23rd of September, 1934 – “Man’s Best Friend”. This peculiar phrase has been entangled in my subconscious for endless weeks. Just the start of my job as a professor at King’s College, and now such a simple (yet intriguing) question has left me completely out of focus! The few numbers of lectures that I have done in the past week have been an unintelligible blur as I try to come to terms with the understanding of canid behavior. Why do these animals submit to us? Why do we entice them, excite them upon our returning home from work? Why does a terrier or a spaniel so willingly risk its own life for the continuance of its owner’s? To put it in more simple terms, what establishes the bond between man and beast?

16th of December, 1934 - As I write this, my beagle Alfred rests comfortably upon my lap, having wore himself down from constantly sprinting to catch a stick for what seemed like more than three hours, but was rather a mere thirty-one human minutes. As I stroke my hand along his neck, I can still recollect the memory of him clamping down on Richard Brown’s leg, and all because old Dick tried to snatch my spectacles away from me and strike me about the head. Just a lad I was at that time, and oh, how proud I was of the small pup! Now here I am, pushing thirty-one years of age, asking why the now aged Alfred didn’t just flee the playground the moment that brute had pushed me off the swing set! Any right-minded human would consider themselves a slave whence put into Alfred’s position of living. That is because a man chooses, whilst a slave is one to obey.

Being that this is the case, what makes my canine companion so different from a willing slave? For example, I could strike him about the head at this very moment, and his affection would hold him from even a raise of his paw. Rather than immediately bite down at the striking hand, he’d most probably guilt himself into seeing the abuse as his own wrongdoing!

He is but a child without a deserving parent…a lamb to the slaughter.

17th of January, 1935– What seems like a month later since I last wrote, and still am I but sparsely closer to the cracking of such a great natural mystery! Being raised a man of Christian value, faith would be one to satisfy my desire for answers with the simple conclusion that it is all part of “God’s Great Design”. Though I tell you this: even the teachings of the Lord himself could not explain how a family of such vicious and primal ancestry could mingle so well with one of complete civility and moral.

I decided to search for better hypotheses in my good friend, Prof. Jack Godeman. The man was one of an obsession much greater than my own current one, that of botany. I dare say that he bloody lives for the subject, constantly monitoring the size and shape of the marigolds in his laboratory, as well as the willows that span the length of the college’s outer pavements.

Yes, as you could obviously tell, this man may appear to be that of no knowledge on the subjects that I investigate. In past tidings, though, I must say that the professor has made no error in confirming the fact that he is of a prodigious nature on Darwinism. When old Godeman is not rambling on in both class and conversation about the rate of height gain in his old trees and flowers, he is deep into the discussion of the concepts of common ancestry and natural selection, both theories that of which I often refuse to believe in.

But, being that I am of no patience with the writings of the Bible to intervene in the settling of my current predicament, I am afraid that this man’s knowledge must do________________

Eight o’clock in the evening it now is, and I must say that my good friend, Godeman may truly be the nutter I thought he was. The professor gave interesting conversation, to say the least, upon hearing of what knowledge it is that I seek. To put the obvious down first, he, of course, believed that the answers were within the study of ancestral history itself. However, he then went on by saying that the canines’ desire to protect and be nourished by humans was not due to an evolutionary trait, but rather a mutual relationship built upon by a shared belief. In other words, the professor has led me to believe that dog and human are, in fact, of the same moral authority!

“Yes, the intelligence is quite different”, he explained, “but our rules, our laws, our ten commandments, if you will, are one in the same! They love us as if we were their species, because both creatures have the ability to choose their level of obedience to such rules. The morality is the same, David, and therefore the brains are as well! That is your answer!”

At the first moment hearing this, I thought him almost mad! He sounded as though possessed by the spirit of some schizophrenic madman of ages long dead! My assumption was maybe the financial slump and its great burden on all, myself included, had truly broken this man for sure. Things got gravely worse, however, as he then went on by discussing even more maddening hypotheses to himself.

