The Stone That Calls The Spirit

The professor summoned me to his laboratory via a frantic handwritten note. It said simply, “A massive breakthrough has been made. It’s more successful than I feared.” I knew very little of his latest scientific explorations, other than he had spent a year in Northern China studying geologic formations in the Shangyu region. He had departed from London in a hurry after the untimely death of his dear wife Agatha. She had succumbed to tuberculosis just a month after the sudden death of the professor’s assistant. A dedicated employee for over ten years, Roger Darling was taken by an accidental chemical spill in the laboratory. Chlorine gas was the agent that took his life so horribly and swiftly.

When I arrived at the modest home and workshop, Prof. Jules met me at the door and urged me to join him for brandy in the study. The night was cold and the brandy served to warm my spirits and peak my curiosity about why the professor had insisted I visit him at such a late hour. He looked tired and disheveled. He told me that he hadn’t slept in days. I asked him why and he went on a long ramble about his journey to Asia. After the tragic deaths of his wife and his assistant, he vowed to let all future scientific inquiry be guided by the greatest question known to our species: Does the soul endure after the body has perished?

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