Michael Shorde's The Lost Book - Part one

Michael Shorde’s

The Lost Book

I found the book in an old store on the south side of town. It was a book no one would even consider looking at, for it had no interest for most; but that did not include me. I immediately picked it up and brushed the dust from it.

David Rhodes. The Creatures Unseen.

My old friend, David, who had disappeared long ago after writing several books, the last being this one. I often wondered what had happened to my best friend – we spent many nights together in front of the fire talking over all things imaginable and unimaginable. He had a way with words that could oftentimes frighten even me.

I took the book to my flat and gently laid it on the mantle.

Where was David?

I did not at first look at the book. I thought about David, and how he had claimed to have contact with Cthulhu, a thing created by Lovecraft. He told me he had seen things unworldly. I tried to help him, but they took him away to an asylum. This was from where he disappeared, leaving only the body of a nurse. David could not have done this deed, for I knew him well.

I cleaned the book as best I could, but age had taken its toll. The cover was black and sturdy enough, yet the pages were dry, fragile. I browsed through at first, and some of the illustrations confounded me. I did not know David was capable of the intricate patterns, very disturbing, indeed. Perhaps it was his last testament to what he had witnessed.

Perhaps it was meant to be in my hands all along. I wanted more than anything to discover the truth, and as I held it near the firelight, the gold lettering glimmered; I believed it was the key to find my lost friend.

After all that had happened, all he told me, I returned from the States to my cottage outside of London. I had no more reason to stay, and it seems he has followed me on his own sojourn. I tried to prepare myself to experience my own journey, to the place where David lies in wait.

I poured myself a brandy and lit a cigar, sitting near the fire, for it seemed to bring life to the book. I recalled the twisted tale the administrator of the asylum told me:

“When we first brought David in, he was delusional. He claimed he was seeing…monsters, giant spiders – things only he could see. He had been a student involved in a special study involving the writer, H.P. Lovecraft. I did a little research of my own about this ‘Lovecraft’. Apparently he wrote about creatures of all sorts, in particular, Cthulhu. He claimed he had not only seen this thing, but other things as well,” Dr. Lattimer told me. “He grew agitated. I allowed him some paper and pencils to write on, and that’s how he spent most of his time. I saw everything he wrote – it was the only condition I gave him for having the writing materials.”

Dr. Lattimer seemed sincere; he did not find anything funny about his patients, I realized. “Doctor, just what was David writing about?”

“The creatures he claimed to have seen. As I mentioned, I was to read everything he wrote, but he fooled me.”

“Fooled you?”

“Why yes, he had an entire stack of papers hidden under his mattress. The entire thing was a chronicle, the real truth about what he thought he had seen. The rest was disturbing, but I think he was merely trying to fool me, drawing my attention away from what he was really writing.”

“What happened to his hidden papers?” I asked.

Dr. Lattimer looked at me curiously. “And just what is your interest in all this, Mr. Shorde?”

“He was my best friend,” I said. “He told me everything. In fact, he was my only friend. I am not from the States, and David befriended me, as we were both writers.”

“I see,” Lattimer said, slowly nodding. “I don’t recall him ever mentioning you.”

“One thing David and I had in common was that we were both introverts. We never went anywhere unless it was absolutely necessary. And besides, I could not bear to see my friend locked away here because everyone thought he was crazy.”

“We don’t like to use that term, Mr. Shorde. David was…disturbed, obsessed. I never thought he had it in him to harm anyone, but the nurse…the most horrible sight I have ever seen. David had gone over the edge.”

“He didn’t do it,” I boldly stated, and Dr. Lattimer sat up straight.

“If he didn’t do it, who did?”

“I’m not sure – but I know it wasn’t David. Did he ever mention Dr. Stephen Lansing?”

“Yes and Dr. Lansing visited here quite often at first, But eventually seemed to lose interest in the students altogether,” Lattimer said, shrugging.

That last startled me. “Students?”

“Yes,” Lattimer said. “David wasn’t the only one here. Two more of Lansing’s students were here, and are still here. But David was always his main interest.”

I was quite taken aback. “If David and two others were here, what happened to the other seven?”

“The other seven?” Lattimer asked.

I don’t normally get upset to this point, but I stood and leaned over Lattimer’s desk. “The other seven, Doctor! There were ten students in the study. David was number nine – well, that’s he told me. Lansing referred to his students with a number.”

Lattimer also stood. “You have just answered a question I’ve been trying to figure out for a while now. The other two students referred to themselves as 3 and 6. Now, I finally know. Lansing never told me of this being a closed experiment.”

“What happened to the secret papers David had hidden under his mattress?” I was quite agitated by this time, nearly grinding my teeth in frustration.

“They disappeared, I’m afraid. And right about the time Dr. Lansing stopped visiting David. I thought about calling the police, but thought it would have been hopeless. I had my suspicions, but I knew that wouldn’t be enough. The papers were simply gone.”