I would refrain from discussing them in full for the sake of my own sanity, but in short, he did seem to have some sort of premonition at that very moment. He turned from me and began to walk the perimeter of the lab, examining each sunflower that towered from the many pots and troughs. Eventually though, after what felt like an eternity, he stopped dead in his tracks, and turned to look at me.

Then, in so swift a motion, he rushed up to me and began hurrying me out of the lab. The abruptness of the professor’s actions was so great, that I found myself startled by it. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” was the last thing he had spoken before slamming the door in my face.

20TH OF JANUARY, 1935 – End of yet another week of lectures, and now I am of great concern for my fellow colleague. Ever since this past Wednesday, he has been acting even crazier than usual. The only time I ever saw Jack in his lab the past two days, I could see him forcefully yanking his sunflowers from their roots, as if he was yanking crops for his evening supper.

Other than the one occurrence, I have neither seen nor heard just about anything from the professor since that fateful discussion. The things that he had told me, I_____________

24th of January, 1935' – I have received a letter from Godeman! It was going on a week and one half since last happening upon him when Alfred had dropped this bit of parcel at my feet. The letter had appeared rather rushed, but comprehensible:


Ten long years I have waited, and I must fully thank you, my friend! I have been looking for a subject of testing for all those years now, and it was your great curiosity that has now helped in my pursuits! What I, no we, have discovered may forever change the very foundations of the biological world. Enclosed here is a map to my study so that you may be there to witness my greatest achievement.

Kindest Regards,

Jack Godeman

P.S. I would recommend bringing along that pup of yours. This may concern him, too.

“What in the name of…”, I had first thought to myself. I was now questioning how recent it had been since this letter’s arrival. I only ask about such things because of one of many other mysteries surrounding the parcel itself: I had never told Jack about my owning of a pooch.

26th of January, 1935 – Here I am, just a single week later, packing my bag for a journey to who the hell knows where. The map which was sealed within the parchment is awfully bewildering. First off, its direction is of an uncomforting travel: two hundred- and forty-miles northern drive, and another five on foot. The location is just of a completely nonsensical nature as well! The slightest possibility of any sort of living quarters lasting out there would be a spectacle for sure.

Either way, I’m making sure to pack for myself some extra petrol. After all, there are surely no stations out that far a distance. I’d be sure to pack myself much water as well. I’d assure that even Alfred, with the age he has reached, will find the walk to be of such great a burden. Nothing but large rocks and thick mud for the whole of the five, I would assume.

The Northern Moorlands of all places! What could the professor possibly_________

27th of January, 1935 – Only about forty of the hundreds of miles has been driven so far, and already have I witnessed the land lose all signs of what was an overall civil existence. The land was absolutely engulfed in an endless black, that of which put but a few inches of visibility between me and the rest of the world. Despite the presence of a waning gibbous in the otherwise colorless clouds above, I can truly say that the only conceivable land before me and Alfred was that of the tarnished and grass-lined path within the borders of my headlights. Beyond those borders, from what we understood, lie an endless void of absolute silence and mystery. If I had to compare, I would say that if it be that the deepest and darkest abysses of the oceans were of livable, breathable condition, they would surely appear as this.

The rolling hills and mountains of this primal landscape were quite strenuous to make out, but their shadows were enough to see how gargantuan they truly were. The great complex that has towered over America’s king metropolis for the past 4 years is nothing compared to the great size of these natural titans. As I drove along these pitch-black trails for hours that strained long after sundown, I viewed something quite off-putting along the side of the road. No…not off-putting. Horrific would best describe it.

A nonhumanoid figure is what I viewed. A primal cousin of my dear old beagle, if you will. About the creature was a size comparable to Alfred’s, a coat of orange, and a bushy, white-tipped tail. In its jaw lay that of a carcass. The carcass of a large cockerel, that of which was most comfortably at rest in its coop but an hour before. It’s funny, isn’t it? In my childhood, I thought these small creatures of an appealing nature, as they were quite docile and unnoticing of my fellow race. Now here it stands, carcass spilling blood from its teeth, as the thing growled and sprinted along the side of my mobile.

