Sample Short Stories

7 September, 1832.

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My dearest friend Percival,

            You would be proud to learn that my first week at St. Mark’s of Carlisle has been most productive. I hope your apprenticeship is flourishing as well. I had hoped we would be colleagues at the same facility before applying to Edinburgh University Medical School, but it is clear that our interests in medicine have seriously diverged. St. Mark's seems to be an ideal match for me. Although my family does not approve of my chosen career, death enchants me and I will do what it takes to study the subject. Perhaps they will take some comfort in knowing that I have been apprenticed to a stern and well-educated man. His name is Dr. Palin, a student of one Dr. James Parkinson. I have, however, learned that he was also once a colleague of the infamous anatomist Dr. Robert Knox, who was accused of working with Burke and Hare. My parents do not need to know this. In case you are not aware of the scandal, these men did not simply spirit away the bodies of the deceased to sell for research, as other resurrectionists did. They murdered their victims in cold-blood. It is no wonder that Dr. Palin would wish to painstakingly distance himself from them, as would any who valued their career. The doctor is a skilled anatomist himself and, as the hospital’s only acting expert on the matter, performs several autopsies every week. He believes that the agent of death always leaves a physical sign in the victim. I have expressed my doubts, but he has allowed me to accompany him in the examination room during some of the procedures so that I might observe his deductive methods. As of yet, I am not allowed to assist him, only to observe. He also does not give me leave of the hospital grounds, preferring that I study in my chambers. The distractions of the world, he says, are not conducive to medicine. I suppose this is expected of a resident apprentice.

            I realize, dear friend, that you have not yet been to St. Mark’s, so allow me to illustrate it for you. St. Mark’s the hospital was once St. Mark’s the monastery. Several years ago it was converted when the friars moved to a new home. As such, most of the staff is given accommodations in the dormitories while the patients are kept in a newly constructed section. The older areas are a bit damp at times, and the dormitories are very bare. My own room contains little more than a bed and a desk, upon which I write these letters. I have visited the patients’ rooms in the newer wings and found they live more luxuriously than I. Many are even allowed to wander the grounds as freely as the staff! I am told that the harsh treatment I have been receiving is common for freshmen. Apparently they are trying to “weed out the unprofessional.” I suspect that some of it is merely the result of poor budgeting. Since I live on the hospital grounds, please send any reply courier straight to the hospital itself as I am not sure to receive it otherwise.

            I have also met a fascinating young nurse who comes to see me everyday. Her name is Elizabeth. She does not stay at the hospital, but perhaps someday if you come to see me, you shall have the opportunity to meet her. Oh, Percy, she is simply charming! On particularly pleasant days we go for strolls on the hospital grounds and talk. The grounds here are quite lovely, too. As we are located just outside of Carlisle, the hospital can afford land enough for fair gardens. Large pines and magnificent firs line the brick wall that surrounds the entire estate. There is a pond with perpetually blue waters down a short path. The colour is akin to a sparkling sapphire set in a casing of most idyllic green. It is a little hard to find, since the path is concealed by hedges, but once you discover it and make your way to the pond, you are greeted by an ancient oak tree. It looks almost like a grove, having several trunks that intertwine with each other. It is no wonder that the friars made this their home. Elizabeth and I have talked here on occasion. We never discuss my apprenticeship, which is probably for the best. She may not look as kindly on me if she knew I was studying to work with the dead.

            I anticipate hearing of your own adventures, dear friend. 

Yours in Medicine,

Charles

 

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            26 September, 1832

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Dear Percival,

            It is with heavy heart that I write to you today. Studies have been gruesome and morbid. Dr. Palin has allowed me to observe him on the examination table for the past week. I watch him from the adjoining room in the event I faint. They claim that this is the most difficult period of the lessons. Apparently being able to stomach the art behind anatomy is the most vital — and difficult — requirement to fulfill. Although only a year as an apprentice is sufficient for credit, it has already proven to be a troublesome time.

            Dr. Palin has a very exact and scientific mind. Everything he sees he strives to explain. At times it is frustrating, but there is undeniable truth in his logic. He is even able to explain post-mortem phenomena that seem unexplainable, such as the swelling of limbs or the apparent growing of fingernails and hair. But I will spare you the macabre details of my work, dear friend.

