Immediately after the first shoe appeared at the top of the stair, an identical shoe and trouser leg immediately joined it. Then the hideously narrow waist (wrapped in a red cummerbund); then the white, rib-corrugated shirt and black coat; and finally the crowning symbol of Death–the skull. The entire spectacle glided down the stairs with such grace and dignity that I almost forgot that it was a creature from the grave, but surely my guests would not overlook this fact.

This well-dressed  assemblage of bleached bones made its way to the punch bowl. “How do you do?” asked the skeleton of the silent, shocked, staring crowd. “I am ze famous Dr. Ludwig Glauben.” It held up a glass and made a toast “to science.” As it raised the glass to its teeth, the liquid spilled through the jaw and splashed over the front of the white shirt and onto the floor.

I turned my gaze from this absurdity to the faces of my guests, which, not surprisingly, had assumed a collective look of shock. I anticipated that this would momentarily change to horror but, to my puzzlement, the visage of old Dr. Hart broke into a broad smile. “Ho ho ho ho!” he bellowed, with both hands resting on his ample belly. “Very good! Very good indeed!” he roared between guffaws. “Mr. Fenwick,” he continued, turning to me with an amused expression, “You have certainly taken us all quite by surprise.”

By now the other guests had recovered from their initial shock and, not knowing how to respond, began to follow the lead of the merry Dr. Hart. Here was Mrs. Grunwald, tittering with her pudgy hand over her mouth. And there was Dr. Webster, whose jowls vibrated fiercely as he laughed at the late Prof. Glauben’s articulated bones. Even the awkward Dr. Borée, after glancing at the response of his fellow guests, broke into a nervous giggle. But my relief was truly complete when I noticed that my female companion had joined in the mirth of the others.

Dr. Hart’s laughter, like most things, began to die, and with it faded the laughter of the rest of the crowd. This was followed by some prefatory throat-clearing by Dr. Triste, who, notably, had not joined in the crowd’s mirth. “Mr. Fenwick,” he said finally, “I have a good idea of what has occurred, and I ask that you now verify or dismiss my conclusions.” Eager to have someone else explain my way out of the situation, I nodded for the doctor to continue.

Dr. Triste looked at the tuxedoed skeleton standing in a puddle of punch, and then back to me. “I suppose I should first explain that I, too, have done a great deal of research on the subject of longevity and even immortality. I have had my small triumphs, but”–here he glanced again at Prof. Glauben–”I have certainly not experienced the results that you have apparently achieved.”

I sensed that the crowd was just beginning to realize that the skeleton before them was actually alive, but the calm demeanor of Dr. Trieste kept them sedated.

“Mr. Fenwick, I expect that you now plan to explain to us the course of your experiments. I also anticipate that you will rhapsodize about the potential benefit for mankind.” Dr. Triste’s features became sharper and his voice took on an aggrieved tone. “Well, I’d request that you spare us your self-praise and pompous claims. The world does not need them any more than it needs living skeletons.” Prof. Glauben here coughed. “Further,” continued Dr. Triste, glancing about the room, “None of these people could possibly comprehend the full meaning of your discovery. I am not certain, Mr. Fenwick, that even you fully grasp the potential consequences. Imagine immortal armies! Think of the eternal reign of kings! Consider the overcrowding of a world where no one dies!

“But, more importantly, what of the individual? What is life–even eternal life–without a goal? Has anyone given thought to the consequences of not being able to see Heaven? He who achieves immortality denies himself the reward of the promised land; he damns himself to an earthbound existence for all time. But no one considers such things until it is too late.” He swallowed, and then repeated, barely audibly: “Too late.”

There prevailed a prolonged silence, which was broken finally by Prof. Glauben. “Ja, vhat you say is true, Herr Doktor. I am not happy, though I’ve been granted my great wish–to live forever. Oh, to be mortal again! If I had a second chance, I vouldn’t be caught dead drinking an immortality potion. Like so many sings, one does not sink of ze consequences until afterwards.”

Prof. Glauben’s words affected Dr. Triste more powerfully than I would have expected. The latter’s indignant and angry countenance shifted to one of deep reflection and sympathy, even pity. On the verge of tears, Dr. Triste lunged toward me, extending a clenched hand directly at me. I dodged what I thought to be an attempted blow to my head, but which proved to be an effort to grab the vial of my immortality potion, which sat on a small table behind me. He clutched the flask, held it aloft, and then hurled it against the wall, sending bits of glass all over the parquet floor. He then bolted for the door, leaving us all standing speechless.

