Chapter 6: The Return of the Professor:

Sidney Wallace's POV:

I received a note from the late Professor, and I would like to know who actually wrote it. I was taken to... the Professor! "Mr. Wallace," says Professor Jarrod.

"Professor," I said.

"It's such a pleasure... oh forgive me. Shaking hands with me is not a pleasance experience. My hands are no longer hands. Sit down please." I sat down. "This is Mr. Igor. He's a deaf mute. He's one of my assistants. I'm going to open another wax museum under a different name. It startled you, hey? Seeing me here?"

"It's an understatement," I said, "I thought you were dead."

"Jarrod is dead. I am a reincarnation."

"When I read this letter and saw your signature, I thought someone was playing a joke on me."

"I still don't understand how you escaped from the fires."

"It's a mystery to me too, Mr. Wallace. All I can remember is that I tried to get out of my studio. I failed at first, but here I am."

"What a frightful experience," I said.

"Somehow, I made my way to the house of a doctor," says Prof. Jarrod, "while I still have my limbs, they won't pail the weight of my body. As for my hands, they're no used to me. As a sculptor, I can't control them, but I can use them for other functions."

"But you're beginning again," I asked.

"With the help of my pupils, yes," says the Professor, "I'm rebuilding my exhibition from the ground up. I'm going to give the people what they want, sensation, horror, shock, send then to the streets to tell their friends how wonderful it is to be scared. I'll show you one of my subjects. Do you recall the case of Kemmler, the first man to die in the electric chair?"

"Yes?"

"Igor is working on a model of his head. He had a strange obsession, this mute of mine. Everyone head he models takes on the shape of his own face. But in this case, I humor him, for it actually somewhat resembles Kemmler. Crimes of violence would be used in wax and exhibited while they are still fresh in the public mind. What do you think of my scheme?"

"I think it is obscene," I said, "it doesn't sound like you. Have you turned your back on beauty?"

"No, but I can no longer create it," says Prof. Jarrod.

"I've never forgotten your Marie Antoinette."

"Nor have I. She will be the leading lady of my new exhibition. But I must find her first."

"Find her?"

"A model I mean. Each subject must be taken from life. How can I convince my audience they're alive if I don't believe it myself. I have something I think will interest you. You follow Igor down into the basement. I have to go my own way."

. . .

Mr. Igor then took me to the basement. Prof. Jarrod met us there. "Here we are," says Prof. Jarrod, "interesting, isn't it? One of my pupils is about to dip a body into a vat of wax."

"Body," I asked.

"Yes, the bodies are constructed separately to exact specifications of reinforced plaster of Paris. Oh, this is Leon, another one of my pupils."

"How do you do," asks Leon.

"The wax, you see, is melted in the cauldron, above the vat," says Prof. Jarrod, "liquified and brought to a boiling point. So that it would distribute itself evenly over the body. The head and hands, tinted by my own secret process, are attached to the body after it is covered by its own skin of wax. Now watch."

They then show me how it is done.

"I often wondered how that is done," I said.

"It's a method of my own," says Prof. Jarrod, "crude, but adequate."

"Have you found a home for your new museum," I asked.

"This is it," says Prof. Jarrod, "the building upstairs, I mean. We'll continue to use the cellar as a workshop. Cut a door here and there. It's an excellent location and the building can be leased at the right price. I have some capitol, but I need more. 30,000 at least. That's why I've asked you to come here."

"I'll think it over," I said.

"Good," says Prof. Jarrod, "she's about right now. Leon, drain off the surplus and let it cool. Oh, and open up, Number 27. Come this way please. I told you that I intend to exhibit scenes of violence. Here's an interesting subject. The mystery they're still talking about." Leon then opens the door.

"I saw that man's picture in the paper," I said, "it's a remarkable likeness. But it can't be a death mask!"

"No, it's a memory," says Prof. Jarrod. The body falls. "He hanged himself in an elevator shaft."

To Be Continued

In the next chapter, the House of Wax is opened.