            I am, however, saddened that you have not written me in all this time. A kind word from back home would surely set my spirit at ease.

Your friend,

Charles

 

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            15 October, 1832

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My beloved Percy,

            I have witnessed the most disturbing events in the last few weeks that I fear to tell you about them. Please forgive me, however, for I feel I must tell someone. In the past few weeks, Elizabeth has grown suspicious of my work, but I still cannot talk to her about it. I realize that I will have to soon, but not yet. In the meantime, I have told her that I am an apprentice with hopes to study neurology and that my work with death is merely part of the training. She knows little of this field of study, which has worked to my advantage. And as always, she has been a beacon of hope for me these dreadful days.

            Two weeks ago, Dr. Palin and I were cleaning the operating table after a long day of working. It was late, and no other faculty members were around. I gradually noticed a sound coming from the morgue, which is adjacent. Dr. Palin heard it as well, I am sure, for he stopped cleaning just for a moment. He then proceeded to continue his work and ignored the sound, but I could not. Someone was moaning. I felt my face blanch as a myriad dark thoughts haunted me.  Was someone still alive? Did we cut open someone in a coma? The moaning presently faded away, but Dr. Palin offered no explanation. He never even acknowledged the sound.

            That was only the first of many incidents, Percy. Sometimes the skin will turn green and bloat. Sometimes the eyes will open and stare vacantly at the ceiling. And the smell has made me retch more than once! But perhaps the most disturbing incident happened only three days ago. I was moving a body into the morgue when it suddenly and silently sat up. The sheet covering it slid to the floor and revealed a monstrosity. Part of its head had been collapsed by something blunt, and one faded eye stared straight ahead while the other gazed directly at me. I tried to call for help, but the next thing I recall was waking up in my chambers. I still have not talked to Dr. Palin about it. I do not think he could or would offer an explanation.

            I have also noted that the majority of the injuries on the bodies we receive all seem to be of a violent nature. Ligature marks on the neck and wrists. Impacts on the head. Dislocated shoulders. Strangely shaped cuts and bruises all over. One specimen even had a hole neatly drilled into the skull. I have been attempting to use Dr. Palin's method of deduction, but all I have discerned is that there seems to be an inordinate number of deaths for such a small hospital. Dear friend, I fear the doctor may be using the services of a resurrectionist. No doubt his friendship to the infamous Dr. Knox has provided such connections. These cadavers may not all be from this hospital, but might be stolen from some penitentiary where wounds of this sort are commonplace. Perhaps Dr. Palin requested them in order to help teach me.

            I don’t know who to turn to, dear friend. Most of the faculty seem to be avoiding me. Please send a reply with this courier.

Concerned,

Charles

 

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            17 October, 1832

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Percival,

            Last night only raised more questions for me than it answered. I was studying alone when I received a new body to autopsy, but this one was unlike any other we had worked on. It was the body of a young girl with long black hair. Her name had apparently been Amy Barns. She had the same ligature marks on her wrists, ankles, and neck that many of the more suspicious bodies have had. Her fingernails had been broken off and she was covered in little cuts. I found what looked to be a small puncture just inside her elbow, as if someone administered some drug to her through a hypodermic needle. As I moved her arm to get a closer look, her hand slowly grabbed mine. I was terrified! At that moment I saw her staring directly at me and smiling. The whites of her eyes had turned yellow, and the rest was black. Her teeth were mostly rotten and rent asunder. When I close my eyes I can still see them.

            Needless to say, I fainted. When I came to, I was once again on my bed in my chambers.

            This young girl, Amy, could not have been stolen from a penitentiary. I am once again answerless. If you have the time, I would greatly appreciate a visit soon. Your presence would set my mind at ease, and we might even solve this puzzle!

Sincerely yours,

Charles

 

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            28 October, 1832

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Dear Percival,

            I believe I have found the answer to my riddles, but if I let anyone know, my life may be in jeopardy. I must ask you not to visit, Percy. Instead, you need to contact the Board of Medicine presently and report this!

            About two days after I received Amy, I noticed out of the corner of my eye a young girl standing in the hallway staring at me. The instant I tried to look closer, she was gone. I thought this was just a trick of the light or of my mind, and I would still believe that firmly had it not occurred again, and again, and again. There she sits on the bench outside the operating room. Or across the table. Or in the doorway. She does nothing but stare at me. Dr. Palin does not see her. Elizabeth does not see her.

