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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2017006-Flashes-of-Earth
Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Horror/Scary · #2017006
Science done right is what Dr. Wexler was aiming for, yet never received.
Once dwelt from a visible spectrum of deserted thickets, buried in a region of a gloomy mansion perished in the black recesses of many decades hiding gruesome stillness. It was only the moss-covered steps which peaked at the height of the mist-filled season. Rusted iron hinges grasped doors which were quernus in consistency. A hideous throng of windows rushed around the sepulchral house. Slabs of worn, crimson red stone piled high to form the foundation and weathered visage; crowned with an uneasy and hushed ancient granite steeple, lit by the cloud-kissed backdrop. Was it the declivity which made it eerily sinister or the sad shade of depressing, homogeneous sylvan vegetation surrounding the foundation? Peculiar yet hints of nature transmuted this curiously confined household.

No associations of any breathable impediments - passerbys, mournful of the vaguely judged vault named Wexler House - waxed nor waned within the confines of the day as well as night. Only a thickening and pitiful monument was fashioned from the mind of a brilliant painter; persistence paid. Wexler House - after his surname - was more or less left as a bastardized adolescent of the great era of the early 20th century and before. Ripe and pristine in its prime, this mansion soon found its way to being marginalized by the conforming legend of its caretaker erecting sepulchral vaults and the dispelling of every chivalric notion conceived of the ages of old. Monotony and accused of an abode for the sorrowful, Wexler house found itself ajar to ridicule.

Calamities engulfed Dr. Jon Wexler, in his boisterous and corporeal-seeking knowledge. Henceforth transcending bland torrents of modern medicine, Dr. Jon Wexler preferred to grow, amongst other things, homeopathic remedies conceived only from the mind of an abandoned mind. Rife with eternal melancholia, Dr. Jon Wexler was reclusive towards himself and the heritage of others. He was perplexedly tarnished by years of mental strain, which was brought about by his thirst for the longitude of wealth via flora which could help him reinvent the notion of health. It was then, that Dr. Wexler drifted aimlessly into a depth of knowledge only seen by the brightest of scientists and geographers; delving into more alchemical answers.

Deep within the cobwebbed strewn and hideously vivid vault of the Wexler House, the doctor was immersed into a slippery pandemonium, brought about by sun-stricken fear. Ascended and floundering, Dr. Wexler made much haste with his newest obelisk of a formulae which made it possible for even the most stalwart and unsatisfied soul become stricken with exhaustively somnolence almost indefinitely, yet still conscious in thought and physical attributes; pain. A traitorous and damnable offense in the minds of religious fanatics and his peers, the doctor was beholden at the sight of an oddly aromatic orange liquid, with the hue and vibrancy of the setting sun. At least, his finest creation?

He needed an immediate host. Inaction gave way to rhythmical opposition as he vainly desired a hominid of his own choosing. At last, he had inhaled fresh air, stepping outside of the confines from whence he, unrecognizingly, seemed to have neglected between research and unnecessarily pursuing cures. Behind a wall of sleep, Dr. Wexler institutionalized himself on the front steps of his mansion, gazing at the little-traveled sidewalks in front. Maybe he corresponded with willing subjects in his past, if it not for his fragile repellent scions of primitive remedies, Dr. Wexler wouldn’t have been such a recluse.

Night loomed over the horizon and the doctor soon collapsed into his own unconsciousness; stepping back inside his mansion. It wasn’t uncommon for ecstasy to take hold and test out your new formulae on yourself before other willing - some unwilling, as Dr. Wexler is privy - subjects. He quickly followed himself back into his lab to begin the first test in his ground-breaking remedy.

Removing the liquid from its vial and pouring it into the unnaturally large syringe, the doctor sat onto his operating table, weaving words of confidence into his own ears as he plunged the syringe slightly into his arm. Injecting the full six milliliter remedy, Dr. Wexler sat with, recognizing his own acquitted institution-esque lab, waiting for results. Seconds ticked by and the doctor felt a quiet tingle shooting from the injection as though a thousand tiny ants were crawling and biting at the puncture wound. Soon the abnormal liquid coursed through to his chest, into his other arm and down to his legs. Pinning him and thrusting him back onto the table, the doctor found his body in a catatonic and lifeless stage, yet still able to thinking, see, smell, taste, hear and feel. He peered down at his body, noticing boils and rashes starting to spread from the initial injection and down the rest of his body. Feeling the pain and unable to halt the progress, the doctor frantically shouted. One by one, his fingers snapped off, like that of a melting marshmallow treat.

Chaos ensued as the doctor hesitantly witnessed all four limbs snap and pull themselves away from his body. Sprouting earthworm-like tentacles in the guise of other limbs, both arms and legs maneuvered themselves to face the seemingly lifeless torso and movable head of Dr. Jon Wexler. Boasting with insistence from a plateau of coarse hatred, the four limbs crawled toward and up onto the doctor from four sides, sinking their own limbs into his body, slowly and softly. As the doctor spouted in agony, the limbs emitted a substance, bearing that of an acid, dissolving his torso from the points of contact. An unfathomable odour filled his senses as within minutes, his body was decayed into nothingness.

What was this eerie liquid he had created? Was it the prototype for revenge from years of ridicule or was it the product of years of scientific research for something much greater in value? Dr. Jon Wexler disappeared from the pages of scientific breakthroughs, but his discovering of something much sinister is still very alive and well within the depths of the Earth.
© Copyright 2014 J.N. Moore (baiulus at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2017006-Flashes-of-Earth