Chapter Text
Wilbur Whately woke up on a small boat in the middle of the sea. Putting a hand to his head, he sat up in the gently rocking boat and groaned miserably. His tail rose up behind him, its mouth smacking its lips like a man awakening from a deep sleep. The eyes on his hips darted around, crazed, as the fanged tendrils around his waist began to rise up. Raising his head he looked around. The sea stretched out forever around him, and Wilbur could not tell if he was resting in the sea or the sky.
Vague memories began to rise up in his subconscious. The Miskatonic university. The necronomicon- He had the necronomicon! And that wretched dog…
He paused. He had been attacked. Killed, he believed. He patted his body down frantically for markings and wounds. If that beast had so much as left a drop of saliva on him… But they hadn’t. He was completely fine. Sometimes, Wilbur thought, it pays to be subhuman.
It was now he realised that he was in the middle of fucking nowhere. Or, knowing his heritage, everywhere. He lay back down in the boat, exasperated.
“For the sake of Azathoth…” He breathed, and blinked.
When he opened his eyes he was lying down in a forest, staring up at the canopy. The sunset gleamed through between the leaves, and a soft breeze rustled the leaves above him. The (probably) autumn chill braced against his exposed chest, the wind ruffled through the fur on his legs, a single leaf floated down from the canopy above and fell to rest beside his head. It appeared to be a beautiful display of what this world could offer. Wilbur despised it. He wanted the leaves gone, the trees razed to the ground, the wind to be still. He wanted to obliterate it all. But the chance was gone. Filthy apes and four-legged beasts saw to it he and his twin couldn’t proceed in the great work.
Oh. His twin.
He knew he was dead. He? It? Even Wilbur didn’t know what his sibling was, but he knew it was gone. Destroyed. His tendrils writhed about his waist in frustration. Wilbur let out a growl. This was, quite frankly, a rather awful turn of events.
Footsteps. Above his head. Wilbur sat up and turned his head to the direction they were coming from. He reached to his hip for his dog-killing pistol, forgetting he had lost it all. Slowly he stood up, and hunched back over. He was waiting. If any miserable cur approached him, they’d rue the day they got in the way of Wilbur Whately.
He heard voices up ahead. One earnest and anxious, the other dry.
“... What I’m saying, Herbert, is that it’s getting dangerous now! At least take a break” Came the anxious voice.
“I don’t understand why you’re so worked up. We survived, and that allows us to try again.” The dry voice replied, clearly exhausted.
Before Wilbur, two men entered the clearing, a taller blonde man with an earnest face and a shorter brown haired man lugging a body bag over one shoulder, his spectacled eyes to the ground, both dressed in dark jumpers and wearing gloves. The blonde man, who Wilbur assumed was Not Herbert, was the first to lay eyes on Wilbur. His jaw went slack as he stopped dead, throwing a hand out to stop whom Wilbur could only assume was the one referred to as Herbert. Herbert walked straight into Not Herbert’s arm, and his expression visibly soured. His head snapped around to look at Not Herbert, death-glaring him from behind his round glasses.
“God dammit, Dan, will you stop being so neurotic all the time!” Herbert snapped at who Wilbur now assumed was Dan, “I mean really, what kind of assistant are you if you get so worked up over the smallest-”
Herbert turned his head to walk forward again and now his eyes laid on the hunched, monstrous figure of Wilbur before him. Wilbur’s tail waved in the air as Wilbur glared at the duo from behind his long, ratty hair. Another low growl came from Wilbur’s throat as he stepped towards the two. Filthy human scum, he thought, useless wastes of skin…
Herbert dropped the body bag and stared towards Wilbur, and it was a short while before he was staring at him in a way dissimilar to Dan’s horror. He was looking at him in awe.
“What in the name of god are you?” Herbert breathed, taking a couple steps forward.
Wilbur stepped back and raised to his terrifying full height, the mouth on his tail whipping around and snapping at Herbert’s face.
“Keep your distance and know your place.” Wilbur said in a low grumble, his eyes glowed a strange shade of orange as he stared down at the disappointing man before him, but he was nonetheless confused by him. Dan was what he expected: He was staring, horrified, disgusted by his unhuman form. Wilbur is used to people staring at him like he was a freak, because he was. But Herbert was not this. He was fascinated, he was looking at Wilbur with some form of excitement. Quite frankly it disturbed Wilbur, and Wilbur was not used to being disturbed.