All, that is, except Prof. Glauben. I could tell by his bleached face that he knew what was happening–at least, more so than I. He mumbled something about “that poor devil” and, after glancing at me with his dark, empty eyes, he, too, departed into the frigid night air. 

PART 13 WILL APPEAR ON MONDAY

The dark-whiskered, handsome Professor Marshal stood talking to a group of three or four interested listeners. He was animatedly expounding about the mood-altering merits of nitrous oxide when he saw me approaching. “But here is our host,” he said, and he graciously turned over the floor to me.

“I do not wish to interrupt your fascinating narrative, Professor,” I apologized. “But I perceive that your daughter is unattended. I was indisposed when she arrived, so I wonder if I might trouble you for an introduction. I promise that I will let you return to your story immediately thereafter.” The professor laughed heartily. “Of course, sir! Of course! But I must inform you that she does not sit alone out of rejection. She has a suitor, you know.” It pained me to hear this news from two mouths in the span of five minutes, but I pretended not to be concerned, and followed the professor to his daughter.

We were introduced, and the professor left us to return to his small audience. I had learned that her name was Dierdra, that she was 20 years of age, and that she lived about ten miles south of the city. For several delightful minutes we talked of trivial things (the weather, politics, religion) at which point we began to discover several similar interests. She laughed at my jests, and her eyes widened at my modest boasts. Together we praised the same books and cursed the same pestilence. In twenty minutes time I was hopelessly in love, and the unnamed suitor had vanished from my mind.

We continued to converse, and her brown eyes were fixed on me. I imagined it was because she was becoming infatuated, but it turned out she had gradually recalled some news she had heard from her father about me. “Were you not involved in some immortality experiments with a professor at the university? I answered in the affirmative, informing her that I had worked with the late Prof. Glauben.

“I beg your pardon,” she asked, as the level of noise had begun to interfere with our conversation.

“I had worked with the late Prof. Glauben of the Physiology department,” I repeated, trying to raise my voice about Mr. Fillmore’s steamboat impressions.

“Whom?” asked Dierdra, cupping a hand to her ear.

“Ludwig Glauben!” I shouted, realizing that, at the same moment, a quiet had fallen over the room. I felt embarrassed at my outburst, but this feeling soon turned to horror when I realized the consequences of my action.

I recalled my instructions to the living skeleton that was biding its time upstairs; I had told it to wait until I called its name, at which point it was to descend the staircase. My plan had been to first deliver a detailed accounting of our experiments as a prophylaxis against my guests’ frightened reaction to the specter. As yet I had not yet given them even a hint of what was in store, let alone warn them that they would be witnessing something truly outré. What’s more, I had been having second thoughts all evening about going through with the macabre scene.

Then I recalled my dream–now so close to reality–in which the remains of Prof. Glauben appeared just as I was romancing a beautiful young woman. It all fell into place!

I glanced at the staircase in anxious terror, hoping against hope that the terrible apparition would not fulfill the awful prophesy of my dream. I remembered all too clearly how the guests in my dream screamed in horror as the frightful monster joined their company.

I kept my eyes fixed on the staircase for what seemed like an eternity. I became aware of two-dozen sets of eyes following my gaze. All remained silent.

And then, from the top of the stair appeared a polished black patent-leather shoe, followed by a baggy trouser leg of the same color. 

PART 12 WILL APPEAR ON FRIDAY

The bell announced the arrival of my first guests at precisely 7 o’clock. I had no doubt that the hand of Dr. Borée held the other end of the bellcord, for he, with his wife, were always the first to arrive and the last to depart from any social function. My valet confirmed my suspicion by announcing “Dr. and Madam Enrique Borée” as they were still shedding their rain gear like snakes shedding their skins.

“I am so glad that you could come, Doctor,” I said with forced enthusiasm as I grasped his sweaty hand. He was a short, dark, clean-shaven man of late middle age, and his small eyes shifted nervously before he released an embarrassed giggle. “We seem to be the first ones here,” he observed.

“And you, Madam, look as lovely as ever,” was the meaningless platitude I directed at his plump and somewhat silly-looking wife. She employed rouge and lipstick much as Grimaldi makes use of greasepaint. A worn fox stole hung about her distended neck, and the rest of her attire reminded one of second-hand luxury. She batted her eyelashes at my compliment, and held out her pudgy hand so as to allow me to kiss it. I pretended not to notice, however, and turned my head toward the stairs with a perfunctory “excuse me.”

“What’s that, Jacob?” I called to no one. After a moment I turned back to face my two guests, the larger of whom still held out her hand. “My valet seems to be experiencing some difficulty. Please make yourselves at home. I shan’t be a moment,” I murmered as I escaped up the stairs.

