alone, but he didn’t care.

The glass front doors ahead in the distance glowed yellowish from the sun. He made for them with purpose.

“Mr. Shaw?”

Out of a side door emerged Dr. Wagner. He gazed at Lumpy, his head slightly cocked to the side. The man generally towered over his students and he was built like a beanstalk; Lumpy felt strangely diminished in his presence despite his own girth. 

“Oh, hello Mr. Wagner,” said Lumpy politely. 

“I’d forgotten some papers to grade in another room. What are you still doing here?” the doctor asked.

“I did leave, but I got…turned around, I guess,” Lumpy said abashedly. 

Dr. Wagner’s eyebrow raised. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes.” But the man’s stare was incisive. “No,” Lumpy admitted. “No, I feel really bad.” 

Dr. Wagner pursed his lips. “If it doesn’t seem too forward, would you like to talk with me about it?”

Lumpy looked at him with admiration. He was the only teacher who ever truly seemed engaged with his thoughts and questions, and his patience was saintlike. “Yes. I would love to talk with you.”

“Alright. Let’s step into class.” Dr. Wagner swept his arm and led Lumpy back down the hall to their classroom. 

“No eavesdroppers,” Dr. Wagner said, easing the door shut behind them. Lumpy gave him an appreciative grin. 

He pulled up a chair. “Sit down, Mr. Shaw. Do you want some cocoa?” 

“No, thank you,” Lumpy replied, self-conscious about his weight. 

“You sure? You know, I’ve always loved the simplicity of common remedies to common ailments. And I’ve found that the simplest fix for sadness…is chocolate.”

“Okay, fine,” Lumpy relented. He hadn’t had a good mug of hot chocolate since Christmas when his favorite aunt came down to visit. 

“Be right back.” The doctor disappeared into a side office. The sounds of a microwave emanated from the room. 

Lumpy looked around. Everything was the same, even the mounted display skeleton near the doorway, the mysterious boxes still stacked and unopened next to it. Its open jaw and outstretched arm normally seemed welcoming, but today there was almost a silent urgency to its bony form…as if it were offering to lead him back out the door.

Then came the tinkle of a stirring spoon, and the doctor emerged with two steaming mugs. He handed one to Lumpy.

“Thank you sir,” said Lumpy, and he took a sip. It was packaged powder mix, not exactly A-grade, but appreciated nonetheless. There was the slight hint of detergent in the cup, but he was used to it, often having to wash his own dishes back at home. 

“So. What’s troubling you, young man?” Dr. Wagner asked, sitting across from him and taking a drink. 

“Well,” Lumpy said, letting the warmth give him strength, “those three boys, Joseph, Bertrand, and Billy. They caught me outside and they just started…yelling. Insulting me.”

“Interesting,” Dr. Wagner mused. “Even Billy?”

“Yes.”

“Huh. That boy barely says a word in my class,” he said.

“He certainly said words to me,” Lumpy continued. “Really mean words. I just…I’m so tired of the meanness. Why can’t people just be kind?”

“Mmm,” Dr. Wagner pondered. “Is it like this at home?”

“Yes, it is,” said Lumpy, his hand trembling. He took another bracing drink. “My dad is always out at work and he’s very tired when he comes home, and he’s always grouchy because of that. And Mom…she doesn’t do anything. She just pretends I’m not there. I don’t have any brothers or sisters to talk to. No one cares. I just feel like the butt of the world’s biggest joke.”

“Mmmm.” The doctor leaned in. “And…why do you suppose that is?”

Lumpy’s hand spasmed, nearly dropping the mug. “Because…because I’m fat. And I’m not as quick as everyone else. So I get picked on. And my parents, they don’t…” He shuddered. “They don’t try. They don’t listen. I don’t know what to do or where to go.

“I get good grades, but I still don’t feel good. And sometimes I feel like…the only time I’m happy, is when I’m in your classes. I do things. You talk to me. I have fun. I feel like it’s what I’m supposed to do. Every other time of the week…I…I hate myself.” 

The tears broke through. Lumpy’s hand shook so bad the doctor had to steady his mug. He tilted it towards Lumpy’s mouth, and he took a reluctant sip. The detergent was stronger than before. 

“That’s such a sad story, Mr. Shaw,” Dr. Wagner said medically. He leaned back in his chair, setting his own mug on the desk. “And do you know the unfortunate thing about it?”

He locked his fingers and took a deep breath. “They’re absolutely right.”

The trembling stopped. Lumpy might have frozen solid. “...What?”

“I am a scientist, young man,” said Dr. Wagner, leaning forward. “I lack the rose-tinted glasses of a parent or an administrator. I can see things for how they are, perceptions and emotions aside. And in more concrete terms…they’re correct. You are quite the unremarkable specimen. Unseemly, even. If we were cavemen, you’d be left out in the cold for the wolves. But society’s advanced beyond such savagery. And people like you only serve to grow contagious and soft off its excesses.”  