Herbert took a cautious step back, but didn’t look discouraged. “It speaks Dan! Can you believe this? This creature has intelligence!”
Wilbur sneered at Herbert distastefully. “Creature?” He rasped. “How rude. My flesh comes from forces you cannot begin to comprehend.” He stood up straight, his tail receded to behind him once again. He was no longer focused on intimidating them, it was apparent they were mere humans with heads full of folly. Herbert temporarily distracted himself from Wilbur to snap at the anxious man; “Dan, I don’t see you digging! We still need to bury the body!”
Wilbur tilted his head. His gaze shifted from Herbert’s wide eyed face to the plastic body bag that, now he had a clearer look at it, was certainly bloodstained. Dan lowered the shovel from his shoulders and plunged it into the ground in front of him, beginning to dig a very crude grave. Wilbur’s eyes shifted back to Herbert, and a twisted smile appeared on his face. “You two are killers then?” He hissed slowly. The company of criminals would be preferable to him, he figured. No judgement if everyone's eyes are smeared over with blood, he reasoned.
Herbert’s brow furrowed. “I am no killer. We’re quite the opposite actually. My assistant and I have been hard at work trying to cheat death!” He said, trying in all his ability to sound impressive. Wilbur didn’t buy it. His face soured, the many lines where the skin pulled taut over his skull caving inwards, giving the madman before him a glare that could curdle milk. “Cheat death? Do you fear death so? How weak.”
Herbert was clearly hurt by his words. He took a step back from the monster before him and a hand went to his chest. “It is the very nature of human endeavour to cheat death! Every man wishes to live forever! It’s only common sense.”
“Death is nothing. I died just a few moments ago.”
Herbert blinked. “Died? You escaped death?”
“Well I wouldn’t say escaped,” Wilbur said hoarsely, “I was gnawed by a disgusting flea bag, I died, … and then I was here. Very simple.”
Herbert opened his mouth, then closed it. Eventually he just said, “Okay.”
A cry of, “I did it!” Distracts Herbert from the glower of the monster before him as he turns around. A mound of dirt rested before him as Dan leant on his spade handle, breathing heavily. Herbert walked towards him and gave him a pat on the back.
“Good job, Dan. Next time I will make it work.” He said, his voice cool. Wilbur stared at the two. Men trying to breach mortal weakness is something new to him. The most exciting thing people in Dunwich did was throw stale bread at him. Wilbur realised with a start that he had no idea what the world was like outside of his small village of Dunwich, and now he found himself here, in the outside world. He had no idea where to go from here, no idea where he even was, and he has no idea where the Necronomicon is now.
But these two seem to be more accepting than the Dunwich people. They also seemed… inhuman slightly. Resurrecting the dead was definitely an affront to the christian faith, and Wilbur assumed that this would make them social outcasts. Like him.
Herbert raised his head to look up into Wilbur’s eyes. Which really put a crick in his neck, since Wilbur towered over him. Well, towered seems like the wrong word, as it implies bulk, and Wilbur was anything but bulky, but nevertheless.
“Now, whatever you are-”
“Wilbur,” He interrupted sharply, “Wilbur Whately.”
“Wilbur,” Herbert repeated, a smile forming on his lips, “Yes. Wilbur, I have a request for you. Please come back with us and allow me to research you, and I’ll give you a place to stay, some clothing- do you use clothing?”
Wilbur nodded slowly.
“Great. I’ll supply you with what you wish, and you let me just see what makes you tick. Do we have a deal?”
Wilbur pursed his lips. On the one hand, he didn’t want to rely on these human strangers, he needed to get his hands on that necronomicon and he did not want to be oggled at like some cheap lab rat. But on the other hand, he isn’t going to get very far just by himself. He needs to make some links in society if he wanted to get anywhere. He cleared his throat and answered:
“Do you have any dogs?”
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Wilbur did up the last button on his shirt and smoothed it out. He hated his chest: it was the most human part of him, so to get it covered up was admittedly soothing. His lower half was admittedly more difficult. Getting all of those tendrils to rest long enough to get the waistband around his hips was more difficult than he hoped, and he made the decision to press them down with a belt in order to keep them at bay.