As I reached the upstairs landing I found myself staring into the two black recesses that once housed Prof. Glauben’s eyes. “Shall I come down now?” he stage-whispered excitedly.

“No!” I hissed. “Not until I give the signal! Go sit down for a few hours…and stay out of sight!” Before the Teutonic assemblage of bones could reply to my admonitions the bell again sounded. Knowing that my valet would momentarily pass us on his way downstairs to the door, I pushed Prof. Glauben into the broom closet behind him and slammed the door. The closet resonated with a muffled sound that resembled wind chimes. As I had predicted, Jacob then passed by me to attend to his duty. I followed a few steps behind him and rejoined my guests. 

“Did you settle the difficulty?” inquired Dr. Borée, replacing an ancient sabre which he had removed from its stand.

“I beg your pardon? Oh yes. It was nothing,” I replied. “Really.”

“Dr. Harmon T. Rumbody III,” announced my valet, and a tall, grey-haired, military presence entered the room. “Good evening, Mr. Fenwick,” he roared at me, removing his gloves and pumping my hand like he was drawing a bucket of water. Dr. Rumbody was an excellent surgeon and a man of high breeding, and he endeavored to make everyone aware of those facts. He smoothed down his white mustache and muttonchops and adjusted his monocle before turning to the other guests. “Ah, Dr. Borée, how good to see you again,” he announced loudly. “And I’m delighted to see that you’ve brought your charming wife.” Here Mrs. Borée again extended her puffy hand, at which cue the worthy surgeon chose to remove and clean his monocle with a handkerchief, seemingly oblivious to the lady’s gesture.

At 8 o’clock, after I had received a dozen more persons, the last of the guests arrived in the form of my close friend Hargrove. “James,” he said after we had moved to a corner of the room, “Just what is going on here?” I smiled and asked him to be patient. He continued his efforts to extract information from me, but I resisted his entreaties, insisting that he wait for the official disclosure to the entire group. I then changed the subject, soliciting his opinion on the aesthetic merits of Professor Marshal’s daughter, who sat alone at the other end of the room. “She is a beauty, to be sure,” he observed, scrutinizing the long, dark hair framing the olive face and brown eyes. “Yes, to be sure,” he repeated.

I then mentioned to my friend that I was attracted to the young lady, and hoped to gain her favor. “You are not the only one,” he confided in a conspiratorial voice.

“Then why is she sitting alone,” I asked

“She has a suitor, who is at sea for six months.”

“That is no matter,” I announced, and I made my way toward Prof. Marshal in search of an introduction.

PART 11 WILL APPEAR ON WEDNESDAY

I awoke the next morning to the most singular noise, which, while I was still half dozing, reminded me of a xylophone being played in a rainstorm. As I regained my senses, I recalled that rainstorms were unheard of this time of the year, and that I owned no instrument capable of producing the musical sounds I was hearing. Sitting up in my bed, I traced the sound to my shower-room. I arose and moved to the open door, through which I witnessed Prof. Glauben’s skeleton standing under a spray of hot water. He had lathered up his cranium, creating an image almost of hair, and he was scrubbing his spine with my shower-brush. As the water drops played upon his ribcage they produced the sound strikingly similar to that of a xylophone, but he seemed oblivious to this fact.

As he turned to rinse his back, the professor met my stare and bade me “Guten Morgen” in a sing-song voice. “I must look mein best for our guests tonight,” he explained as he pushed a washcloth into one ear hole, pulled the end of it from the opposite ear hole, and, clutching both ends, slid it back and forth, accompanied by a squeaking sound.

I occupied the rest of the morning preparing for the evening. I had dispatched letters to the prominent scientists and physiologists of the region the night before, and, despite the short notice, I was already receiving a substantial number of acceptances.

By mid-afternoon I had arranged my dining room into an acceptable setting for our presentation. The long mahogany table sat, as it always did, at the center of the room under a crystal chandelier. The table had been set to accommodate two-dozen persons in addition to myself. To the north of the dining table (whose end faced this direction, and where my place had been set) I had arranged a small occasional table, upon which I had placed a flask of our immortality potion and a folded napkin. Behind the guests sitting on the east side of the table loomed a large picture window that looked out onto the garden. I had closed the drapes over this so my guests’ attention would not be distracted from our presentation. Potted palms–to me a symbol of long life–were placed on either side of the doors on the west wall, and two more were similarly arranged at either side of the staircase to the south. Several armchairs were placed around the room, for space limitations required that my dining room double as a reception area.