Lumpy barely comprehended what the man was trying to say, but the tone and context were enough. Whatever bad feelings he harbored in his chest were starting to curdle and spread. “Why are you saying these things?”

The doctor gave a close-lipped laugh. “Ask no stupid questions, young man. You ever heard that one?”

“Please stop it,” Lumpy whined, lowering his mug. “Now you’re being mean.”

“Finish it,” Dr. Wagner urged. “Finish that drink.”

Spasming with sobs, Lumpy drained the rest of his cocoa. Now the stuff just tasted like straight detergent. He coughed, a soapy, metallic slick caking the inside of his mouth. 

“I’ve become something of an artist these last several months,” said the doctor once Lumpy was done coughing. “Whereas others work in pastels and clays, my medium of choice is…agony. With so much of it running rampant through our lives every single day, how could you not notice and capture it? Especially when it’s so deliciously embodied in a worthless schoolboy like yourself?” 

“Stop it!” Lumpy cried, tears streaming down his cheeks. He wiped his face, snot sticking to his knuckles…but as he pulled his hand back, he saw to his confusion and horror, his tears were…glowing. 

No…they weren’t “glowing.” As he looked closer, he noticed it was a solution. One part tears, one part strange, whitish-blue, luminous fluid that sparked no recognition. 

He pulled his hand away and looked up. The man was silent and fixated on his face, no doubt shining with the strange liquid seeping from his eyes.

“M…Mr. Wagner?”

The man stood up. Lumpy only saw the briefest glint of steel before the man’s fist buried in his chest. 

A bony crunch. A crippling stab of pain that exploded in his heart and shot through his ribs. The strangled puff of air that had been forced from his lungs. 

The mug finally dropped from his grasp. 

Lumpy looked up at the cold, emotionless face a few inches from his. The killer leaned in closer and whispered. 

“Doctor…Wagner.”

The model skeleton now appeared surprised, its jaw dropped in shock. I warned you, and did you listen? Nnnnnnn-ope! Now look at what’s happened!

Quick as a viper the doctor withdrew the knife and plunged it into Lumpy’s guts, slashing upward. The force, the concussive spilling of his innards seeping from the fissure, finally forced him to collapse to the floor. The pain was overwhelming, dulling his other senses, screaming psychic alarm bells. 

But despite his choking and his blackening vision, Lumpy could see that among the liters of blood pouring from his stomach, there was another bodily fluid…one that glowed whitish-blue.

“Pure,” Dr. Wagner gasped. “And such prodigious amounts. All that fat and blood…incubating all that…essence.”

Taking care not to step in anything wet, Dr. Wagner reached down and scooped up beakersful of the strange glowing liquid. 

“Glad to know I’ve perfected the catalyst,” he said, as Lumpy’s hearing faded to the rhythm of his dying heart. “Just know this, young man…your agony was good for something.” 

Those sardonic words settled in the last remaining pockets of Lumpy’s mind. But they, too, eventually vanished. 

*

Initially, everything seemed normal the next morning. But the closer Joseph, Bertrand, and Billy got to the school, the more they realized the more than usual number of carpooling vehicles. Upon closer inspection, they saw that the extra cars were black with white centers, like giant sideways ice cream sandwiches. Only by walking past them did they see the badges and stars printed on their doors. 

“Oh no,” Joseph whispered. 

Students continued to stream through the front doors, but they looked at the parked police cars with perplexion. As the trio entered the building, the atmosphere inside was hushed and gray, like the school was sitting in a stormcloud. 

Vice Principal Greenley was standing just inside the doors. He perked up the moment he saw the boys. “You three, into the office.” 

Joseph mouthed another curse. Bertrand’s eyes went wide like a deer. Billy seemed to shrink further into his black sweater, but they obediently followed the man into the principal’s office. Principal Philips sat behind her desk, flanked by two fully-uniformed police officers. 

“Sit down, boys,” she said. “You’re not in trouble. We just want to talk.”

That’s likely, Joseph thought. Nevertheless the boys sat on the sofa across from her. Principal Philips alone was normally intimidating, but with the two cops to either side she resembled some dark futuristic empress. 

“We know you share a few classes with Douglas Shaw,” the principal said. “Specifically Dr. Wagner’s Vocation. Douglas disappeared sometime yesterday afternoon. Eyewitnesses said they saw him walk out, and the only other ones who left close to that time were you three.” She shifted in her seat, her voice calm yet heavy. “Would you happen to know where he went off to?”

The boys looked at each other. Bertrand held a death grip on the pleather armrest, leaving deep contours. Joseph’s hands wrung against his will. Only Billy seemed cool as a cucumber, staring back at the woman like a dog at attention. 