Herbert had set him up in the basement of the house they had rented. He only had the one mattress and no possessions, but it was really all he needed, and frankly it was better than what he had for the last few weeks. He did love his sibling, but it did get annoying when he took up most of the house. But what was he to do. The walls were concrete, the floor was too, and it was entirely dusty, but Wilbur could live with it. It was quite cozy in all honesty. He could hear Dan and Herbert’s footsteps above him and a muffled conversation. He sat down on the mattress and put his elbows on his legs and rested his chin in his palms. What he gathered from Dan and Herbert’s relationship was very one sided, Herbert seemed to like ordering him around, but it seemed there was some sort of mutual feeling between them. What feeling it was he could not say, but there was definitely something there. What he shifted his focus to was the conversation they had walking through the forest.
Herbert told Wilbur that he and Dan were scientists, which Wilbur could have gathered through the fact they looked and talked like total geeks. It did get interesting, however, when Wilbur asked them where they studied.
“Miskatonic University.” Herbert replied simply.
Wilbur’s eyes widened. Miskatonic? That was where the Necronomicon was kept! That was where he needed to be. He reasoned with asking for another request in the bargain, that being helping him into the university to take the Necronomicon. But, he countered himself, what if they knew? They seemed pretty into the defilement of all things natural, perhaps they had looked into the Necronomicon. Maybe they’d catch on to his scheme and they’d deny him completely. No, he’d have to be more subtle with his investigation. You could never trust humans. They were disgusting that way.
“How quaint. Maybe you could show me there one day. I’m quite interested in your human sciences.” Wilbur ended up saying.
Herbert and Dan shared a puzzled look but said nothing more on the matter.
Miskatonic University. What a twist of fate this was! He had fallen right into the lap of the one thing he needed to proceed with the plan. All he had to do was play his cards right, and the world would be his.
He decided to make his way upstairs and demand a cup of tea. He was certain this course of action would provoke a slew of unnecessary questions, but he didn’t care. Herbert could never understand it anyway, no matter how much he wanted to. Plus, he really liked tea. These humans were insignificant and worthless, but at the very least he could appreciate them for discovering tea. He didn’t think they had Camomile in R’lyeh.
Going through the cellar door, Wilbur had to bend himself practically in half, because most suburban households in America don’t usually make doorframes that account for nine foot tall abominations, which Wilbur thought was rather rude. He ducked through another door to enter the kitchen, where Herbert and Dan were discussing some pointless drivel. Wilbur leaned against a wall and cleared his throat.
Herbert lazily turned to look at him in the middle of a sentence. “Hullo, Wilbur. Settling in nicely, are we?”
“I want tea.” Wilbur spat, his eyes narrowing.
Herbert tutted crossly. “And good evening to you too.”
Wilbur was quite annoyed by now. He was used to fear from the townsfolk and indifference from his mother, but the amount of sass he was dealing with from this rat bastard of a man was really getting on his nerves.
“Tea. Now.”
“Fine,” Herbert said in a bored tone, waving an arm languidly in his direction as he turned on his heel to walk over to the kettle. “What kind?”
“Lapsang sushong.” Wilbur said dryly. Herbert turned back and raised an eyebrow at him.
“We have breakfast or earl grey.”
Wilbur sighed and said, “Earl grey then.”, tapping a finger against a wall.
Herbert reached into a cupboard and pulled out a tea bag as Dan sat down in a chair at the table like a dog without its owner. Wilbur had to restrain the urge to laugh at him.
The kettle boiled in the background as Wilbur fixed Dan with a stare, drawing in all the information he could gather. Weak willed, neurotic, definitely a lackey, all aspects fitting of someone working alongside the apparent intellectual bulldozer Herbert seemed to be. A few moments later Herbert strode back into the kitchen and set a steaming mug down on the table and then walked around and sat opposite.
“Take a seat, Wilbur. I would like to ask a few questions.”
Wilbur rolled his eyes and walked towards the table, pulled a chair out and sat down in front of his tea, casting a tall shadow over the table. Even sitting down he stood like a willow tree compared to these weedy humans, and yet Herbert still leant over the table, hands woven together in front of his face as he propped himself up on his elbows, as if he controlled the power of the room. Wilbur deduced that he must be so far up his own ass that he cannot see the immediate danger he was in, unlike Dan, who was a complete mess, his eyes darting anywhere but Wilbur and fidgeting with the sleeves of his coat.
