Campfire

I was working late. I needed a break but couldn’t stop until I was done.

I would get a Nobel prize for what I was doing. I would be the first scientist to bring necrotic brain tissue back to life. I could save so many lives.

There was nothing eldritch or immoral about what I was doing, despite my colleagues implication of possibly bringing zombies back to life. Zombies, as if. My colleagues have watched to many horror movies.

I turned on the machine and heard the electricity cackle. I would bring Marco back to life before the psychopomp’s took him to the land of the dead. Marco was a six foot five muscular, blonde haired, green eyed, thick bearded giant I purchased from a morgue that sold corpses to scientists and doctors for experimentation. Today people called my experiment anomalous, but one day it would be prosaic and normal.

I took a special skin cream out of my valise I formulated to heal Marco, and before I turned the electricity to a higher level, I applied it to his epidermis. It started to heal his skin, then I turned up the electricity.

They called my laboratory Cyclopean and outdated, but I still managed to successfully bring Marco back to life. He muttered and started shivering as if he was ague. He was attenuated for now, but would soon regain his strength. I could not wait to have a colloquy with him. I felt very ardour. The science was not as morally nebulous as some had said it would be, but simple. At least for a genius like me. They had no right to cast their aspersions on me, they were just being pejorative.

The electricity continued to buzz and cackle, and there was now an especially foul foetor wafting through the air.

I turned the electricity off, and it spasmodically coruscated. I stood stolid and undaunted by the noise. There was nothing noisom about my experiment, I had nothing to be scared of. And even if there was something eldritch and terrifying, I was confident in my success and would be reticent.

“Speak, Marco,” I said. Marco looked pale, but was alive.

“I’m… hungry…” Marco moaned.

“And I’m a genius,” I said.

“Hi, Agenius,” Marco droned.

“No, please call me Dr. Stanley,” I said.

“Why am I here, Dr. Stanley?” Marco asked.

“To prove that I can reverse necrosis,” I said.

“That won’t do you much good. I died from Syphilis in eighteen ninety three. You’d have to keep reviving me and reversing the necrosis, or I’ll continue to rot and die,” Marco said.

“The year is now Two Thousand twenty three, and we can cure that now,” I said and took a penicillin shot from my valise.

“I hate needles,” Marco said.

“We have no choice. Maybe don’t look,” I said.

I injected him with penicillin.

“Why do I feel so applique?” Marco asked.

“I did have to stitch you together. You’re just lucky there’s no pleat, I’m great at sewing. Pleat would have made you picayune. But no, you’re far from worthless. You’re Nobel prize worthy,” I replied.

“I’m glad. I’m also starving,” Marco said.

“What do you feel like eating?” I asked of my pale and lambent giant.

“Something that won’t put me into a state of corpulence. I was fat as a child and was made fun of. That won’t happen again,” Marco said.

“How about a salad,” I asked.

“The thought of eating a salad has made me nauseous. I’m not hungry anymore. Maybe I need to work up an appetite,” Marco said.

“Do you like camping,” I asked.

“I love camping. My father and I used to go all the time,” Marco said.

I took Marco to the woods. We set up a tent and started a camp fire.

“Do you know any scary stories?” I asked.

“Just the ones my father told me as a child. There’s a story of a witch that lives in the woods that hates children so much she eats them,” Marco said.

“Let’s hear that one,” I said.

“That’s the whole story. She hates ‘em so she eats ‘em,” Marco said.

“Ah. So it’s a short story,” I said. Marco nodded.

There were noises coming from the other side of the brambles.

“I think there might be other campers out there. We should go check it out,” Marco said monotonously.

“Why?” I asked.

“They smell good. So good,” Marco said.

“Not again,” I moaned.

He stomped through the bramble and I heard one of the campers yell “What’s that? Could it be the eldritch terror from your story come to life? I knew these woods were haunted! We never should have gone camping.” I guess all campers liked scary stories. The ones told of these woods, however, were true.

Marco jumped out from behind a tree and tore the campers to shreds as they screamed, then he ate them.

Marco then let out a hideously loud burp and abruptly announced “I’m full.”

“I’ve failed again. Every time I revive one of you humans, the side effect is you crave human flesh. I’m not sure how to cure this. There goes my Nobel prize,” I said.

“I’m sorry Dr. Stanley. It’s the only thing I felt like eating. My hunger was atrocious when I heard the other campers. I couldn’t resist,” Marco said.

“It’s alright, Marco. Your amidst good company,” I said.

“What do you mean?” Marco asked.

“I’ve revived several previus people. They’re all perfect except for one flaw. They all desire fresh human flesh,” I said and whistled for the others to come out of the woods.

One hundred prior experiments stomped through the trees and arrived at our campsite.

“I’ll leave you here with them for now. You can all be friends. You have a few things in common already. Your desire for human flesh, your all undead and I’m the reason you’ve all come back to life,” I said.

“Welcome to our community,” Billy said, another one of my experiments gone wrong.

“I used to be a hockey player, what did you do?” Billy asked Marco.

“I was a sailor for a while. I retired and became a writer. When I failed to get published I got a job as a postal worker,” Marco said.

“Well, that’s all good and dandy, but I really must be going now. I asked my cousin Azrogoth-Magog on Pluto to attempt to cure ‘the hunger’ you all have. I’ll be back in a few months, hopefully with a cure. In the meantime, try not to eat any humans. If you can get a burger instead, that would be great. I can’t get a Nobel prize if my prized experiments are in prison,” I said. They all laughed at me.

“You’re not from earth?” Marco asked.

“No. That’s why my science is advanced enough to bring you back to life,” I said and smiled. I took off my human suit and revealed my true form. I was a scaly, lizard like creature with octopus tentacles for arms and large bat wings I used to fly.

My eldritch undead terrors screamed at the site of me.

“Don’t be scared. I’m still the same Dr. Stanley. And you’re all undead, I could just as easily scream at the site of you,” I said.

They quickly calmed down.

“Point taken,” Marco said.

“I’ll be back,” I said and clicked a button. A bright light came down and beamed me to my ship. I hoped Azrogoth-Magog had the cure when I got back to Pluto. I wanted my Nobel prize so I could finally show those horrifyingly eldritch and defiant humans that my species was superior, and that would make it easer to force them to obey me when I brought my forces down for the invasion. Earth would soon be mine, and I’d have an undead human army in addition to my own Plutonian force to start the invasion with.