“Tell the truth,” Principal Philips goaded. “Only the truth will help this along.”

“We saw him,” Joseph admitted. “We talked to him.”

“What did you talk about?” the principal asked. 

“We were…teasing,” said Joseph. “And we upset him. And he ran into the woods.”

The two officers shifted; one procured a notepad and began scribbling. “The woods behind the school?” the principal clarified.

“Yes.” 

“How bad was this ‘teasing’ to make him run off?” she asked accusingly. 

“It was really bad,” Bertrand muttered. “We were being mean to him.” 

“As in bullying him?” she pressed. 

“No,” Billy said. “That word has a lot of weight behind it. We were not ‘bullying.’”

Principal Philips stared at Billy as if he had just suddenly appeared on the sofa. “None of you hit him at all?”

“No, absolutely not,” said Joseph.

“Didn’t even touch him?”

“No,” Bertrand asserted. 

“So he gets made fun of by you three and he runs off into the woods behind the school,” Principal Philips said loudly, for the officers’ benefit. “And you haven’t seen him since.”

All three shook their heads. 

“Very well,” she said, leaning back. “If this happened on the property, during hours, I hope you understand you three would be in very deep trouble.” She pursed her lips. “But, we won’t know for sure until he’s found. In the meantime, that’ll be all. Now get to your classes.”

They milled silently out of the room and dispersed through the hallway to their respective rooms. 

Despite the interrogation happening behind closed doors with no other witnesses, rumors of the boys’ apparent involvement in Lumpy’s disappearance spread like a rash. All throughout the day they were met with whispered allegations, judgmental looks, and the occasional cruel joke. 

“Hey, Mr. Zodiac,” a particularly malicious jock whispered to Joseph after lunch, “when you slit his belly open, what did you do with all that lard?”

“Check McDowell’s locker, maybe his head’s in there” was the worst one Bertrand heard.

Not even Billy was safe. For the first time, students started taking notice of the quiet, shadowy kid who skirted along the edges of the hallways to avoid attention on his way to classes. “There goes the Lil’ Crypt Keeper,” someone hissed. “Gonna go violate Lumpy’s corpse?”

Never in their years as students had they wanted a Friday to end as quickly as this one. The final fifteen minutes of eighth-period science, which Joseph had dubbed “uncool science,” felt like fifteen lifetimes. 

“Oh, for everyone in Dr. Wagner’s Vocation,” their teacher announced, “I have your final projects.”

They lined up to gather their papers on strawberry DNA extraction. Joseph had scored a 91, Bertrand a 94, Billy a 100. There was one left over, another 100 by the looks of it. But the teacher stuffed that paper in her drawer. 

“You three,” she said, stopping them in their tracks. “These are also for you.” 

She handed out three sealed envelopes, their names inscribed with fancy ink. The boys gathered back at their desks with collective rising apprehension. The handwriting was familiar. 

The bell rang, and students surged out of the classroom to enjoy their weekends. But the trio lagged in the hallway, opening their envelopes as one. 

My three star students,

Upon reflection I have realized that not only was our last encounter unceremonious, but also unfair to the three brightest and most passionate minds I ever had the pleasure of instructing in any class of mine. I very much enjoyed our post-lesson talks, even the weird tabloids you would show me, alleging proof of aliens or some other fantastical creature. “Scientific” is not the word I’d use to describe them, but it’s a hallmark of a great scientist to have a healthy imagination.

If you value my instruction as much as I presume you did, with written permission from a parent or guardian, I would like to offer you three specifically a chance to meet with me in the first weeks of summer vacation for a series of exclusive practical lessons. I know it sounds like extra school, but trust me when I say all your questions will be answered, especially regarding the strangeness you might have seen in the last few weeks. The things I would like to show you are frankly mind-boggling, and would be the envy of even the world’s greatest scientific minds. And you would know them immediately, nothing more “in due time.”

Please let your current science teacher know your answer as soon as possible. She’ll know where to find me.

Warmest regards,

Dr. Leo Wagner.

The boys looked at each other. For the first time all day, a smile grew on their faces. 

“Well,” Joseph said. “He was right. Never think in absolutes.”

*

“You want extra school?” Mrs. Kane said later that afternoon, looking at the letter with a bemused expression.

“It’s not ‘extra school,’” Joseph asserted. “It’s private lessons with a scientist outside a school setting. Stuff they don’t teach you in class.”

“And you trust this Dr. Wagner?” she asked.

“With my life,” Joseph said precociously. Truth be told, he only said that because he had heard it on one of his mom’s TV shows, but it had sounded good so he kept it. “This is the sort of stuff I’ll look back on one day when I finally discover the cure for cancer.”

His mom shrugged with a smile. “Alright,” she said, signing the letter. “I’m just worried though. I heard about that boy who disappeared around the school yesterday. What if he was abducted, or Heaven forbid, killed?”