“First question,” Herbert began abruptly. “What are you?”
“Not human.” Wilbur sneered in reply, taking a sip of his tea. As much as the man was annoying, he did know how to make a good cup of tea.
Herbert rolled his eyes. “How charming. I didn’t know monsters had such a sense of humour.”
Wilbur scoffed, and it sounded like dust should have exited his mouth.
“Alright, fine,” Herbert steamrolled on. “Next question: You told me you died just moments ago. How?”
Wilbur took another sip. This should be an easy one. “Dog.”
Herbert stayed silent expectantly until Wilbur took another sip, at which point he let out a long sigh and said, “Dog. That’s it? Anything else you could tell me?”
Wilbur smacked his lips. It was nice tea. “Bit me.”
Herbert pushed his glasses up to bury his face in his palms as he let out another groan. Wilbur was enjoying this, though his face didn’t show it. He liked destroying this sad man’s misplaced confidence. It made him feel good.
“Okay, then,” Herbert continued, exasperated, “Where did you die- wait.” He interrupted Wilbur before he had even finished his question. “Let me guess: ‘Not here’.”
Wilbur nodded solemnly. Herbert’s face returned to his palms. Dan leaned over to pat him on the back to comfort him.
“The thing’s only trying to wind you up,” said Dan, trying to keep his fear below the surface, “Don’t let it get to you.”
“I’m not, I’m not…” Herbert replied tiredly. He turned his head to look at Dan. “Thank you.” Now back to Wilbur.
“If you stop answering in weird roundabout ways, I’ll give you pillows.”
Wilbur waved his hand. “Never needed them before, don’t need them now.”
Herbert clenched his fists, clearly trying to keep his cool. “Fine. I’ll leave you be for tonight. But please be more receptive tomorrow or I’ll have no reason to keep you around.”
Wilbur nodded again and poured the rest of the tea down his throat in one gulp before turning and walking out of the kitchen. He was quite pleased with himself, and even more so when he heard the sound of a mug shattering from the kitchen behind him.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Later that night Wilbur heard the front door open and close. They must be going out for their research, he explained to himself. What it entailed, he wasn’t sure, but he did know they were out of the house. He stood up again, and looked around the basement. He was something he didn’t notice before, a pair of manacles chained to the wall on the far side of the basement. It seemed Herbert was intending on storing something down here to do with the research. Wilbur formed the closest approximation to a smirk he could muster, resulting in a facial expression that would shatter mirrors if they had to capture it. The more he was fucking up this god complex ridden loser’s plans the better. Wilbur turned and made his way up the basement stairs to find the house’s gun.
He had had a gun all his life, and now he was without, he felt quite lonely. Since cold steel couldn’t see or feel it wouldn’t turn away from him or turn green when he walked past. Plus it took care of those annoying canine pests for him. It was the only constant friend he had in his life.
He swung the door open onto Herbert’s room. If anyone in this house would have a gun, Wilbur reasoned, it would be Herbert.
The room was a mess. His bed was far from made and appeared as if it hadn’t been changed in months. The windows seemed to be sealed shut with moss, and papers were strewn all over the floor and the writing desk. It rather reminded Wilbur of home. And there, haphazardly on the side table, rested a six-shooter pistol. Wilbur took it with a relieved hand and tucked it into his trousers, before descending the stairs to the ground floor and again to the basement, where he lay and he dreamt. He heard Dan and Herbert enter the house a few minutes later. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but they sounded disappointed. Wilbur was pleased. He lay back on his bare mattress and dreamt.
Wilbur’s dreams smelt of saltwater and felt like a thousand years. Events played out behind his eyelids that go beyond explanations. A vast green sea. Towers of meat and bone and teeth and claws and flowers. Vast gardens of heads and tails and a distinct feeling of suffocating. A young boy blurring and changing, becoming bulbous in size until he no longer resembled any living thing.
Wilbur awoke late the next morning, the clothes he wore the night before splayed across the room, the many tendrils around his waist writhing and with a splitting headache. Getting up, he collected the clothing and put it back on. He found the revolver he stole from Herbert’s room at the far end of the basement and hid it safely under the mattress before heading upstairs.
