March 25, 1878
The story I am about to impart, dear reader, is not one of fiction. If only it were. Rather, it concerns a period of my life some years ago when, as a young man, I was caught up in an affair that many would say defies reasonable explanation. On reflection I sometimes even find myself in disbelief, and yet I am reminded daily of its veracity by the lingering scars from which my body still suffers. I can only offer my words as evidence, and express a desire that your charitable nature will place trust in my character as a gentleman, and as a man of science not prone to the vagaries of fanciful thought.
***
It was on the night of August 11, 1853, that the mysterious package arrived. A boy of twelve stood upon my doorstep, a wooden box held with both hands. The lad seemed eager to rid himself of his possession.
“Special delivery, sir.” His voice low, he spoke in haste. An early evening fog bank enshrouded street lamps with a ghostly haze. From some distance could be heard the receding clatter of hooves, interspersed by a driver’s faint commands.
“Indeed? I was expecting no such parcel.” Yet my usual caution gave way to intrigue as I took the surprise arrival from him. Much to my consternation, before I could retrieve payment from my waistcoat pocket he scampered down the walkway, furtively looking over his shoulder. I shook my head in mild irritation, reentered my household, and called out to my wife.
“Claire, was an arrival from the postal service expected this evening?”
After several seconds of silence I decided to examine the box, and set it atop the dining room table. Upon inspection it revealed no lettering or markings of any kind, the planks appeared to be of a decidedly unremarkable make of common wood. The craftsmanship, however, was of such high degree that I could not detect any trace of seams between the pieces of its construction. For the moment its opening constituted a conundrum.
Leaving the box where it rested, I retreated to the base of the stairway to call again for my wife. Once more there was no reply, but her presence was made known by the muffled click of heels as she busied herself with her usual activities at this hour.
Our childless marriage was in its sixth year, and my dear Claire’s growing disfavor with the situation led to our current arrangement. I had agreed to limit my occupation to the lower rooms, while she remained above whenever I was at home. We met only twice each day, once for polite conversation over the morning meal, and again in the evening to exchange a pleasant goodnight. Thus a harmony was maintained, precluding the harboring of ill will, while at the same time providing my betrothed the distance she required from my presence. In addition, it allowed for the continued appearance of normalcy to the world at large.
Without the voluntary company of my beloved, and seeing no solution to the strange gift's puzzle, I decided to retire for the evening. I withdrew to a room at the rear of the house, once intended for occupation by a toddler, but which now served as my sleeping quarters. Barely had I lain head against pillow before the soothing waters of the river Lethe carried me to the cave of Hypnos.
***
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I awoke with a start, perspiring heavily as the midnight hour approached on this warm autumn eve. Visions of warfare had filled my dreams: men slaying men, cities ravaged with wanton destruction. My mind had wandered across history’s vast terrain. In my state of unconsciousness I was there when Herodotus first writ upon sheets of papyrus, and I watched as Khufu’s laborers cut into walls of limestone.
The images soon faded from my waking thoughts, and an urge to return to the dining room welled up within me. I hastily clothed myself and approached the front of the house once more.
The container remained where I had placed it. Why should it not? For what reason had fear of its loss driven me to seek the comfort of again holding it in my grasp? I did not know, but my attention was soon drawn to a thin line encircling the top, a surprising discovery which I must have overlooked earlier. With only the barest touch the lid, as it were, was easily removed and the contents revealed to me.
Inside was a crystalline decanter, its form like that of a suspended droplet of water, sealed at the neck by a stopper made of glass. The jug had been created with some skill judging by the beauty of its multifaceted form, reflecting the room’s candlelight like a glittering diamond. It held a viscous fluid, deep crimson in color, which emitted a strong musky odor once I released the stopper. With a slight hesitation I held the elongated orb in front of me, and contemplated the next course of action.
In what now seems as rash a decision as I am ever likely to make, I tipped the base of the vessel upward and allowed a single dollop of liquid to fall onto my tongue. Its firm consistency held steady for a moment, then I felt a trickle of warm delight flowing down my throat. The initial taste was of aged wine, followed by another which I found foreign, and together these combined to initially overpower my palate. There arose a touch of nausea in the pit of my stomach, but this subsided as quickly as it had appeared. I found the flavor intoxicating, and could not restrain myself from greedily consuming the remainder in lustful gulps, finished by licking all around the mouth of the jar like a hound hungrily lapping at the remnants of its meal.
Then I paused, experiencing a brief respite from my fervor as a moment of sobriety overtook me. I wiped the corner of my mouth with my sleeve.
“What have I done?”
The words quietly escaped from between my lips as I held the now empty container by the neck in one hand, the palm of the other against my full belly. A panic arose within me, but calm shortly returned when no immediate repercussions presented themselves, and I began to place the crystal back within the box. At that very moment I broke into a sweat, a heat building within my body until I felt engulfed in flame. The vase crashed to the floor as I released it from my shaking grip, and I began to tear furiously at my clothing, ripping off my garments and falling to my knees. Delirious with fever, I collapsed into the corner of the room, and passed out.
When I roused I found myself naked, feeling refreshed somehow, no longer burning, with a sense of relaxation that pervaded my entire being. Everywhere, that is, except for the stiffness along my spine; a kind of pressure under the skin as if my vertebrae had enlarged and were pushing up against the flesh of my back. Without warning a stabbing pain shot vertically from my tailbone to the nape of my neck, as if I'd been slashed with a knife. I screamed in agony as my skin was pulled apart and a pair of leathery wings erupted from between my shoulder blades, dripping with blood which was flung around the room as the wings flapped in involuntary spasms. In terror I gazed back at these large protuberances, but within seconds the pain subsided and I found that I could control their movements with my thoughts. A desire to run from my house suddenly overtook me, and I burst out the front door into the open where my eyes were drawn towards the heavens at a full moon, beckoning me with its glorious magnificence. Before I knew what was happening my feet were off the ground and I soared skyward, in full control of my new appendages, while my mind was seemingly directed by the desires of one much more powerful than myself. I glided silently above the softly illuminated landscape, peaceful but in eager anticipation of what I knew was now my sole purpose in life: the fulfillment of my master's bidding.