Thankfully, one swift bark from my old pooch sent the small beast tearing away into the tall grass alongside the trail, obviously off in search of other more helpless things to devour.

“Just a fox, old boy,” I reassured him, “no need for concern.”

As I write this, we are stopped along the path. Alfred now rests quietly and comfortably in the seat adjacent my own, and so shall I be the same way in some short minutes. It haunts me to think that such a conscientious fellow as him could even be remotely related to something of such savage and, if I must say, immoral nature as that. I must admit, though, that as the days since that talk with the professor increase, the more sensical his words begin to appear. What I still don’t understand, however, is his other more insane hypotheses.

28th of January, 1935 – When I woke this morning, it was to the barks and gentle pawing of Alfred against my chest. My watch read about eight when I then sparked the engine and proceeded to complete the remaining two-hundred-kilometer portion of this journey. Even in the light of day did this landscape look rather unsettling to the human eye. The titanic hills of this place were still quite the sight to behold even now as the sun’s rays lay upon them.

Their thick nocturnal shadows now took the form of a dense glowing fog that spanned the length of and shrouded the mountainous peaks in an unending cloud of white. The valley at their bases was no different, as it spewed the ghostly haze from its rivers and creeks in tens of gallons by the second.

Until the last of its kind was struck down in about the 16th century, I’d assume such a natural phenomena to be of benefit to England’s great feral canids. Old Alfred’s great ancestors could so easily hide among the sea of pale color, waiting for any smaller, weaker organism to stroll right into its jaws.

I’d say that even today, with what I had witnessed the night before, even the absence of such a savage species of canine could not strip these lands of their primal and predatory nature.

It was about five past four in the afternoon when I had finally completed the long drive. As I had predicted, the walk was truly something treacherous. Thankfully, it was the large rocks that had been of benefit to me and my pooch, as they kept us out of the bog most of the travel. Only once did I lose my footing on one of them, but it was Alfred who was there to grab me by the pantleg to steady me once more.

“That a boy,” I had said.

What the condition of my dear colleague’s study was I did not know. The only information that I could gather on it was whatever the old nutter had written in his estranged letter. On the map he had supplied, the destination was simply marked as, “Godeman’s Quarters”. As I travel toward this point with great care, I wonder what could truly be of such astounding achievement that the professor would feel it necessary to bring me this far out into the wild landscape. What I mean is that my dear friend treats this “achievement” as if the hand of God himself has come down from heaven to shake him about the hand!

“Change the biological world,” I scoffed.

I have been so confidential about his hypotheses up until this point in time. But, at this point, I must at least ask of this: How could plant growth and evolution in any way be the same bloody thing?!______________________________

The twilight sat just at the edge of the mist-clad peaks when I arrived at my destination. Even with that bit of rays still left in the sky, the Moorlands were already completely devoured by the ever-so familiar black of the night previous. With help from the light of the lantern in my knapsack, I and my dog were able to behold a thick metal door in the face of the earth. A pressure valve was the only thing that stood between me and whatever amendment to creation that my friend has seemingly made.

“What sort of paranoid being would live in such a place as this, boy?” I inquired of Alfred.

For Heaven’s sake, who am I to ask a question as sane sounding as that? Here I was, talking to a damned beagle, having drove and walked the length of the continent for a demented teacher’s war bunker!

I must keep my head. However, depending on what it is that I may find in this place, I am afraid it may not be kept for much longer. I grabbed hold of the valve and, with all the strength I could muster, fully depressurized the door. From there, pulling it open was of significant ease to put it lightly. It was entering this place that was the hard part. Just when I completely unsealed the hole, what lie before me was a long, seemingly unending staircase that led far down into the Earth’s crust. I say unending because the bunker was, shockingly, unlit by any other luminosity aside from that of my lantern. However, even the burning oil was not enough to cut all the way to the bottom of this impressively long flight of steps. It was as if the darkness were all-consuming, extinguishing any and all luminosity as it tried so desperately to break its way through.