The house was empty. Obviously they would be out all day, being doctors, so Wilbur could do what he liked. He began by appreciating all the furniture around the house. The old rickety Whately place wasn’t the most comfortable of residences, so the plush cushions and comfy armchairs were a very welcome change to Wilbur, who hadn’t experienced anything of the sort before. He sunk into one armchair (crimson in colour) as if he were giving in to the sea, and for once in his life he felt satisfied in this frustratingly human body and picked up a couple copies of the local paper. Quite a few grizzly murders recently, it seemed to be. He was incredibly comfortable, so it really annoyed him when there was a knock at the door.
Wilbur grumbled as he forced himself out of the chair. Herbert and Dan didn’t seem like the kind of people to have friends, so he wasn’t that worried about someone coming to the house, but oh no, just his luck…
He wanged his head on the wall above the doorframe too. That really soured his mood, and safe to say the look on his face as he opened the door could’ve set wood ablaze.
At the door was a normal looking man, greying hair swept back neatly, pencil moustache proper and perfect on his face, dressed in a grey suit. A finely charming smile was worn on his face, and his brown eyes stared out. He looked like a typical human to Wilbur, which was already a bad start, but then Wilbur noticed something seemed off. It wasn’t something visible, no blemishes or scars or markings of any kind. No, it was just something he could sense. He wasn’t like the rest of them. He was… other. Just slightly.
“Good day, sir!” He said cheerily, and that set more alarm bells off for Wilbur. He wasn’t horrified by this creature who stood before him. In fact, there was no reaction at all. I mean, the clothing made him look human enough, sure, but his face was skull-like and riddled with lines, his eyes were a yellowy-orange and sunken, his nose was sharp to a point and his hair was wiry and hung off his head. That’s not even mentioning the fact that he was hunched over completely just to see eye to eye with this moderately tall man, and yet he was greeting him as if Wilbur were just another blonde haired blue eyed American man.
“My name is Delapore, I just moved here. Thought I’d get to know my neighbours as I moved in, nothing worse than just seeing some stranger show up in the neighbourhood.” He laughed politely at his own joke, before offering a sturdy hand to Wilbur.
Wilbur blinked. Could this buffoon really not get that he was talking to something that was only human by a very long stretch of a definition? Wilbur didn’t take his hand as he replied; “Yes, hello. Wilbur Whately. I’ve just moved in myself, I suppose.”
Delapore beamed at the abomination before him. “Wonderful! Oh, it's always nice to not be the only person moving into a new neighbourhood! We should have coffee!”
Wilbur blinked again. Was the man mad? “I’m really more a tea person-”
“Oh, this place is delightful though! A real suburbia dream! And I plan to keep it that way- hold on-”
Delapore reached inside his grey blazer and pulled out a business card and handed it to him. Wilbur didn’t take it and simply read it:
“DELAPORE - EXHAM PRIORY EXTERMINATORS - FROM ROACHES IN THE PANTRY TO RATS IN YOUR WALLS!”
Wilbur nodded. Delapore took the hint that Wilbur wasn’t going to take the card and put it back in the blazer pocket, still as cheery as ever.
“I’m here to make sure the neighborhood appears absolutely spotless at all times! There won’t be any vermin around now I’m around, you can bet anything on it!”
The man’s cheery disposition mixed with the vague hint of something unnatural about him was really starting to get on Wilbur’s nerves, so he decided he wanted to hurry him along.
“How pleasant. Good luck in all that then.” He said flatly.
“Why of course! You have a good day, now!” Delapore replied cheerily, walking off with a hand raised in the air in a wave. Wilbur gave a disheartened wave back before slamming the door and straightening up.
“What an utter buffoon…” He muttered, before wandering back to the living room to abuse the furniture some more.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
When Herbert and Dan returned home it was rather late and they were quite tired, and their mood wasn’t helped at all by the sight of the nine foot tall demon man stretched out like a cat on their sofa, covering the armrest in dry, wiry hair, who glanced at them, grumbled “Bloody sorry sight…” and then back to the ceiling. It wasn’t much longer until Herbert carried a steaming mug of earl grey into the living room and put it down beside Wilbur, before resigning himself to Wilbur’s favourite crimson armchair opposite. He quite resembled a therapist as he spoke: “Now, will you allow me to continue questioning?”
Wilbur grumbled, “Well, I suppose.”
