The Madness of Vincent Lambert (Lovecraft Tribute)

I wrote this short story in my spare time as an H.P. Lovecraft tribute. Tell me what you think!

Every beginning is, inevitably, followed up by an ending. My ending draws near now, as I contemplate the bizarre events I have endured in the recent years, and the heavy burden of the guilt that has been laid on my shoulders. The noose I have tied, which hangs only a few feet above my head, looks strangely inviting. It will bring a sleep from which I shall not wake, and I shall be burdened no more.

I fear now that my colleague, Vincent Lambert, is too far-gone physically and mentally to have a chance at returning to the accepted level of normal. More disturbing than the physical changes he underwent mysteriously were the bizarre changes in his psyche. It was in the summer of 1932 that it became evident that he was not of right mind, when three graves were found to have been dug up and three corpses coincidentally had appeared in our laboratory, and were over the course of a week for which I was not present charred, cut as if by an animal, and it would seem had had large bites taken out of them. Until his final excursion resulting in the deaths of fifteen in 1933, about a year and a half of definitive and unchecked madness had taken place, and many startling experiments had taken place in our small laboratory in Arkham.

I met Lambert in college. He was a remarkably nice fellow, easy to get along with and quick to encourage the downtrodden. We were two students with aspirations of becoming archaeological scientists, and were both extremely interested in ancient texts and scriptures of the more arcane nature. He was even then for all intents and purposes an expert in the arcane literary works of the Egyptian peoples, but he was not as knowledgeable as I in the field of esoteric texts of the Arabian people. Had I not indulged him and his obscure requests, I would not feel every day the guilt of the deaths of the fifteen on my shoulders.

After our graduation from our college in Arkham, we went to Europe and became established as experts in our field of ancient, sacred writings. Although then we were known in all circles of archaeology, there are few who would even acknowledge our existence today. I owe that much to Lambert.

Stationing ourselves temporarily in London, we traveled independently of the other to the areas of
the world that interested us most. I went by train and automobile to Saudi Arabia and spent two years on site, and uncovered a good deal of artifacts in a previously unexcavated area. My team and I were successful in uncovering over thirty artifacts, which we auctioned to museums and colleges the world over, and exactly fourteen books, which I refused to part with. Even when we returned to America, I kept these texts in a personal library, as did my colleague. Those in Egypt overshadowed my own findings, for the American and European peoples were caught up in a remarkable spontaneous love of all things Egyptian.

I know very little about Lambert's exploits in Egypt other than what I have been told, namely that he was remarkably successful. He talked later of his successes rarely, which one might take as the mark of a modest man. In reality he had lost his interest in Egypt. After we returned to America, he retained his Egyptian books but read through them only once in a while, instead preferring to expand his horizons far beyond the expected parameters of success in our field. He wound up learning before the year of our return had ended over five other languages other than ancient Egyptian, including Greek, Russian, Swahili, Chinese, Arabic, and Portuguese. I thought it odd that he had so quickly lost interest in the area of archaeology that had fueled his motivation through college.

Having become established in the academic plane, we returned to our roots in Arkham to establish ourselves in the physical one. We spent over half a million dollars constructing a base of operations for our combined exploits, which would double as a research facility and laboratory, which was intended to be used for the reconstruction and translation of ancient artifacts and works of literature but would eventually be used for such horrifying purposes as the dismembering of human corpses, the desecration of sacred artifacts in more obscure ways than I care to mention, and the creation of a strange chemical the purpose of which I have not discerned, nor do I wish to know.

A highly unusual book was among those fourteen I discovered during my excavation of the Saudi Arabian site. I noted several highly disturbing characteristics of this work of literature during the time it was in my possession; for example, it would color any wood surface it was placed upon a peculiar black overnight, and it was somehow immune to the powers of fire, for in an unfortunate accident part of my bookshelf was set alight and the sole survivor of the three books on the small shelf was this strange book of deep purple hue. Moreover it seemed warm to the touch, a fact that never ceased to baffle me. Regrettably, I knew little about the contents or history of this book; it was one of the ones I was 'getting to.' I had, after all, fourteen rather large Arabian manuscripts to translate, and unfortunately for my colleague and I, I had not yet deciphered it. It was in the cold winter months of 1931 that Lambert requested the book of me, for he had with admirable rapidity translated his own findings and was hungry for more knowledge and more of a challenge. I was only too happy to allow my associate to indulge in the lore of my personal favorite of the ancient mysticisms.

That was, lamentably, the last I thought of the uncanny volume for quite some time. This was largely in part due to the sudden deterioration of my friend's health. Lambert had fallen strangely ill and was bed-bound for a good number of weeks. No doctor who saw him could name the ailment that had seized him, but Lambert continued to worsen as time dragged on. He was haggard and pale by January. His death seemed imminent.

One day in late January of that year, 1932, I went to Lambert's room to bring him his breakfast to find that Lambert was nowhere to be found. Frantically, I ran throughout the house in search of my unwell colleague. I found him working in the laboratory, where he was reading the purple book. He had a strangely unnatural-looking vigor and vitality in his appearance, as though he was a puppet whose eyes were being held open and his mouth being twisted into a smile by a hidden puppet-master. Insisting he was fine, and that whatever had come over him was as quickly gone as it had come, he had me leave him to his studies. The book, which he said he was about halfway finished translating, was called the Necronomicon. He proclaimed it was endlessly fascinating. Although I was still perturbed by my friend's too-sudden revitalization and his too-healthy appearance, I was relieved to see him healthy again and even more so to see him performing investigative archaeological work, which showed me that he was, as he said, fine. I left him to his work and continued my own research.