            This morning, all became clear, dear friend. I woke up to find Amy standing over me. She stared with cold, black eyes and smiled with a mirthless, toothless mouth. She reached for me, but, startled, I jumped out of bed. She was gone, but she left her mark, and my answer. Scrawled into the walls of my chamber as if by fingernail was the word “murder”.

            I can only deduce that Dr. Palin has indeed been using the services of a resurrection man, but not one who simply steals bodies for profit. Instead, I believe this man to be one of the London burkers. He is capturing his victims alive at Dr. Palin’s behest, and murdering them by lethal injection. Some of them may not even have died, but merely fell into a comatose state. Every wound and mark reveals this as plain as daylight! Worse yet, I fear that this man is none other than William Hare himself, the very man who sold his victims’ bodies to Dr. Knox. No one has seen the man since they released him 3 years ago, and it is said he was last seen here in Carlisle. It is my belief that Dr. Palin learned about Hare’s services from Knox. It sickens me to think that these lives were ended for the furthering of my medical education.

Dearest friend, you must believe me. I have never been prone to such flights of fancy before, but there can be no other explanation. I cannot tell Elizabeth lest I put her life in danger as well.  None of the other faculty members will listen to what I have to say, and Dr. Palin makes sure I never leave the hospital grounds. Anyone may be the next victim.

With concern,

Charles

 

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            7 November, 1832

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To Dr. Laurens,

            As you read this, it may already be too late for me. I ask only that the truth be told and believed.

            You no doubt know of my predicament as of several days ago. Although I am sure that you do not trust my veracity, I beg you to please hear me out. It became apparent to me that the Board of Medicine was never coming to investigate matters, so I decided to use the scientific training Dr Palin has given me to find conclusive evidence of foul play. With evidence in hand, any alert I sent to the authorities could be validated and an investigation would surely follow. If these bodies were indeed victims of Dr. Palin’s accomplice, they would never have been registered in the hospital records; such victims would be far too risky with our records as evidence. All I needed to do was steal away into the file room and find the folder that would hold Amy Barns' file. If she wasn’t in the records, then she had to have been kidnapped, or at least stolen.

            There was no time to waste. Dr. Palin took Sundays off from work as every good Christian should. This was to be his downfall! No one saw me enter the morgue and leave with Amy’s autopsy report and Dr. Palin’s keys. This next part, however, was trickier. Only administrators were allowed in the file rooms. I just needed to look confident, as if I belonged there. Unfortunately, Elizabeth was nearby. The other nurses all left as I entered the file rooms, using Dr. Palin’s key. Without hesitation, as if our time together meant nothing, Elizabeth called for security. She must have acted under threat of Dr. Palin’s accomplice. I locked the door and quickly searched through the files. They were in alphabetical order. The doorknob rattled as one of the security tried to get in. I was out of time, so I took the all the folders that started with “B” and scanned through them. Much to my dismay, I found Amy Barns. Here I have replicated what the file said.

Name: Amy Barns

Age: 7

History: Admitted to Yarra Bend Asylum for dementia. Transferred to St. Mark’s Hospital and Mental Asylum

Insanity: Self-mutilation and Melancholia.

Result: died 17.10.32

                                   

            Glass fell to the floor as the security broke through the window of the door and opened it. I ran to the back room. Just then, several envelopes fell from the folders I took. I instantly recognized these envelopes as the letters I had been writing to my colleague, Percival. None of them had been sent! There, behind Amy Barns, was the file they fell from.

Name: Charles Bastian

Age: 20

History: Admitted to St. Mark’s Hospital and Asylum

Insanity: Delusional.  Consider harmful.

Result:

 

            Dr. Palin had been collecting my letters all along, Doctor, and now claims Percival is not a real person. He must have planted Amy’s file to cover his tracks. He already had the faculty under his control. And poor Elizabeth! I never saw her again. Everyone tells me she transferred away, but I know better. She got too close to me! Anyone who learned his secret would surely become his next victim! Now I sit here in my chambers, waiting for them to administer my next “treatment” and wondering if – even hoping that – it’s lethal. Take care, Dr. Laurens! Your life, as my caretaker, may be in danger if you choose to believe me. But you have to believe me. Please believe me, dear Doctor. I am not insane. I am not insane.