“Fantastic. Now, I’ll ask again: What are you?”
Wilbur turned to face him, “You couldn’t conceive of understanding what I am.”
Herbert paused. “Well, it’s more information than I got last time.” He leaned back in the chair, linking his finger together. “Okay, more simple question now: how old are you?”
Wilbur opened his mouth, then closed it. Raising his hands, he put up his fingers one by one as he spoke numbers under his breath, before turning back to Herbert and replying, “Fifteen.”
Herbert’s eyes widened. “Alright, very funny. I see we haven’t entirely escaped your court-of-the-fey-esque answers-”
Wilbur sat up a bit. “I promise you, that's the truth.”
Herbert gawked. “You’re fifteen!?”
Wilbur nodded. “Why would I lie about something so inconsequential?”
Herbert made a short “Hm” noise and looked down, then back at Wilbur.
“Alright then. What was family like? Did you have a family?”
“I suppose,” Wilbur replied lazily, “In a loose sense, yes, I did have a family. And what were they like? Well, my mother was an albino, my grandfather was a mad wizard, and my father was a being beyond time and space who was the progenitor for the gods themselves.”
He turned to look at Herbert’s stunned face. “No, really.”
Herbert was, in want of a better word, gobsmacked. Wilbur could see that he was taking some time to process what Wilbur just said, and Wilbur was drinking it up happily. It was quite relaxing to have a human he could bend the mind of as much as he wanted. He didn’t know how satisfying it would be to break down a man’s preconceived, yet foolish, ideas of science.
Eventually Herbert croaked out a “Right.”
“Oh, and I had a twin brother who was an imperceptible mass of horrors beyond your fickle mind. They all died, so, it’s just me right now.”
More silence followed from Herbert, who rubbed his forehead with two fingers in an exhausted way before proceeding:
“I see. I can’t tell if you’re telling the truth or you’re lying to make me annoyed-”
“I swear on everything unnatural, I’m telling the whole truth.”
“Of course. Well, this has been a bit of a… ‘mind fuck’, in want of a better phrase. I suppose you’re free to do whatever.”
“Thanks.” Wilbur said. He turned around to sit up on the sofa and picked up the mug on the floor. He tilted his head back, widened his mouth and dumped the whole contents of the mug directly down his throat. Setting the mug back down on the floor, he stood up and went to the living room door. Stopping by the doorframe, He turned his head slightly to speak to Herbert.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
Herbert started to reply, but Wilbur already ducked out of the room and headed down the stairs to the basement.
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That night Wilbur’s dream was less dynamic. He was held in a giant claw assumed to belong to a bird. Big midnight-black talons dug into his body as he was dragged through… something blue. He couldn’t tell if he was a million miles in the sky or twenty thousand fathoms deep in the ocean. But he knew that it felt good. It was the most peace he had ever felt in his life. He could live in this dream forever.
Sadly, he was rudely awakened by the sound of smashing glass above him, followed by hushtones. He groaned.
“God, what are they doing?”
Wilbur looked down and was still dressed, which would be helpful. Striding over to the end of the mattress, he removed the pistol from its hiding place and tucked it into his waistband before heading up the stairs. As he approached the ground floor, he heard shuffling and clattering from the kitchen, while the whispering came from the living room. God, what company did these fools keep…
As soon as Wilbur entered the main hallway he felt arms grab him around the waist and drag him into the lounge as the door closed behind him.
He found himself splayed on the floor as two faces shushed him from above. Taking the hint, he asked quietly:
“Good lord, what are you doing?”
“There’s been a break in,” Dan hissed, “We’re trapped here.”
“Oh.” Wilbur responded, “Is that all?”
Dan looked at him quizzically as Herbert started scribbling notes in a pocket notebook behind him.
“Wilbur, this is dangerous! He’s not…” Dan bit his lip before continuing, “He’s not… entirely human.”
“Oh.” Wilbur said in reply, “Then you won’t mind?”
“Won’t mind-” Dan began to respond before Wilbur shoved him out of the way and threw the door open.
Wilbur exclaimed loudly across the hall, “Oi! Rodent!”, which prompted Dan to try and lunge at Wilbur. This didn’t go as well as he hoped, as Wilbur quickly kicked his heel into Dan’s jaw, splitting Dan's lip as he was sent onto his back clutching at his bloody lip as Herbert dashed to his side.