Joseph swallowed, but he retained a straight face. “Like I said, I trust Dr. Wagner with my life.”

*

The final week of school was an absolute chore of misery for Joseph, Bertrand, and Billy, but all three had gotten permission from their parents (or “sponsors” in Billy’s case) for “extra school” over summer break. It was the only thing keeping them positive amid the whispers and taunts, and the looming shadow of Lumpy’s absence, which had garnered zero breaks in the case. Police still searched the woods behind the school, but with the forest extending to a vast state park beyond, Lumpy could have theoretically been anywhere. 

The trio was slow to follow the flood of jubilant students out the door on the final day of the school year. “I do feel bad,” Joseph said lowly. “We drove him into those woods”.

“I know,” Bertrand concurred. “But seriously, if he fell into a ravine or something like that, that wasn’t our fault. We’ve been in those woods countless times. We know how easy it is to sprain an ankle or something in there.” 

“True,” said Joseph. “Billy, what do you think?”

“We’re not personally responsible for him,” the boy said quietly. 

Joseph and Bertrand looked at each other. It was surprisingly easy to buy into Billy’s cold logic.  They shrugged. “Fair enough,” said Joseph. 

*

On the first Monday of summer vacation, while other kids were going to the movies or the park or the skating rink, Joseph, Bertrand, and Billy were walking back to school for private lessons. 

Only one police car remained parked outside, its driver nowhere to be seen. The front doors were open, but no one was there to greet them. Dr. Wagner had apparently unlocked the doors and opted to wait. 

As the boys traversed the long hallway and entered the classroom, it became apparent that things would be irredeemably weird. 

The model display skeleton, once positioned at the door like a sepulchral bellhop, now stood behind Dr. Wagner’s desk, with a myriad of cosmetic changes. Its joints were now fully articulated, fitted with tiny metal collars. Fine wires trailed from the collars, coursing up the skeleton’s limb bones and spine like a diagram of the nervous system, affixed to what looked like a miniature car battery wedged inside its ribcage. 

Its skull had been given a facial: plastic jaundiced eyes sat in its sockets, wires running from them like optic nerves down its neck, and in its open mouth was a small speaker and a fleshy tongue. 

But the roboticized skeleton wasn’t the weirdest part. Near the far wall sat what looked like a giant terrarium upon a thick metallic base. A display screen on the base read 2720.57 grams. Within the terrarium was a white domestic rabbit, sitting in the corner, its nose twitching rapidly.

“Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest!” the skeleton suddenly sang, giving a massive lurch, its skeletal limbs swinging like a martial artist. The boys jumped and shouted, caught in a fearful rapture. “Yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum!” Its voice was a scratchy, artificially-echoing rasp. “Drink and the devil had done for the rest!”  

“I see you’ve met Captain Jolly Roger,” Dr. Wagner said, emerging from the side room behind the desk. The skeleton’s eyes swiveled stiffly around, jaw clacking and arms moving. “You’ve probably guessed the contents of those boxes you saw last time. But can you guess where they came from?”

The boys were silent, still locked on the skeleton pirate. 

“You ever been to Disney World?” Dr. Wagner asked. 

“I want to go so bad!” Bertrand moaned.

The doctor smiled. “I know a nice fellow down there who sent me some leftover animatronic parts from their new Pirates of the Caribbean ride. I fitted them to our friend here. Now he’s Captain Jolly Roger.” 

“Yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum!” Captain Jolly Roger sang. 

“That’s wicked cool,” said Bertrand, awestruck. 

“Super cool,” Joseph agreed. “But what does it have to do with, well…anything we learned in the Vocation?”

“In due time. Kidding,” said Dr. Wagner as Joseph gave a twitch. “But really, you’ll find out tomorrow. Today’s lesson is going to be an expansion of the last lecture I gave. Do you remember?”

“Some Doogal guy or whatever, said the weight of a soul was twenty-one grams,” Bertrand recalled.

“Duncan McDougall claimed to prove the weight of a human soul was twenty-one grams,” Dr. Wagner explained. He pointed over to the rabbit. “So, doing simple math, with the weight of a hundred-and-fifty pound human test subject, what do you expect the weight of a six-pound rabbit’s soul would be?”

A rabbit’s soul? Excuse me? Joseph thought. But he perished the thought and dove straight into a series of mental calculations. “About zero point eight grams,” Joseph answered after thirty seconds.

“Pretty much on the money,” the doctor affirmed. “So, logically, if all the matter inside our hopping friend’s airtight tank were to be preserved…upon its death, would you expect the weight to drop nearly a full gram? 

The boys looked at the rabbit, still snuffling in its corner. “I guess if the soul went somewhere beyond the tank,” said Bertrand, “then yes.”

