Winter 1963 – Unborn and Undead


The hand prints on wall were tiny, as if made by a toddler or a baby. It was difficult to tell with what they were made. I touched a half dozen of them with my left little finger. They were sticky. I held my finger beneath my nose. The substance was yellowish black and smelled rancid. There seemed to be enough variety in size and shape to the prints that I guessed they were made by at least four, perhaps more … infants? I closed my eyes and sniffed at my finger again. Rot. Fungus. Mold. And the distinctive chemical smell I’d come to recognize from the laboratories of members of the Prometheus Sodality. Perhaps the creatures that made the prints had once been human babies. Now they were something far less helpless and, apparently, quite dangerous. And they were loose in Northampton.