Slowly I began to descend, taking my time with each passing step. I simply refused to increase speed out of fear of what unknown entities may lie ahead and take offense to my presence here. Yes, I may sound as though of madness, but I am afraid that this place is not naturally dark. I could see, in the gleam of my lantern, that there was in fact lighting in this hall, but none of it active.

In other words, there was a reason as to why these lights had been shut off.

With this in mind, I found myself reducing my pace even further than before. I could tell that even Alfred was now just as unnerved as myself, for he began to whimper ever so very slightly the more we descended. The further down we went, the more the darkness seemed to eat away at the borders of the lantern’s gleam. Then, after what felt like greater than ten minutes, I could feel something.

It almost felt like breathing.

My blood ran cold as I then swiftly moved backwards up two or more steps. I was now fully prepared to sprint the whole of a mile away from whatever living fiend should come bursting out of that void at any given moment. My heart burst in and out of my chest as I readied myself. Alfred was one to stand his ground, though, as he pitched a low guttural snarl out into the shadows ahead.

But nothing happened. It took us both about a minute to realize the true nature of the breath itself. We could now tell that it was, in fact, a low yet steady breeze blowing upwards through the tunnel. Now quite curious, I began to complete what I had started, moving forward down what I now realized was the last few remaining steps. I could feel my ears pop as I then witnessed the ground begin to bottom out and open up into a much greater chamber: I had at last reached the bottom.

“Godeman, my good man!” I called out, “Are you here?!”

There was no response. I crept, slower now, into the open chamber, and the now quiet and confident beagle followed shortly after. What we beheld in this room was a large, impressive, yet quite gloomy appearing laboratory. The way I could best describe it was that it appeared as a much more sizeable rendition of Godeman’s first lab back at King’s College in London. On one side of the room sat soil troughs like those back at the college, but the sunflowers that grew from these were quite different. Not only were they far more massive in height than the first lab’s prior, but the branches on these things…their lengths seemed to grow to the ceiling, and from there the width of the room. I shone my light upon the sprawling snake-like vines only for me to realize something even stranger.

These weren’t branches, or even vines for that matter. They were tubes. Long, translucent tubes that pulsed a strange greenish substance off towards an unknown destination.

Were the flowers producing this substance? Had he engineering them to be poisonous? Does he plan to use them for the sake of weaponry?

The nature of this situation was so confusing that I was so greatly disturbed indeed. I continued to follow these vein-like cords along the roof of the lab for about a minute and a half. Then, next thing I realized was that they eventually seemed to curve as they trailed down the side of the metal wall. I shined my light downwards in that direction, and here I beheld their point of completion. Before me sat a large and cluttered lab workbench, that of which seemed to span all the way to the door in which I entered. Upon this table sat a giant lab notebook, several syringes, beakers, and a plethora of other organic chemistry-related equipment. The condition of this setup made it appear as though not touched for days, as it was undusted and unorganized. However, the most outstanding of the items in this scene was where the translucent tubes seemed to empty out their contents: a collection of large overflowing vials that all sat upon a dozen or so inactive burners, spilling the unnamed liquid in waterfalls out onto the ground.

I dared not touch whatever acid or other toxin was spewing out from within those vials, as I’d despise the risk of losing an index or thumb. I instead drew my attention to the lab book that sat at the opposite end of this clutter of material. If I was to figure out the meaning of all this, then I must investigate Jack’s written observations. I hurried over to the book and flipped it open with great force, knocking but only a few small syringes off the bench and onto the floor. As I read the tattered pages, I became acutely aware of the strange mannerism in which Jack wrote. It was in one matching that of the letter I received, in other words being rushed and almost incomprehensible. However, it was not the mannerism in which he wrote that disturbed me. It was the familiarity of what I read that did just that. Yes, I know I promised myself to refrain from discussing the inconceivable theories of this madman in full, but now I feel it to be completely necessary. Here is what was written:

October 4th, 1934

Thorough observation and analysis for the past several months has confirmed my suspicions: plant growth is in fact an actual form of evolution! This would make our everyday plants the quickest evolving organism to ever grace the face of this planet! Further examination has also shown that some plants may evolve faster and much more superior than others. The greatest of these is the common sunflower, which can complete an excess of 2 evolutionary cycles in no more than a single month!! It may sound maddening, but just imagine…

From that point onwards was the page completely incomprehensible. However, despite its crooked nature, it was not this entry that frightened me, but the final one.

