This report pertains to the attack which took place two weeks ago in Birmingham Alabama. The victim's names are Dr. Bill Marlin (39) and Albert Rothschild (42). Only Albert Rothschild survived the encounter and he has been sent to the Colinguard facility for treatment and monitoring. I can confirm that mr. Rothschild is now a carrier.
It was by sheer providence that I was in Montgomery at the time of the incident and that the matter was not kept internal by the local sheriff's department. As it stands I was able to get there in time to interview mr. Rothschild in person while his mind was still in the initial phases of shock. Given even a few more days it is highly likely his traumatized mind would have altered the events and we would have to rely on the inadequate reporting and questioning by local police. I have also been able to begin mitigating any long term damage to mr. Rothschild’s psyche. According to Ronald such initial trauma is a key factor in the later development of violent behavior of carriers. While this notion is debated, my interactions with mr. Rothschild does bring me hope that he will be a valuable and cooperative resource should he survive the initial phases.
I believe that the sheriff would have preferred to keep the matter internal if he were able but local news made such a notion impossible. The matter was reported to the FBI to satisfy public outcry although there was not sufficient evidence to elevate the case to the federal level. The FBI reported the incident to our organization as a matter of course.
We have done everything in our power to make mr. Rothschild as comfortable as possible although he will of course require extensive psychological help. No expense will be spared to ensure his health, survival, and cooperation. To this end the west wing of the Colingaurd facility is being dedicated to this project along with its assigned staff. Mr. Rothschild is married so a decision will be required on which protocol to use. My team is assembling a psych profile; however, my first impression of this woman is that she would be willing to cooperate provided we demonstrate that we have her husband's best interest at heart.
The attacker was the late mrs. Windlow (84). She was exhumed from a graveyard in Wattsville and transported to Birmingham for an autopsy on suspicion of murder. The Wattsville sheriff had been a friend to the Windlows for many years. The Windlows had a good estate and a decent amount of money to retire on. Unfortunately, mr. Windlow died in an accident 5 years ago leaving his small fortune and estate to mrs. Windlow. Mrs. Windlow was, reportedly, in excellent health. Her physician claimed that she was the single healthiest elderly patient he had ever seen. I inquired, diplomatically, whether he had ever noticed anything odd about her hands. He had never had cause to examine her hands. Indeed he only ever examined her once on his own insistence to make sure everyone in his community was in good shape. What he did note was that her heart was unusually strong for a woman of her age being on par with that of a much younger much more athletic person. It was almost as though her heart were enlarged. However, no other physical oddities were observed other than her ferocious appetite and extreme vigor. It was this vigor which dissuaded the physician and others from further investigation. It is unfortunate that no detailed medical examination exists of this woman since neither her physician nor her coroner had the opportunity. The information which does exist matches with the other cases we have studied (see Catmire and Rowling). The aforementioned vigor of mrs. Windlow, her apparent longevity, and her wealth as well as the nature of her youngest son, whom the sheriff of Wattsvile describes as “a no good scheming bastard”, are what has led to his suspicion of foul play. Further suspicion is cast by the recent alteration of mrs. Windlow’s will to increase her youngest son’s portion of her estate and his acquisition of the mechanic’s shop he is employed with shortly after her death. Her unlikely death of a heart attack was not enough to open an investigation given her age but the timing of the events that followed were. While the guilt of any individuals in this case is not of interest, the conditions of mrs. Windlow’s death and the potential of her descendants of being carriers is. I propose a full investigation into mrs. Windlow, her family, and the conditions of her death.
For the purpose of investigating these suspicions the sheriff of Wattsvile petitioned the county courthouse for a subpoena to exhume and autopsy mrs. Windlow. However, because Wattsville does not have the facilities for an autopsy she was transported to Birmingham for her examination. Apparently there was some trouble removing the casket since fine roots had grown between the casket and the surrounding soil. A dig team member's description of the casket’s condition follows.
“long yellow white hairs growing around the thing and out into the dirt, we had to really cut at the things to get her out. What was real strange though was the way they all seemed to have worked their way under the lid. Them lids are a slab of iron, buried under dirt, what I mean is its heavy as shit. How’d them things get under there?”