“Are you saying rabbits have souls?” Joseph asked.

“Not like we humans do,” Dr. Wagner said with some pride. “But there is something there. Some animating force beyond our current understanding. The religiously-inclined might call it a soul. For now, I would like to call it…‘essence.’”   

“You discovered this?” Joseph said with awe.

“Indeed. For our first lesson, I would like to fundamentally prove the existence of ‘essence.’ Of what some call, the soul.”

The boys’ mouths hung open with fascination, undiluted by impossibility. 

“Wait,” Bertrand realized. “If we’re going to prove that the rabbit has a soul…does that mean we’re going to kill it?

“Yes,” said Dr. Wagner simply. 

The boys shifted uncomfortably as the heavy realization sank upon their shoulders. 

“One thing they don’t teach you in school is the ramifications of progress,” the doctor continued softly. “The sacrifices made, the lives lost, the moral preconceptions twisted. Oppenheimer looked over the atomic bomb and said, ‘I am become death.’ But becoming death brought a World War to a close.” He gestured flippantly towards the rabbit. “And one simple rabbit will lead to a breakthrough beyond our wildest fantasies. Disregard your preconceived notions, and open yourselves to the road ahead. Do you understand?”

“Okay,” Joseph whispered, overwhelmed with the weight of dark possibility. “I understand.” 

Bertrand nodded. Billy gazed expectantly at the rabbit. 

Dr. Wagner walked over to the tank. “The process will maintain the mass inside the tank,” he explained. “The air within will be filtered out and replaced with an equal density amount of cyanide gas. Hypothetically, nothing will be lost. Except that significant eighth of a gram. Watch.”

He pressed a button on the terrarium’s base. There was a quiet hissing sound as gasses exchanged and filtered out of the space within. The weight remained unchanged. 

The rabbit’s nose stopped twitching. It panicked, jumping against the sides of the tank, emitting nauseating thumping sounds. Joseph’s hands curled into fists, Bertrand shifted his weight from foot to foot. Billy, meanwhile, only stared. 

The rabbit sank to the floor, its abdomen heaving with desperate breaths. But soon it fell still. 

The hissing sound ceased. For a gravid moment, the onlookers watched the weight, which remained unchanged. 

Then, instantly, it dropped. 

“Holy smokes,” Bertrand gasped.

“Zero point eight four grams,” Joseph observed. “Gone.”

“The integrity of the tank is stable,” Dr. Wagner said softly. “No random matter has left or entered. So where did that mass go?”

None could bring themselves to answer. 

“That, is ‘essence,’” said the doctor reverently. “DNA makes the rabbit a rabbit, but essence makes the rabbit what it thinks itself to be. And just like how you share DNA with a rabbit…we also hold essence within ourselves.

“Now…take your seats, and write this down.”

*

The sun was setting by the time Dr. Wagner’s first lesson let out. The boys walked home in complete silence, their backpacks stuffed with fresh notes detailing concepts they were too young and innocent to understand. The few times they looked at each other, there was fear and apprehension…and some silent, unspoken truth, that they had gazed upon something they might not have been supposed to, and that they were fundamentally different people as a result. Older. Wiser. 

Yet maybe not for the better.

All evening, and for the rest of the next day, Joseph refused to relay details of what he’d seen in the classroom. He still didn’t understand the gravity of the concepts he’d “learned,” but somehow he recognized that his mother and father definitely would not.

*

The boys met up on schedule for Day Two of Dr. Wagner’s lessons. The feeling of walking through the front entrance and back to the old classroom seemed similar to defendants walking up to the podium to testify. 

Yet morbid curiosity won out. 

Dr. Wagner was there behind the desk, hands clasped expectantly. Captain Jolly Roger stood next to him, motionless and caught in a ridiculous pose, as if someone had stopped him mid-performance. Sprawled on the desk like a sack of meat was a familiar white rabbit. 

“Good afternoon, boys,” he smiled shadily. “Please, gather around.”

They obeyed, peering up at him with a mixture of intrigue and caution.

Dr. Wager gestured towards the dead rabbit and the animatronic skeleton. “Strange company I keep, isn’t it. And you, young man, asked me what any of this has to do with the lessons you learned in the Vocation,” he said, nodding to Joseph. “Well, the time has come to reveal another secret. Everything I taught you in the Vocation has led up to this. The frogs. The strawberries. And especially the weight of the soul.

“Yesterday you learned about the existence of essence. Today, you will learn the tangibility of essence…and how to use it.”

What? Joseph mouthed. 

“I always knew the presence of a ‘soul’ was a reality,” said the doctor. “But as of the beginning of this year, I learned how to make it tangible. Our emotions are so strong, so innately tied to our beings, that intense upheavals can bring the soul forward. Much like how the blood rushes to our faces. And I found that the best agitator for such an abstract conjuring is one emotion in particular.”