Slowly, a human-like figure shambled into view. It was clear that at one point it had been human, but right now he was leaning away from the human spectrum. His muscles around his arms and his left thigh were hideously swollen, his face was slack and he had one hand outstretched, spindly fingers reaching out. The intruder staggered as it dragged a weedy-looking right leg behind it.
Wilbur let out a sigh and reached behind him. Gripping the handle of the pistol, he quickly drew it out, pointing it at the Intruder’s head. Before Herbert could say “Is that MY gun?” Wilbur had fired a shot straight into the Intruder’s head. It's skull exploded, a burst of red-and-green gore splattering over the hallway.
The malformed body dropped, and was still. Wilbur tucked the pistol back into his waist band and turned around to look at the two. Herbert was knelt next to Dan, who was bleeding quite heavily from his lip. Herbert looked up at Wilbur.
“Is that all?” Wilber drawled, crossing his arms in front of his body.
Herbert took a few deep breaths, before looking up at Wilbur with a concerned and exhausted expression to respond: “Was that MY gun?”
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
A few minutes later, the trio were sat around the table. A mug of Earl Grey rested in front of Wilbur, a plaster had been applied to Dan’s lips, and Herbert rested his face against his palm.
“So,” Wilbur asked, swirling the tea in the mug, “Was that one of yours?”
“I see nothing gets past you.” Herbert said grimly. Reaching into a shirt pocket, he took out a syringe filled with a green substance, pressed it into his neck and injected just a small shot.
He saw Wilbur’s eyes on the syringe in his hand and answered his question before it was asked: “This is the reactivation agent. We haven’t figured out how to make it bring people back permanently, but it’s fairly decent at keeping people awake.”
“I see.” Wilbur replied, disinterested. He turned to look at Dan’s face, the plaster a mark of the wound he inflicted. Now, THAT brought him joy. He turned back to Herbert, sensing the conversation was going to continue:
“Why did you steal my gun?”
“I’ve had a gun with me for a lot of my life. Very useful for silencing miserable dogs.”
Herbert blinked. “Right. I see.” He coughed, “Not popular with animals, then?”
Wilbur shook his head. “Dogs hate me. I told you, a dog killed me. The only way to deal with them is to take them out.”
Herbert gulped. “Quite the violent creature.”
Wilbur nodded, “Now you’re getting it.”
Herbert shook his head and continued, “So you have experience with gun work? That explains that clean shot. Quite frankly, I’m glad it was you with the pistol rather than me. I’m not very good with the whole shooting thing, I probably would have done something rash, like fire all six bullets at once.”
He laughed dryly. Wilbur didn’t see how that was funny.
Herbert coughed and continued, “Well, as you can see, our experiments haven’t been going swimmingly- It’s still brilliant work!” He slammed his hands on the table and exclaimed the last bit loudly, before reclining back on the chair and coughing awkwardly.
“Still brilliant work, of course… but not exactly the results we were looking for.
“So was that last nights, or…?” Wilbur implored. Herbert shook his head.
“No that was…” Herbert turned to look at Dan, “Did he look like two weeks ago Tuesday?"
“I believe so?” Dan replied. Herbert turned back to Wilbur.
“It was a couple weeks ago. Before we started putting them in body bags in case they came back. It happens a lot.”
Wilbur recalled the newspapers from the living room. They must be the reason for those violent murders recently. Secretly he found solace in this. Thank god they weren’t just normal people.
“Well. How delightful.” Wilbur stood up from the table. “Well, you have me to protect you if any more of those experiments come knocking.”
Herbert blinked. “Oh? Are you… being helpful?”
Wilbur shrugged. “It’ll take the edge off the boredom.” And then Wilbur was gone, down to the basement, leaving Dan and Herbert in silence.
Herbert exhaled gratefully. “I think we’re getting somewhere, Dan.”
Dan tutted. “I think your new subject’s a dick.”
Herbert looked pitifully at Dan and patted him on the back. “I’m sorry Dan. Maybe we’ll tame him.”
Dan let out a dry “ha”. “We can only hope.”
Herbert kissed him on the cheek, and got up to walk to his room. He had notes to take down, and investigations to plan. Whatever Wilbur was, he had just made their research far more interesting…