We have obtained soil samples as well as samples from the coffin, the casket, and the remains of the incident. All samples have been sent to the Colingaurd facility for further study. My initial inspection was enough to verify that these tendrils are identical to our other samples and match Rowling's characterizations. These tendrils, like Rowling’s, are 1 - 2 millimeters across. They are yellow-white and have a vaguely spongy texture. Under the microscope they most resemble capillaries but with a more robust basement membrane of woven collagen. This membrane has evenly spaced pores. The spacing and orientation of these pores is variable with the individual and the time since burial. However, the exact relationship has not yet been established. The fibers left over from the incident were confirmed to be woven collagen as well without containing any capillaries.
Once the casket was delivered to the Birmingham mortuary there was a disagreement about whether the team had exhumed the correct grave or not. According to Mr. Rothschild the coffin was in an extreme state of decay which caused the disagreement about whether or not the correct grave had been exhumed. Once the identity of the occupant had been confirmed several morticians removed the coffin. This task was made difficult because of the state of the coffin and the tendrils which connected it to the casket. Apparently, opening the lid of the coffin was quite a task. The lid was sealed to the rest of the coffin and their first attempt to remove it simply caused the wood to crumble and splinter. In the end the task required them to run a scalpel around the edge of the lid and pull it entirely away. Mr. Rothschild’s description of the event is contained below.
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Investigator: Now mr. Rothschild.
Mr. Rothschild: Please, call me Albert.
*** I pulled out a cigarette and offered him one. He shook his head.***
Investigator: Albert, when did you first see the coffin?
Mr. Rothschild: Well, I heard the commotion with Bill arguing with the truck driver about those fools over at the Wattsvile cemetery digging up the wrong grave. That’s happened before, you know, some poor old coger or war hero or the neigbors dog is dug up instead of the person they actually needed to exhume and then the whole family gets upset because you dug up their great uncle Stan. Ah, where was I? Oh, Bill and the truck driver. The truck driver told him that he was just the driver and to take it up with the Wattsville sheriff department. I came out then and that's when I saw it. Now 21 days underground is enough time for some decay to occur. This is Alabama in October and it's been rainy. But, unless that grave yard were in the middle of a bog, I don’t see how a coffin enclosed in an iron casket could possibly get in that condition. Not in that amount of time. We had to get a shovel from our grounds keeper to pull away them roots. The coffin was a real hassle to get out, the handles came right out of the wood. The wood itself was slimy and clearly decayed. It was like a log that fell by the river, you know? The ones you step on and they just squish like that, you know? Anyway, those coffins are treated to prevent that sort of decay or at least slow it down. It took four of us with shovels to lever the thing out and get it on a cart. And even then the coffin crumbled and slouched.
*** At this point mr. Rothschild began to grow more disturbed as we approached the more traumatic parts of the event ***
We brought the coffin into the mortuary, where most folks are prepared, not the autopsy room.
*** mr. Rothschild paused and took a drink of his coffee. I noted at the time that his hands had begun to shake. ***
The coffin was difficult to open. The latch simply came out of the wood. Trying to lift the lid with our fingers simply pulled out wet rotted splinters. It was clear that whatever those roots were, they had sealed the lid to the coffin. We thought *** he paused and frowned *** Bill thought that it must be some kind of aggressive fungus. Maybe she *** he paused again and this time he twitched *** had been buried with a mushroom in a pocket or some such. Some bizarre mold. *** Mr. Rothschild chuckled*** It kind of reminded me of when a part of our root cellar had a leek. We had potatoes down there and they tried to grow but the mold got them too. Roots and mold all tangled together with the maggots crawling all over it. My wife fainted at the smell. *** He smiled briefly then found again*** That was part of what made it strange I think. Bill and I we’ve seen all sorts of things. Things that make most people vomit or faint. Like them potatoes, my wife couldn’t handle the smell or the sight of them wriggling worms. But that's nothing to me. But mrs. Windlow’s coffin didn’t have bugs, or different kinds of rot. If the casket hadn’t been sealed right then we’ed expect all sorts of things to have gotten to mrs. Windlow. In fact thats exactly what we expected to have happened given the state of the coffin and mrs. Windlow. But I suppose it wasn’t really all that strange. It could have been that a root had started to work its way into the casket and opened it enough for a few spores to get in or some such thing. I suppose its just of interest given… Anyway, we ended up having to cut the lid off with a knife. Once the roots were cut away we were able to remove the lid. Then we saw mrs. Windlow …
*** This time the pause was longer.***
Investigator: We can take a break Albert. There’s no rush.