A sick grin cracked his face. “Agony.”

The boys all knew the word, but never had such a familiar one induced such a chill. 

“Not an emotion per se,” he continued, “but rather a state of being. Pain, sorrow, misery, regret, all boiling together in one cocktail of despair, strong enough to rattle the soul and force it to come forward. Do you remember the DNA extraction liquid I had you make?”

“D…dish soap, alcohol, salt,” Bertrand recalled. 

“Precisely,” said Dr. Wagner. “And after months of perfecting, I developed a variant of that solution that would allow a user to extract a soul.” 

“What!” Joseph said, out loud this time. 

“Induce agony to agitate the soul,” Dr. Wagner explained. “Administer the solution to make it tangible. And when the reaction is complete…”

He procured a syringe from his desk drawer. Within the glass vial swirled a milky, whitish-blue substance.

“That…” Joseph was at a loss for words.

“That’s a soul?” Bertrand finished.

“Essence,” Dr. Wagner corrected. “This syringe holds the essence of a person who passed away in very intense agony. He may be gone now, but his essence lives on in my grasp.” 

He held it out for them to look at. “This is why I negotiated these private lessons. My colleagues in academia would dismiss my studies. They are too bureaucratic, too stuck in their narrow-minded ways to recognize true progress when they see it. I need young, bright minds to carry on my work, unburdened by the pretensions of the world. You three are so intelligent. So laden with potential.”

A horrible swooping feeling suddenly overturned Joseph’s stomach. “Who…whose ‘essence’ is that, Dr. Wagner?”

“One simple rabbit,” he said cryptically, “for a breakthrough beyond our wildest fantasies.” 

He then stuck the rabbit’s corpse with the syringe and pressed down on the plunger.

For a quiet moment, nothing happened.

Then its nostrils began to twitch. 

“Oh my God!” Bertrand exclaimed.

“Whoa,” Billy breathed.

“That’s what you did to the frog?” Joseph asked.

“Precisely.” Dr. Wagner smiled. “Unlike Luigi Galvani, I have truly put life in the lifeless.”

The rabbit’s ears perked up. It gave a halfhearted lurch. It looked pitiful and broken, rump in the air and head flat on the tabletop. “But much like the bullfrog, nonhuman animals appear not to accept essence transplants too well,” he said with a sigh. “Which brings us to our friend Captain Jolly Roger. Notice anything different about him?”

Joseph and Bertrand, paralyzed in a stupor, could not bring themselves to look at the inert skeleton. Billy piped up. “The battery's disconnected.” Sure enough, on closer inspection none of the wires were plugged into the battery nestled behind the skeleton's ribs.

“No source of power. No source of life.” Dr. Wagner strode over to the skeleton with a fresh syringe. 

“...Or so we presume.”

He drove the needle up into its ribcage in a jarring stabbing motion. Joseph and Bertrand jolted, as if they themselves had been stabbed.

Captain Jolly Roger creaked and whirred to life. His head snapped in all directions like a curious raven. His eyes surveyed every living thing in the room. He raised an arm, finger pointing. “Aye, lookit the warm bodies! I’ll have their guts for garters and their faces sewn into knapsacks!” 

“Not very family-friendly,” Dr. Wagner said with a sneer. The boys had retreated, gathering behind Billy, huddled like baby penguins in a blizzard. “As you can see, machinations accept essence so much better. Maybe there’s potential there. But think of the real potential, boys,” he said, his spectacled eyes going wide. “Eternal life. Vitality and healing from even the most grievous wounds. One dosage of essence will save your life, or extend it. I just have to perfect the formulas. Agony. Solution. Essence.”

“You’re insane,” Joseph stammered. 

“Shut your traps, you little whelps!” the Captain growled. 

“Said the Church to Copernicus,” Dr. Wagner lamented, shaking his head. “You’ll come around. I had my misgivings too, at first. But once I broke the seal of what shouldn’t be done…what couldn’t be done was soon to follow.”

Dr. Wagner suddenly looked morose. The falling shadows outside rendered his face a ghostly golden glow. “Our daughter…laid out before us…not living long enough to see the light outside the womb. In our most vulnerable moments…I asked my wife if she would give her life to potentially give our daughter life.

“...she said yes.”

Joseph and Bertrand edged for the door, nearly glued down from the sheer obscenity. But the Captain clattered his teeth menacingly at the two, and they stopped. “Mr. Wagner waits not for time and tide,” the skeleton growled.

Dr. Wagner, some unfocused, emotionless part of Joseph’s brain involuntarily corrected.

Then, it hit him. But before he could open his mouth…

“Douglas!” Bertrand exclaimed. “You — you killed him! And that’s…” He pointed shakily at the empty syringe in the doctor’s grasp. “You sick monster!” 