It was during the subsequent months that I noticed a remarkable and very disconcerting series of changes in Lambert. He seemed to grow, over a period of time long enough to make the changes unnoticeable on a day-to-day basis, slightly taller, thinner, and darker of skin. Moreover, his eyes became narrower and different in hue altogether; his clear blue eyes became an unnatural, unemotional gray. The changes were not limited to those which effected his body only, though. I was not as disturbed by those changes, frightening as they were, than I was by the emotional transformation he underwent. A pleasant, sympathetic individual, Lambert had always been a good friend and a supportive coworker. However, he developed an unsettling tendency toward short-temperedness and violent rage. He was under constant pressure from academic societies all over the United States, so I blamed his change in temperament on the stress. I was in denial; I was a fool.

The changes Lambert had undergone would only become more alarmingly severe.

It was during this summer, that of 1932, that I took a sabbatical. And it was during this summer that I read in the local paper the peculiar story of three graves being dug up, the corpses of which were in an unknown location. I returned to our facility in July to find that there were three corpses in our laboratory. I found myself standing over them in slackjawed shock and horror when Lambert entered the laboratory behind me. I wheeled around to confront him and was halted by his appearance, which apparently in my absence had gotten progressively stranger. His hair had by and large fallen out completely, and there was a small bulging protrusion from his forehead, as though something was trying to pop out of his forehead. Also, the joints in his hands and fingers had become less round, and more angular; it was as though the very bones in his hand had grown sharper and threatened to pierce his skin from the inside out. He was giving me a toothy grin and had I not known better I would have sworn that his teeth had grown pointier. Overall, it was a very frightening effect. He laughed at the transfixed look of horror on my face. The sound was high and grating, altogether unpleasant. I wanted to ask what had happened to him, but as I opened my mouth to speak, Lambert had suddenly covered twenty feet of ground without my even seeing him move and was holding me up with one hand clenched around my throat. He put his finger to his lips and grinned again. His eyes were wild and terrible, and when he grinned they grew wider. I was now sure that his teeth had somehow become pointy. His strength was dreadful to be able to lift me bodily with one hand. I was deathly afraid of this man who was once my best friend. What had happened to him, I could only conjecture. He released me then, and I left quickly, grateful to be no longer in danger of bodily harm. I was now more than extremely frightened.

The demonic shrieks and sounds that carried through the air behind me as I fled my own sanctuary will haunt me for the rest of my life. Lambert was the only other living being in the house, I was sure, but from the street I saw distinctly the silhouettes of two separate figures.

More disturbing experiments took place over the following months. For example, there appeared a number of skeletons in the laboratory, which did not seem to me to be the framework for any animals I had ever seen. One in particular stands out in my mind, with six long legs and two three-horned skulls. From whence these horrible carcasses came, I cannot say. Or take the example of the rose I kept in a vase in the laboratory. Slowly it underwent a transformation, turning wholly brown and growing small 'teeth' on its petals. The plant, once a beautiful example of life, became a perversion of nature that was actually malevolent; at one point, I poked it with my finger and almost lost part of my hand for my troubles. The flower clamped its small rows of teeth around my finger and writhed painfully. I wrenched my bleeding hand away, and it slowly returned to its original position. Throughout it all, the three cadavers remained in the antechamber adjacent to the laboratory, and they seemed somehow less dead, if that was possible for a corpse. They seemed continually less decayed over time, and I was forcefully reminded of the way Vincent seemed unnaturally healthy subsequently to his grave illness.

I wondered not for the first time what had become of my dear friend, and what more devilish horrors awaited us. I decided then that this was not a question I wanted answered in the form of more vile experimentation, and went to the authorities.

The walk to the police station was one of the longest of my life. It was dark then, as the night had fallen many hours earlier, and in the depths of the shadows of my surrounding environment I was sure creatures not of this world were lurking. I arrived at the police station and told the officer presiding about my suspicions that my partner had dug up the three corpses unaccounted for. The police sent four officers to the laboratory, which I traveled to shortly thereafter.

The entire laboratory was reduced to burnt ash and rubble when I arrived. A great and terrible fire had erupted in my absence. I knew then that the horrors that Vincent had created were unleashed upon the world, as the one policeman there to receive me explained that four men had escaped the burning building as it crumbled. The three buildings to the left and right were now also aflame, and the policeman informed me that at least twelve people were already dead. The police bore down with its entire force then, and I retreated to a small motel room, needing a place to spend the night, assuming I could sleep. The policeman informed me that both Lambert and two of the other men had been killed by the police's gunfire, but the third accomplice was still unaccounted for. I knew, too, that another item was unaccounted for: the Necronomicon, that accursed book which could not burn and from which all this trouble arose. Where was it now, I wondered? The horrible contamination that spread from that text was virulent, and I fear its spread more than I fear the end of my own life, which draws nigh as the hour progresses.

So now in this motel I contemplate this noose, knowing that the third abomination draws near. I am a coward. I do not wish to see this thing through to its end, so I am to end it myself. As I tighten the noose around my neck, standing on this chair, I hear the howl of a demonic beast just outside the motel, and my hands, with their now-angular knuckles and unearthly dark color, finish the knot that will end my life.