December 1st, 1934

Could it truly be so easy?!!!! Now it is the time to find a subject. One that is not of direct ancestry. If I can truly accomplish this, then the power of God is within the hands of man.

-Jack Godeman

I had to find him. I had to find my good friend in this God-forsaken place. He has truly lost all his sanity, and I must get him to a hospital immediately! I looked desperately around for any other doors aside from the one I entered through. If he had built the place out this far a distance, then he must surely have some sort of living quarters. To my luck, I did find another doorway, but not just one. There was a total of four open halls that lay before me, and all seemed to connect in some way or further.

“Blimey,” I whispered to myself, “the man’s built himself a labyrinth.”

How selfish it is of him to do this! With all the money he obviously seems to have, rather than help the afflicted of the Great Slump, he’d rather spend it on this hellish creation! No matter. Once I find him, this shall all be seized by the proper authorities and put to good use, I’m sure.

“Follow along, Alfred,” I called out, “…Alfred?”

Where had he run off to? I for certain remember him walking in with me, but not where he had then wandered from there. I soon found out as I heard loud barks coming from deep within the labyrinth itself. The silly old mutt had already scouted ahead! Now it appears that he has found something.

I snatched the lantern and lab book from off the bench then tore my way into the first door I saw. Even with the lantern, the corridors were just as hard to navigate in the dark as I had pictured. If it were not for his consistent yapping, I ‘d have never found Alfred in such a massive unlit expanse. Thankfully, his barks led me right into the one place I had been searching for: Jack’s living quarters.

“Godeman!” I cried out, “Come out, I’m getting you the hell out of here!”

No answer. Where in the hell was he? I then called out for Alfred, and heard his bark come from the farthest side of the room. I made a mad sprint for that side, but not before tripping over some hard, metallic object. I held myself from falling and shined my light along the floor to see what it was I had stumbled upon. A file cabinet. It had been thrown over on its side with its contents spilled all about the room. In fact, the entire chamber appeared to be in complete shambles with furniture and other belongings thrown in multiple different directions throughout the quarters. Jack must have had a breakdown in here! He truly had lost his mind, hadn’t he?

I continued to run in the same direction until I came to another steel wall. The barks then came from the corner toward my right. It was there that I finally came upon Alfred once more. He was standing a top a bed in the corner, licking at a pile of blankets. No, not a pile of blankets. A person. A person with the blankets draped messily across their body.

“Jack, old boy!” I shouted.

I shooed Alfred away and grabbed hold of Jack by the shoulder. I shook him hard, but to no avail. He would not stir an inch.

“Jack, you old fool!” I slapped him in the face. “Wake up! Let me help you, please!!”

I rattled him for a good minute or more, but still nothing. I finally ripped the blanket from his body and…

I realized that it was not naturally red. The coloring of the blanket came off in my hands, soaking my palms and all the way down my arms with a thick flowing crimson.

The professor, my good friend Jack, had been severed open from the neck down. What remained of his insides lay in great pink clumps all over the mattress.


That was what it resembled to the best of my recollection. The sound that still wakes me from my sleep at night, haunting me even in consciousness. The sound of God’s natural power when put into the hands of a mere mortal.

Whatever it was, it came from someplace out in the labyrinth. I had to clamp Alfred’s mouth shut with my hand out of fear that he may give away our position to it. I had no clue if it was far off down the hall in another chamber, or in fact standing right outside the door at this very moment, just waiting to make a move on us should we try to escape. The noise was just blaringly loud enough that I could not tell.