“Here there be monsters, laddie,” the Captain rasped, chittering at the joints.

“I can’t believe you!” Joseph cried. “I…Douglas! Douglas, I’m so sorry! I know you’re still in there! Please listen to us!”

“This creature will not respond to any past name,” said Dr. Wagner, shaking his head. “Whatever remains of that boy is confused, spread thin…”

“Lumpy!” Bertrand shouted.

The skeleton froze. Once more it appeared ludicrous, stuck in a pose that otherwise might have been silly. 

But its pinprick pupils seemed to flicker…to pulse with the beat of a hellish heart. 

It gave a choked, demonic moan.

Its head swiveled like an owl. Towards the doctor. 

“The devil’s come for you, Mr. Wagner.” 

It charged — glided almost. Its thin frame only served to knock the doctor off-balance, but that was enough to catch him by surprise — its bony fingers snagged Dr. Wagner’s coat and tore off a great chunk — the man stumbled —

The Captain emitted a throaty rasp, its hand raised over its skull. A blade glinted in the last light of sunset. 

Like a pneumatic drill, the Captain’s fist jackhammered the flailing Dr. Wagner, dozens of impacts in mere seconds, each contact of the scalpel leaving a blooming red stain on the man’s skin and clothes. He barely had time to scream, save for a single strangled yelp, before his lungs flooded with blood and he collapsed, twitching and writhing on the floor.

Before the petrified boys’ eyes, his white clothes were consumed by an amoebic tide of crimson. His shattered glasses were stuck in his face, which resembled little more than a slab of oozing beef. 

“W…” A single red bubble burst where Dr. Wagner’s mouth would have been. His voice was garbled from the blood in his throat. “W…wonderful…”

Then his body fell still. 

“Run,” Bertrand whispered. “R…RUN!” he screamed, wheeling around and pushing past Joseph and Billy. The two jumped, pivoted and bolted for the door, Bertrand scrambling to throw the door open —

But the Captain glided across the floor — its feet had been fitted with wheels — crossing ten feet in less than a second. The force of it rushing past Joseph and Billy sent a whipcrack of wind across their faces.

The bloody scalpel raised in the air again.

“NO!” Joseph screamed.

Bertrand let out a single cry — some primal, fatal sound, like a lamb at the slaughter — but it was nearly drowned out by the gnarly thwack of the blade in his spine. Even as he slid facefirst down the door, a dark liquid knot blossomed through his shirt.

In a flash the skeleton was kneeling over him, its bony, wiry arm a flash as the blade plunged in and out of Bertrand’s back. Ribs cracked and muscles tore, but Bertrand remained vocally silent, the only movement from the sheer impact of the Captain’s manic stabbing.

Tears clouding his vision, Joseph grabbed Billy by the arm and hauled him away from the carnage, vaulting over Dr. Wagner’s lifeless body, and they both hurled themselves into the storage closet behind the desk. 

Joseph slammed the door shut. “Bertrand,” he blubbered. It had all happened so fast. They’d known each other since they were both in diapers; they’d played, fought, been there for support…all those years, all the years ahead, snuffed out by some psychotic kill-bot…

“We can’t both escape,” Billy murmured, his face gloomy and stoic. 

“No chance,” said Joseph. His trembling voice was tinny in the storage closet. “That thing’s way too fast…”

“What do we do?” Billy whispered.

“Call someone,” Joseph rambled. “Alert them…raise an alarm…”

“The fire alarm,” Billy realized.

“Yes,” said Joseph. “There’s one in the hallway…”

“We can’t both escape,” Billy insisted. 

“I know.” Joseph wrung his hands nervously, his brain firing with calculations. “Here’s what we’ll do —”

The door flew open. Silhouetted in the dusky light was the Captain, a black shadowy skeleton with yellow eyes, blade raised to kill.

“Cut them all down!” 

Joseph screamed, springing forward and colliding with the Captain’s kneecaps. Unsteady and light, the killbot flailed its wiry arms and tumbled backwards, crashing into desks and chairs. Fighting tears and the syrupy despair in his limbs, Joseph broke for the door. His mind’s eye blotted out the lifeless…thing…he settled with thing, jammed against the frame. He wrenched it open, ignoring the gristly scraping sound of the thing sliding across the floor, and squeezed into the hallway.

The escape path laid out before him. The front doors welcomed him in the distance, at the far end of the main hallway. But he couldn’t skimp out on his plan. He couldn’t let Billy die. He couldn’t let Bertrand lie there for any longer than he had to.

Instead, he charged for the fire alarm across the corridor, nearly smashing his hand reaching for the lever.

As he yanked his arm down, as cacophonous bells clanged and reverberated throughout the school, a dry flutter creaked behind him. 

His body tensed. He closed his eyes. 