Mr. Rothschild: I’ve told this story to the police, you know.
Investigator: I know, I’ve read the report. But an in person interview is always more illuminating.
Mr. Rothschild: They think I’m crazy.
Investigator: I believe the police do, yes. However, I have a PhD in both Biology and psychiatry and I do not believe you are crazy or lying Albert.
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
Mr. Rothschild: Can you tell me what’s going on? What was that thing?
Investigator: That is a conversation we will certainly have in due time Albert. For now I think we should take a break.
*** A short intermission ***
Investigator: How do you feel Albert?
Mr. Rothschild: A little better, thank you. Where was I?
Investigator: You were about to describe the condition of the body.
Mr. Rothschild: Oh, yes. I once saw a spider wrap up a bug in a web. And I thought it looked almost like a little mummy. Like from that movie?
*** I nodded ***
Well, that's what she … it … looked like. They were finer than the roots. More like spider silk than like a fungus. It really did, it looked like a giant spider had wrapped her up in a cocoon. I used to watch them, spiders I mean. They’d sit in their webs and then a mosquito would fly in and the spider would bite …
*** He gathered himself ***
The … body … it came out easily. The roots went from the body to the coffin like they were growing out from the body. But when we lifted it up they all just fell off. We put it on a cart and went to the autopsy room. We did notice that the body was a bit heavy for its size but didn’t think much of it. Mrs. Windlow was about 5 ft nothing and something in the report had mentioned her health in life. I think Bill might have made a joke about tiny grandma boxers at some point. Bill, he liked boxing. Used to watch it at a local place in town and listen to matches over the radio while we worked some times. I never liked boxing, too violent, seemed a little silly to me. Never said that to Bill though. I think mrs. MacCumber crossed herself as we walked by her office, wheeling mrs. Windlow towards the autopsy room. She’s seen her fair share of stiffs but I don’t think she ever grew as comfortable with them as Bill and I. Mrs. MacCumber, she’s a superstitious type and really appreciates her bible. Catholic woman you know. *** his calm smile disappeared ***
We brought mrs. Windlow into the autopsy room. Bill sometimes called it the warranty room and he would laugh at his own joke. I never really got it.
*** He stopped and stared through me for a full two minutes, I recognised the building panic in his eyes ***
We should have stuffed her back into that coffin and put the coffin back in the casket! We should have walked away! That thing needed to stay in the ground, preferably with a damn steak through its heart! Bill …
Investigator: Albert, calm down. Breath. Maybe we should take another break.
Mr. Rothschild: No, no. Im ok. I think … I think I need to tell this story. Tell it to someone who’s not going to laugh. Who doesn’t think Im crazy. Poor mrs. MacCumber, they dismissed her. Said she was being hysterical and I had lost my mind. That I probably killed Bill myself and she was my … well
Investigator: They're just scared, just like you were. Can you really blame them for looking for any other explanation?
Mr. Rothschild: No, I suppose not. Honestly, If I hadn’t seen it for myself.
Investigator: Exactly, and not to worry, no charges are being pressed. I plan to speak to mrs. MacCumber right after this but I can guarantee that no harm will come to her, you or anyone else.
Mr. Rothschild: But, it's still out there.
Investigator: My organization specializes in dealing with situations like these. Don’t worry Albert, we’re on the case.
*** mr. Rothschild chuckled nervously ***
Now, Albert, please continue.