Either way, there was seemingly no hope left to find here. I was trapped. My dear colleague now lies dead, and the one thing standing between us and the civil world is a nightmare of his own creation_______________________________

A good hour I had waited on it. Alfred was slowly becoming more and more agitated by how long I had been clutching him. In that time, I had begrudgingly extinguished my light for our own survival, our visibility be damned. We were now sitting in the empty void about us, waiting in a petrified silence for another bit of movement or other resonation from out in the corridor. I assume that Godeman’s abomination had been at rest when we first arrived, but all the commotion stirred up by the beagle and myself had obviously been enough to awaken it.


It was quieter that time. I perked up now realizing this. Nothing but silence out there for but a moment. Then it rang out again, and I was now very aware that it had come from far down the right hallway. I myself had come from down the left hall when I had happened upon this room. The sound was almost a whisper as I was then able to hear a slight shuffle alongside it. The thing was moving away from us now, but for how long was the real question. If we were going to abscond this Godless location for good, now would be the time to do so.

I apologized to Jack for leaving him as the pooch and I then began to slowly make our way out of the chamber. I had to rely on the feeling of objects and walls to find our way through the darkness that surrounded us. It took us about a minute to do so, but we soon evidently found the doorway in which we entered. I then began to slowly and stealthily take Alfred and myself through the winding labyrinth, trying so desperately to remember physically the direction in which I ran from. I decided to use the hedge maze tactic by keeping my left hand on the adjacent wall, and my right hand wrapped tightly around the beagle.

It worked! I soon found the very first turn I had sprinted from, then the second, and then the third. I travelled the spans of this labyrinth for a good ten or more minutes, but the whole time I knew I was I going in the right direction.

The walls were all connected! This truly was a massive underground hedge maze!

“What was the logic in constructing it this way?” I thought to myself.

It was almost as though this system of halls was designed like this for a particular purpose. I was soon made aware that the nature of this great complex was reminiscent of something. Reminiscent of an experiment I had done during one of my lectures at the college, that is. I had made the night prior to the lecture a small wooden maze from strong adhesive and medium-sized planks, then plucked a small mouse from the gardens outside the lecture hall the next morning. I recall the critter couldn’t even make it half way to the hole that lie at the center of the maze, the whole class just sitting there giggling and cheering for it to be successful. After twenty minutes of endeavor, however, the thing eventually lay itself down from the exhaustion, and proceeded to drift away into a comfortably silent rest…just as silent as Godeman’s creation had been when we first arrived.

I could still hear that abomination’s movements from where I was. It was now clear to me that it was trying so desperately to succeed in what it had started: break free of its cage.

Thankfully, the faded sounds informed me that Jack’s own miscarriage was clearly much farther from the exit than I currently was at that very moment. I continued to trace along the walls with my hand, still not being able to see but an inch in front of me. In and out of dead ends I went, and around a hundred or more corners I turned, and all the while I did this, I was listening precariously for any other walking steps besides my own hushed and circumspectly ones. Alfred was so frighteningly close to yelping, but my reassurance and comfort was no match for it; he stayed his subtlety. It took a full hour and one half it seemed for my hand to finally come upon a new entity: another doorway.

My heart jumped from excitement and near-relief. Was I truly close to my old life again, before having drifted into the deepest of nightmares as this one? I carefully pulled out my oil-powered light from my knapsack once more and sparked the device back to life.

“Holy God, thank you!” I cried out in a whisper.

It was the lab! There sat the overflowing vials and tubes, which all rested upon the great lab bench with the syringes and lab book. The lab book!

I must carry it back if the authorities should be even remotely close to believing my story. I crept over to that end of the bench and snatched it up, then tucking it into my sack. This was quite the difficulty, as I did too have to continue to hold Alfred close to my person. Letting him free would surely send him tearing back into the labyrinth, as the sounds of movement were still as loud as ever.

“Hold on,” I thought in that moment.

My heart punched the inside of my chest. The sounds were not just loud.

They were closer.

Much closer.

In fact, I was now aware that they were coming from to my right. I spun to face that direction immediately. I could feel myself begin to sweat more profusely as I now remembered what I had gravely failed to.

Now it may cost me my life.

There were two other passages into the labyrinth. Two more than the one we had escaped from. From one of those two emanated the sounds.