*

Help is coming, Billy thought, sneaking further and further back into the storage closet. They’ll come stop the Captain and they’ll come and save me. But he could barely hear his thoughts over the blaring fire alarm. Miraculously, Joseph had made it that far. 

The series of dull staccato thumps that followed told him what must have happened next.

Hopeless, Billy thought, looking around. Shelves lined the cramped space around him, jam-packed with beakers and test tubes…nothing suitable as a weapon.

His only company was another model skeleton hanging out in the farthest corner. Without the wires and eyes, it seemed benign, almost accommodating. Billy slunk across the shelves, the space between the racks too tight to hide in.

His only remaining option was behind the model skeleton. Swallowing his dignity, resigning to the ephemerality of life, Billy squeezed behind the skeleton, wedged between its vertebra and the back wall, and remained still. 

The doorknob clicked open.

“Down to the depths with ye.” 

Captain Jolly Roger rolled into the storage closet, stinking with fresh blood, the scalpel in its fist a glimmering ruby shard. Billy watched with terror, observing its jerky joints, its rolling eyes, the synthetic tongue that clicked inside its fleshless jaw. It was uncanny, the way it almost seemed to float, slowly propelled forward on soft, silent wheels. 

“I’ll smell ye out, lad. Like a dog. Then I’ll skin ye like one too.” 

A red ribbon streaked down its mandible like drool. The scalpel dripped on the floor.

It was three feet from the model skeleton now. Billy’s hiding attempt was beyond pitiful. Hot rage boiled under his skin, how fate had turned so mockingly absurd for him. 

The Captain stopped mere inches from the model skeleton. Its tongue could have lolled out and licked the other’s face. Billy’s flesh locked up. Any moment now.

“Tricky little devil, ain’t ya,” the Captain growled. “I’ll get ye next time, ye stinkin’ bilge rat.” 

And, inexplicably, the Captain turned fully around and wheeled out of the storage closet. 

Billy exhaled. The ringing fire alarm seeped back into his ears. 

What the hell? The skeleton was really enough to fool it? 

Several minutes passed before he eased his way out of the storage closet and looked around. Captain Jolly Roger was gone. Yet underneath the bells he could hear a mass of approaching footsteps. The relief nearly floored him. Help had finally arrived. And he was the only one left to tell the tale.

*

For the second time in nearly two weeks, emergency services had been summoned to the schoolhouse. A cavalry of firefighters pulled up and, upon seeing no one gathered outside, stormed the building expecting a smoky shroud and a wall of heat. But what they found instead compelled them to clear the scene and call for appropriate backup. 

The squadron of police officers mobilized, hoping they could encase the perimeter and block the killer in. But apart from three dead bodies, bearing unmistakable signs of stab wounds, all they’d found was a slight, shadowy boy hiding in one of the science classrooms.

The next round of calls went out to parents and administrators. 

Outside the school, the boy was seated inside an ambulance, a trauma blanket over his shoulders as he waited for his sponsors to arrive. A corpulent, friendly-faced officer was consoling him, asking benign questions to ease him into a less anxious state. But it was apparent after a few minutes that “anxious” was the last thing this boy was. On the contrary, he was sober and calm despite the tragedy in a way that rivaled even the most jaded old men the officer had known. 

“Alright, son,” he said in a soft tone. “If you’re ready, I’d like you to tell us what happened.”

Billy looked to the ground. And in a flash, the story exploded in his mind, the pieces scattering and coming back together in a cold, elaborate yarn.

Dr. Leo Wagner had lured the three boys into the schoolhouse with promises of extra credit for his biology Vocation, and when they’d tried to resist his advances, he came at them with a knife, killing Bertrand and Joseph in that order, before losing his mind and turning himself into a human pincushion, drowning in a grisly spring of his own blood; but not before admitting to the kidnapping and murder of Douglas Shaw, the student who had been missing for nearly two weeks.  

They’d believe that. A bereaved single man alone with three vulnerable young boys said more than enough. No one needed to know about Dr. Wagner’s discoveries: agony, essence, the frankenfrog, the zombie rabbit, or Captain Jolly Roger, wherever that monstrosity had gone off to. They would be his alone. His secrets to carry forward and pillage in his later life. Only he would discover the key to the hidden spirituality of this world. 

Joseph and Bertrand, they had been good companions. But they were gone now. Only he would learn to live forever. And Douglas Shaw, alias Lumpy, had been nothing more than a simple rabbit. 

“Billy?” the cop goaded.

The boy snapped out of it. “My apologies, officer.”

“It’s okay, son,” the cop smiled. “Are you ready to tell me what happened?”

Billy nodded.

“Very good.” The cop procured a tape recorder and clicked the button. “Alright, young man. First, could I get your full name for the record?”

The boy glanced up at the police officer, and smiled right back.