Mr. Rothschild: Right, Right. It sounds like you people are some kind of.
Investigator: We are a medical research group Albert.
*** I winked conspiratorially and smiled reassuringly***
Mr. Rothschild: I see. Well, where was I?
*** mr. Rothschild seemed more comfortable now. ***
Oh, yes, umm, we moved it to the autopsy room. Mrs. MacCumber saw us and fled back into her office… that woman’s a hero you know. Ought to receive a medal for what she did. Saved my life. My wifes swore that she’d be invited to dinner any time she pleased for saving my life…
Where was I, yes the autopsy. We started by cutting away at the threads. There were multiple layers. We discovered that they weren’t loose threads like we had thought. Instead each layer was a sort of film with the threads being part of the film. The threads were pretty tough but the film was almost transparent and quite fragile. The threads wern’t stretchy like spider silk they were tough like actuall sowing thread. The undersides of each layer were sticky so we had to peel each one back. As we worked Bill commented on the layers and I wrote down what he said like normal. We finally pulled back the last transparent layer and exposed her face. We were surprised that she looked quite normal for a dead woman almoast fresh. The rate of decay wasn’t quite right, she should have been all bloated up by this point. But she looked in fairly good shape. Her skin was a bit greyer than it should’ve been. Her form was more shrunken and shriveled. She had been 84 when she died. The body produces all sorts of gasses as it breaks down, especially if the bugs are kept away. Other than that everything was quite normal. The things that were supposed to be bule were blue, and black, pale and so on. Rigormortis was quite normal. But it was still strange, the coffin was in bad shape but like I said, this is Alabama and its been rainy. Mrs. Windlow was the opposite. She almost seemed desiccated. Like instead of being buried in a bog she had been buried in a desert. Dried out. Either condition wasn’t necessarily unexpected although perhaps not to those extremes but we were seeing both conditions, overly damp and dry at the same time. I remember commenting to Bill that I felt like one of those Egyptologists uncovering a mummy. With all the wrappings and the dried stiff in the middle like some kind of bizarre mexican food. Bill just gave me a funny look. The only thing we could think of to explain the difference was the wrappings. We had three ideas about what the wrappings could be, one: it had to do with the fungus, Two: some kind of bug made it like with a spider, Or three: the family had wrapped her up in some kind of wrapping for incomprehensible reasons. It would certainly pertain to the investigation so we were fairly thorough about documenting everything. Bill thought that we should have been taking pictures with the new camera. After all that had been what we had bought it for. And he wanted to get some photos of the body before disturbing it too much further. He told me to fetch it and some film from his office. When I came back… mrs. Windlow was eating Bill. I remember it perfectly. She was still wearing the dress she had been buried in. A little old woman in a flower print dress holding on to Bill like a monkey on a tree. His head had been torn half off and I swear I watched the light leave his eyes. Her whole mouth was clamped around his exposed jugular, her throat was pumping rhythmically. Her adam's apple: up and down, up and down. It reminded me absurdly of one of those pumpjacks pulling oil down in Texas. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from it. Even though he was clearly already dead, he was still standing upright. His legs seemed to be locked in place. And while his skin grew more and more pale and shriveled, her body was growing. Her skin flushed and tightened. It was as though she were transferring her state to him. Her … flesh grew more and more tight until it … it began to tear. A parade float being over inflated. It was like there was something inside growing. Her hair, the back of her neck, her legs. There was surprisingly little blood. It was like it was wearing mrs. Windlow like a Halloween costume that no longer fit. Like one of Bill’s boxers flexing their muscles while wearing their childhood clothes. I can’t really describe the sheer obscenity of it. Soon the thing that stood over Bill … I saw his corps latter. It was shriveled, rictus, almost desiccated …