As thunderous as when I had first heard it. It was moving. Moving fast.


The resonation was now like knives being thrust into my ear canal. It was now more deafening than ever before. What then followed it was the steps. They were fast, thudding, conspicuous even. Each one I heard was more booming than the previous. They were moving closer and closer to where in which they opened to my perception. Then, just when they got to be their loudest, they halted. After but a moment of solemn relief, they started up once more. On this occasion, however, they resonated as slow and stealthy, taking their time with each painfully stressing second that passed on. If its goal was to remain unknown to us, that was long past a failure.

It was when it emerged from the passage that I finally unstayed my hold, letting both item and friend slip from my hands.

The most I saw of the thing, before the lantern then fell into shards at my feet, was an arm. Truly was a sight to behold. The long strands of hair that grew from the limb appeared as an inky shade of black, as missing in color as the starless night. By its overall structure, I would assume this thing to be of an incredible physical fitness as well, for it was quite long and all around heavily built. However, it was not the condition of the total limb that horrified me the most, but the hand that grasped the wall adjacent the doorway, helping the arm to pull the rest of the ensemble forth.

The visible hand was consisting of five long fingers like that of a human. Every one of these fingers was tipped with a razor-sharp claw, each one about a quarter of a foot in length. The worst part about all this was the entirety of the hand in question, which was caked in a heavy coat of raw, drying blood.

This blood’s very origin was, of course, unquestionable.

This was the most I saw before the darkness could consume us both, as the rest of the thing then emerged into the room as a cloud of emptiness and black shadow. Its other features were otherwise shrouded in the cloud but did not hide its most distinguishable of these: its eyes. They held their stare with a steady, unblinking glow of yellowish green. As they scanned about the chamber, it became quite clear that these great orbs were not at all strained by the shadow. They cut so easily through the blinding twilight, as if they the ancient Ripper’s dagger dashing the throat of a street wench.

These were the eyes of a primal.

I was so lost, hypnotized even by those lifeless orbs, that I failed to stray him back. In but the briefest of moments I heard a vicious, angry bark, followed by the scurrying of small legs as I then witnessed those soulless eyes move rapidly in one direction! The creature cried out with an incomparable rage as I then heard Alfred clamp down on what I believed to be its right leg.

“Alfred, heel!!” I shrieked.

Too late. No sooner did I yell than did I hear the sound of Alfred’s anguished yelps, as he was evidently then picked up by the creature’s crimson-soaked hand. A minute or so went by of it simply looking over its attacker with such a keen observance, as if resembling that of a vulture gazing upon a lifeless corpse.

It was after this minute that only one resonation filled the air.

A loud crunch.

I could see, by way of the shadows, something squirt profusely from the monster’s hand. Accompanying that was the sound of multiple drips. Soon after that, a small thud, as Alfred’s lifeless carcass was dropped to the floor.

The eyes changed height.

The thing began to feast.

I was isolated. Alone. No other person left here to stay their hand with me. Then, I noticed it.

Another glow.

My heart calmed down a bit. The light of the moon was pealing in from the stairway. Now was my chance.

The primal beast continued to guzzle upon its kill as I then made a desperate sprint across the dimly lit laboratory. I lost my footing a single time on my shattered lantern, but this only succeeded in prolonging my otherwise successful escape. I do not know how I managed, but I somehow could muster the strength to bound up the massive flight in a three-step fashion.

I assume one could say I was now hopping, as a track runner does over many a hurtle.The speed at which I moved seemed to make it a three rather than ten-minute escape as I had pictured.

All the while, however, I could hear and feel its strong efforted pursuit from the darkness at my rear.

Even as I then burst out into the pitch-black evening was I aware of the speed in which the thing was now trailing me up those steps. There was no time at all for me to close the steel vault-like door. It was going to be on me within seconds. In sheer panic, I picked the only other hiding place I could ever think of: the deep quagmire over which I had first travelled.


With but twenty seconds to spare, I threw my whole person into the muddy bog in a straight, leg first dive. No sooner did I do this than did I hear and see the abominable creation of my good friend come bursting out of the black pit with the force of an elephant!

