Ichor Whorl—Small, coarse, black object suspended in a yet-to-be-analyzed solution. Object is variable in size—averaging one cubic inch—and vortical in shape. Date of manufacture unknown. Lambshead journal fragment 729 notes the item’s place of origin as “a polluted shoreline of a former Soviet republic.” Dr. Lambshead sent the item to Tillinghast Laboratories, which provided the following report: “Keep organic matter one meter from contents. Empirical tests reveal living tissue placed within one meter is remotely hollowed (by undetermined means) to the limit of solidity without liquefying. Spectroscopic results inconclusive. Presence of organic matter within one-meter orbit is accompanied by slight phase change in object, from solid to non-Newtonian fluid, and extension of one spiral arm to three centimeters covered in half-centimeter protrusions. Authorization for further tests required.” Donated to Dr. Lambshead by Maximilian Crabbe, 1989. (Ben Woodward)
Rikki Ducornet’s still-life mug shots, drawn from her encounters with disgruntled artifacts
Jug, Disgruntled, et al.—A series of cabinet artifacts, generally from antiquity, depicting human facial features that appear to differ in expression following the cabinet fire, based on records of their expressions prior to the fire. While the catalyst for the change may be apparent, the agency is not. (Art by Rikki Ducornet)
Kepler the Clock—Franz Kepler’s rigorous attention to his many appointments made him susceptible to Chronometrophilia. Initially, the disease manifested in twitches of his right hand, as if he were reaching for a pocket watch. Had he sought treatment then, he may have been cured. But Kepler had no time for illness. Gradually, his features began to resemble a clock face. Within a month, his moustache would rotate to indicate the time. When his legs became mahogany, he adjusted by scheduling meetings in his office, ensuring none would fall on the hour, whereupon he would utter a loud “bong.” One Monday, Kepler’s colleagues arrived at work to find a grandfather clock behind his desk. Dr. Lambshead purchased the clock some years later from a private collector. Kepler is, we assume, still alive. He keeps excellent time and should continue to do so if he is regularly wound. (Grant Stone)
The map for creating an Assassin’s Twist (plot twist included).
Kris (“The Assassin’s Twist”)—A kris whose every turn and twist on the blade is supposed to inflict a certain wound or an affliction upon the victim. However, unlike in all other krises, the twists in this one have been forged in a way that any attack by the tip or part of the blade will surely kill the target, yet when the large kris is pushed into one’s body up to the hilt, it will leave the person alive (owing to a secret twist devised on the blade below the hilt). This geometric weapon increases the assassin’s chance of killing the target (for even a single scratch would be enough) yet introduces a final plot twist to the weapon by leaving the target alive once it is pushed up to its hilt to the body. (Incognitum)
Leary’s Pineal Body—This epiphysis cerebri was pickled in vivo by the late American psychologist most famous for his mantra “Turn on, tune in, drop out.” Dr. Leary opened gates heretofore unknown beyond the speculations of H. P. Lovecraft, and this gland is noteworthy for its ability to have survived multiple encounters with beings from beyond—and otherwise. Research is pending on a way to safely experiment on it; the Stanford Asylum has a special wing for those who have attempted, to date. (Kaolin Imago Fire)
Mellified Alien—The enlarged head and oversized eyes of this diminutive, mummified humanoid creature would indicate that it is of the Grey type of extraterrestrial. That it has been preserved in honey is clear. What is less clear is if it feasted upon, willingly or unwillingly, “the golden stuff,” before it died. For only if it had ingested honey in sufficient quantities over a number of days would its remains be truly mellified and impart their healing properties to whoever had been nibbling on it. The application of forensic dentistry may confirm the conjecture that this sweet confection once belonged to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle before coming into Dr. Lambshead’s possession. (Julie Andrews)
Mooney & Finch Somnotrope—These sleep simulators (pictured on page 301) have become rare artifacts; even though they were mass-produced in the Mooney & Finch Sheffield facility, each one of them emerged as a unique object due to the pressures of the oneiric centrifuge. However, they were only sold for three months, prior to the first reports of somnambulance addiction and peripatetic insomnia. The idea of experiencing four or five hours of sleep within a mere few minutes held almost unlimited allure for the world’s busiest captains of industry and harried matrons. But few were prepared for the intoxication of the Somnotrope’s soothing buzz, the sheer pleasure of watching its central piston raise and lower, gently at first and then with increasing vigor, until your mind flooded with dream fragments and impression of having sailed to the nether kingdom and back, all in a few minutes. It only took a few unfortunate deaths for the whole line to be recalled. (Charlie Jane Anders)
Mother of Spirits—Drab olive in color, with copper flecking, this three-inch-long sessile organism resembles a desiccated asparagus spear mated with a tiny artichoke. Once rehydrated in a suitable measure of clean water, it manifests a most peculiar phenomenon. When placed into a vessel containing fermented alcoholic beverage—beer, wine, mead, etc.—the Mother of Spirits catalyzes a secondary fermentation up to 120 proof (provided sufficient sugars are available). The Mother extrudes rootlike growth during this process, which can last several months, and it is speculated these function in a symbiotic relationship with residual yeasts to effect the unusually high secondary fermentation. Daughters form at the root nodes once alcohol content surpasses 50 percent, as the Mother is spent during the process. The resulting liquor is of fine quality, but a distinct aroma and flavor of cilantro renders it unpalatable to some. (Jayme Lynne Blaschke)
Ron Pippin’s optimistic vision of the Much Smaller Cabinet’s contents.
Much Smaller Cabinet—This miniature cabinet is a duplicate of Dr. Lambshead’s in nearly every respect, a 1/1000th-scale model incorporating scorch marks and splintered frame down to the smallest detail. A single variation: the door remains locked. The doctor dropped the diminutive key in his squid tank and failed to retrieve it before Longfellow’s greedy tentacles snatched it from view. Peering through the keyhole—itself no wider than the head of a pin, with no room to spare for dancing angels or other divine revelers—one can glimpse a mere hint of the curios stored inside. Perhaps someday a scholar of all things underestimated will write a short story seeking to describe and comprehend the dwarf contents. (Paul Kirsch)
The Steampunk Workshop/Jake von Slatt re-build of a Mooney & Finch Somnotrope
Night Quilt, American—A notable example of a hand-stitched night quilt featuring unusual subject matter: smallpox, penury, and death by hanging. The thread and dye indicate the quilt originated in the small farming communities of east-central Wisconsin around 1850.
The quilt was purchased during the 1902 decommissioning of Lake Covenant Church near Oostburg, Wisconsin. “Absolutely no return” is handwritten on the receipt. Two newspaper articles are attached to the receipt. The first, from the July 19, 1871, Plymouth Herald, reports on the acquittal of Samuel Ronde in his trial for the brutal murder of the Denne family in Oostburg and his unlikely escape from mob justice following his release. The second article is from the November 13, 1871, issue of the Sheboygan Courier. In reporting the great Peshtigo fire the previous month, the article reports that one S. Ronde, lately of Oostburg, is among those missing since the conflagration.