*** Mr. Rothschild’s face during this description held clear signs of the shock and trauma of his experience. His eyes were wide and clearly unseeing. He stared at a corner of the room. ***
The thing that stood over Bill looked nothing like mrs. Windlow. Its skin was mat black and muscular. But, the dress, oh God, it was still wearing the flower print dress, tight around its shoulders and waist. It looked up at me. It hadn’t quite lost mrs. Windlow’s face yet. Dead gray rotting eyes staring at me. The mouth had been torn at the sides. I presume … It opened its mouth, the jaw… I’ve heard of snakes that can swallow eggs. I’ve never seen it but I once heard a local farmer, named Jack Bridge, who had some chickens say he saw it once. We were at the bar and he said the snake's mouth opened too wide which helped it swallow the egg. It swiped one hand or maybe just claw across its face. It was like mrs. Windlow’s face was a halloween mask. The thing underneath, its eyes were black as night. It screamed or roared or howled or … something. Its jaw was like the snake’s, like it could swallow me as easy as that snake swallowed an egg as big as its head. And then I was pinned against the wall, one hand against my head and a sharp pain in my neck. Then there was the bang of mrs. MacCumber’s 45 revolver her husband gave her. The monster had pinned me to the wall across the hall right next to mrs. MacCumber’s office. I’ll never forget that sight of her with a revolver in one hand and a crucifix in the other, unloading the entire clip right into the side of the thing's head, screaming the entire time. I swear to God she looked like a knight in shining armor right then. Shield in one hand, sword in the other, facing down a dragon. It dropped me and I fell, stiff as a board to the floor. I still don’t know how I survived that thing biting into my neck like that.
*** He rubbed at his bandaged neck ***
End Transcript
Mr. Rothschild survived due to the quick actions and skillful application of aid from mrs. MacCumber as well as the cocktail of compounds and proteins injected into his bloodstream upon being bitten. As mr. Rothschild observed, the polymorph was not killed by mrs. MacCumber’s actions but was driven off. We have cordoned off the area and conducted an extensive search but with little luck. We do know that mrs. Windlow ran south by southeast, so she likely does not intend to return to her hometown. This may indicate that she is befuddled after her resurrection or that she is one of those who loses memory or mental faculty upon transformation. In any case the state of Alabama is now known to contain a triggered polymorph. We have issued dangerous animal advisories about an escaped and rabid mountain lion. Given our past experience this should be enough to relegate the stories of women rising from the dead to attack morticians to the tabloids. Mrs. MacCumber is satisfied with the explanation that she shot at an actual demon who had possessed mrs. Windlow’s body. For all of my studies I can’t actually prove her wrong. Perhaps because of her beliefs, mrs. MacCumber is psychologically unharmed and is unlikely to cause a problem other than causing a stir in the local church. I have spoken to her about how such a story might frighten others and make them paranoid. I have suggested it to mrs. MacCumber that she might instead use more subtle methods and prevent more demons from emerging into our world by spreading the word of God. This seems to have mollified her, I believe she intends to go to Wattsville and drizzle holy water on all the graves there. Mr. Rothschild has an inkling of what's about to happen to him and I believe he is quite frightened. I am not sure if he believes we have his best interests at heart or are simply waiting for him to make his own transformation before disposing of him. From his perspective we are his best hope of not doing harm to anyone else. Which is likely why he agreed to be treated at the Colingaurd facility with no questions asked. I have spoken to his wife and she is more hesitant. She does not believe her husband's story and is worried we will feed his delusion. My attempts to reassure her that we have excellent psychiatric care at Colingaurd was met with mistrust. As I said before, a decision will need to be made.
The problem for us will be to track the creature, contain the damage, and estimate the time left before it can grow a new body. Once that happens we will need to maintain a lookout for anyone with mrs. Windlow’s physical characteristics sans her age. Personally I harbor little hope of finding her in either of her forms.
Despite the loss of life, this incident will help to further illuminate the enigma of polymorphs. Albert Rothschild alone is akin to a dream come true for our research. We will finally be able to prove that failed feeding is one of the primary modes of conversion and observe the conversion process directly. We have gathered a great many samples from a polymorph’s cocoon and now have evidence that hibernation type polymorphs and predator type polymorphs are one and the same and can indeed switch from one to the other under some circumstances. Thank you as always for your patronage, we will have further reports available to you as soon as we gather new information.