The only thing that was maybe most viewable of myself from the surface was my dirt-spattered face, which stuck out of the thick, foul smelling brown like a freakish mole to take sight of my hunter’s movements. As it sniffed the air desperately to track my position, I could now make out, in the light of the moon, a bit more of the abomination’s once hidden features.

Its snout was long and pronounced, and so too were its perked-up ears. Its legs bent at an angle much too unnatural for it to be a humanoid. Even then, however, it stood upon these legs in a seemingly bipedal position.

Then, it did something else. Something I did not expect from it at all.

It proceeded to gaze slowly up at the orb of the night sky, which had now changed since the previous eve from a waning gibbous to a full-form celestial body. It let out a sound much unlike the others it had previously made.

The sound was high in pitch, long in projection, and spawned these powerful chills up my violently shuttering torso.


It was following this that it finally set off across the landscape. I scrambled out of the mud-filled creek within about half a minute, and as I did so, I could still make out its shrouded form in the distance. The thing had already made it hundreds of yards in but a few short moments.

I just sat there and watched as it pounced up the side and to the peak of one of those titanic hills from previous descriptions.

Finally, the powerful primal cousin of my now deceased canine companion then jumped off and down the unobservable opposite face of the elevation.

It had faded away into that moon-lit night, never to be viewed by my wandering eye again_________________________________________________

26th of October, 1982

Has it truly been more than forty years since I have written? Well, here it goes.

I was going through my attic when I finally uncovered this journal alongside the old lab book. I still remember going through it about a week after the incident. When I had, I myself came upon a folded bit of parchment between the bottom cover and final page. I unfolded it and read the very first line:

Test Subject #1: Canis Lupus

Then the second:

Habitat of Origin: Romania’s Carpathian Mountains

The rest was quite unreadable.

I was blessed by God to have survived that night back in the thirties. Even when I had managed to flee back to my old car and drive a hundred or so miles until sunrise, I was petrified. I feared that even when it had vanished over the hillside, it was still going to be tracking stealthily behind me and my vehicle, endangering not only I, but the rest of London as well!

Even if I live at a rest home in the city, I feel as though I should flee for the States. Just this morning did I hear the stories of infuriated farmers on the telly, who have graciously told reporters of their tremendous loss of cattle in the past nights of several weeks. This is no news to me, however. Legends of massive night crawling beasts have been persistent in those parts for the last several decades. Tales of nightmarish beings that tear apart whole herds of sheep and goats were now considered common-play, and even laughable. So much so, that just the previous year did a group of crazed Hollywood residents come from across the Atlantic to make a comedic style of cinema out of what I personally consider to be a quite serious topic! I mean, how much time before another person should end up like Jack?!! OR ALFRED??!!!!

Should anybody else ever read this, my name is David Williams. I am now 79 years old and retired from my job as a King’s College zoology professor. My dear friend, Prof. Jack Godeman, as brilliant as he is, was foolish enough to try and cut the hand from God’s arm for his own personal use.

He used it in an attempt to harness the divine power of evolution.

Doing so cost him his life, and now my dog’s life. Telling the proper authorities as I had plan was of no succession. Not only was there little to no evidence for an investigation, but the only story in which I could provide was of no sane understanding. Despite such circumstances, however, I have asked my wife, if not my 23-year-old daughter, to release this journal publicly on the date of my death.

I just hope that whoever should read this remember to take caution of the moral less entity that now stalks this plain between Zion and the Netherworld.

I now end my final entry with this set of rules. Should you live in England, or plan to come here at all on holiday, then I gravely insist you to be wary of them. There is also the slight chance that you may be aware of them already, as Hollywood in the West has so carelessly decided to take mockery of them!

Well, here they are:

  1. Stay on the roads
  2. Keep clear of the Moors

Godeman's Experiment
by Bridol123

The following information contains the journal entries of David Williams, a former professor at King's College in London, England. It was first released to the public upon the date of his death: September 15th, 1991
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