I was reviewing the final arrangements when Prof. Glauben descended the stairs. “How does I look?” he asked, pivoting in a full rotation so that I might take in all angles of his appearance. How should I describe the spectacle? He had pulled a black tuxedo over his bones, the outlines of which showed very clearly through the fabric. The cummerbund was drawn about the waist which, being only the diameter of the lower spine, necessitated that the cummerbund be wrapped around several times. The coat hung from the emaciated frame, displaying a series of ridges formed by the ribcage. With no calves to hold them up, a pair of black socks had fallen limply around the ankles. The professor had even donned a black silk hat which, unlike the rest of his attire, fit surprisingly well. The overall effect was so outlandish that I was inclined to laugh. But I suppressed this urge and instead complimented Prof. Glauben on his dashing figure.

“Danke shoen, mein boy. Now, vhen vill our guests be here?” I informed him that they were to arrive at 7 pm–about an hour away–and that dinner would commence at 8:30. I would make my presentation at 9:30, cueing him to descend the stairs at 10 o’clock by calling his name. “Gut,” he replied. “I vill vait upstairs until zhen.”

PART 10 WILL APPEAR ON MONDAY

Our work advanced steadily, and by the end of the summer Prof. Glauben felt that we had achieved our goal: a way to achieve immortality by arresting the aging process. The body would not decay. “But ve need ein volunteer on vhich to test ze formula.” He stared at me. “Und ve cannot afford another arrest.” I immediately understood his meaning, and offered to drink the potion myself. “It vill be dangerous,” he intoned in a way that suggested raised eyebrows, which, of course, his naked skull lacked. I assured him not only that I was willing to take the risk, especially in light of his own earlier sacrifice. “Schoen. You are ein gut scientist,” he said as he placed a bony arm around my shoulders.

Bolstered by the praise from my mentor, I took the flask into my hand, fearing that if I waited any longer my courage would evaporate. I raised the vessel but, just before the liquid touched my lips, Prof. Glauben grabbed my arm with a skeletal hand. “Nein! Halt!” With a sigh half of frustration and half of relief, I set the flask back on the table. “Venwick, do not you think zhat ve should make a presentation?” In response to my confused look he went on. “Great discoveries should be presented to ze scientific community formally. Ve should assemble ze scientific minds of the area at your Hause, und tell them of our experiments. Und then you should drink ze potion in front of zhem. There vill be no dramatic change for zhem to see, of course, but ze drama vill be gut nonetheless. Und then,” his eye sockets here widened, “Und then, I shall come before zhem as proof zhat ve can achieve immortality!”

Prof. Glauben had become quite excited, and a sweat had broken out on his skull. He spoke of national attention, of world recognition, of general notoriety. He talked about changing the course of history. He mentioned power, honoraria, and patents. It was with regret, therefore, that I felt compelled to interrupt him. 

“Professor, this is, undoubtedly, a great moment. Our discovery, if successful–nay, it will be successful; it is successful–our discovery, I say, should certainly be shared with mankind. But I believe a presentation such as you suggest, featuring a living skeleton, would be unwise. Let us sacrifice the theatrics and instead publish a monograph on our findings. Monographs command respect; monsters create a scene.”

This last comment, prompted by a vivid recollection of my dream, seemed to strike the calcium figure like a blow to the cranium. He shook; his chin dropped to his sternum; he fell with a slight rattle into the armchair behind him. Then he murmured something which I could not discern.

The room was excruciatingly quiet. I watched the professor’s bleached face, and immediately I regretted having spoken out as I had. I had called my teacher and my friend a monster. I had rejected his desire for public recognition of his work which was, to be sure, brilliant and revolutionary work.

There sat the pitious form with bowed head and slumped shoulders. Compassion and regret overcame me, and I offered my sincere apologies to the object of my earlier ridicule. “Nein, you are right, Venwick. I have achieved immortality, it is true, but vhat good is immortality if I cannot enjoy the companionship of other persons? I have not extended mein life; I have protracted mein death!”

I was dumbfounded. What could I possibly say to correct my error? I tried to console the miserable being, first by proclaiming my undying gratitude for his friendship, and then, seeing that it had no effect, by espousing the virtues of solitude, viz. Undivided attention to one’s work, peace of mind through meditation, and the pleasures of single-player card games. But my efforts were all in vain; the sad, sullen skeleton still sat silently. With a sigh I gently suggested that we should delay the experiment until a more appropriate time. I bade him goodnight and retired to my bedroom to consider my increasingly absurd predicament.

PART 8 WILL APPEAR ON WEDNESDAY