There was a booming knock on the front doors, and everyone turned to watch as one of the guards opened them up, revealing three people, two women and a man.

“Ah, the rest of our party has arrived.” Dr. Forenzi smiled so broadly Tom could see his molars. “And so it begins.”

Mal

Mal winced at the steak on the plate in front of him. It looked, and smelled, divine.

But try cutting filet mignon with only one hand.

The enormous banquet table everyone sat at was one of the original furnishings, according to Dr. Forenzi, who held court at the head of it. He’d been telling stories about the various ghosts said to haunt Butler House. They included:

Blackjack Reedy, a one-eyed slave master who roamed the hallways with a whip.

Sturgis Butler, who was charred to the bone and smelled like burnt pork.

Jebediah Butler, who floated from room to room on a puddle of his own blood, which constantly leaked from his flayed skin.

Ol’ Jasper, a slave with four arms who dragged a machete around. You knew he was close when you could hear the sound of him dragging his long blade across the floor.

The Giggler, a masked demon who would mutilate himself in order to instill fear.

Colton Butler, carrying his bag of ghastly surgical instruments, still trying to conduct his insane experiments upon the living.

Mal was only half-paying attention. His mood had brightened a little since the awful airport experience, mostly due to Moni Draper’s irrepressible personality. She talked nonstop about unrelated topics—what Mal referred to as diarrhea of the mouth—but was so upbeat and foul-mouthed that it was like watching a stand-up comic.

But Moni’s energy evaporated once they entered Butler House. As pleasant a host as Dr. Forenzi attempted to be, there was a very real and very bad feeling that hung in the air, like a blanket pressing down upon them all. Mal was nervous, boarding on paranoid. He was also hungry, and staring at the slab of meat before him made him depressed as well.

A moment later, his plate was switched with a steak already cut into pieces. He glanced at Deb, sitting next to him, and she was now busily cutting her new steak, not even acknowledging what she’d done.

“A wonderful set-up, Doctor,” Wellington said after patting his lips with a linen napkin. “So now, when we see one of your actors limping through the hallways with a satchel of scalpels, we’re supposed to be terrified. The power of suggestion leaves us more receptive to strange phenomenon, and more susceptible to accepting them.”

“Indeed, that would be the proper way to conduct a fear study,” Forenzi admitted. “But all I can offer you is my word that I haven’t hired any actors to try to scare you people.”

“What exactly are we supposed to do to get our million bucks?” Moni asked, her mouth full of baked potato.

“It is simple. After dinner, my associate Dr. Madison will take a small sample of your blood and conduct a brief physical to ascertain your general health. Then, tomorrow, another sample of your blood shall be taken.” Forenzi winked. “Should you survive, of course. Which is why I’ve had all of you sign waivers.”

“You’ve conducted this experiment before?” Tom, the cop, asked.

“Not quite in this way. But we have had guests before.”

“And what happened to them?” Tom continued.

The doctor laughed. “Naturally, they all died of fright.”

There were a few nervous titters around the table, but the cop didn’t join them.

“Allow me a self-indulgent moment to explain my research, and why each of you are so important.” Forenzi pushed back his chair and stood up, spreading his hands.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re all here today as self-aware, sentient beings. Perhaps some of you believe in the afterlife, spirits, souls, God and the devil. Perhaps some of you find all of it, to use one of Mr. Wellington’s words, poppycock.”

Mal hadn’t heard the writer use that word yet, but he could imagine it easily enough.

“But what makes us believe what we believe? Our differences really are tiny compared to our similarities. We’re all made of the same stuff. We’re all 99.9% identical, genetically. Am I correct, Dr. Belgium?”

“Yes yes yes, you are so far.”

“Doctor, if you wouldn’t mind, can you provide the group with your learned definition of life?”

“Life? Well, all living things, in order to to to be considered alive, have to meet certain criteria. These criteria vary, depending on the scientist. But I’d define life as a structure that can reproduce, respire, create energy for itself, and respond to environmental changes. Also, life can cease.”

“By that definition, fire is alive,” Forenzi said.

“Fire is a chemical process known as combustion.”

“But isn’t life also a chemical process?”

“Well, yes.” Belgium nodded several times. “It certainly certainly certainly is.”

“We are all made of chemicals.” Forenzi swept his hands across the table, grandiosely indicating all seated there. “Chemical reactions allow us to metabolize food and oxygen, and excrete waste. They are responsible for cell division. Aging. The very thoughts we have in our heads. Emotions. Dr. Belgium, can you elucidate the chemistry of emotion?”

“Well, in response to a stimulus, or in some cases due to a problem with the limbic system, our body releases neurotransmitters and hormones, which dictate how we feel feel feel about certain things. Watch a sad movie, we cry. When we meet someone we like, we bond. These are chemicals we manufacture ourselves, which we’ve evolved to help us adapt to various situations.”

“A mother’s instant affection for her child when it is born isn’t due to love,” Forenzi said, focusing on Sara. “At least, not love alone. It is because, during childbirth, the mother’s body floods with oxytocin. Not only does that jump start lactation, but it also forces the incredibly strong emotion of maternal love. Which brings us to fear.”

Forenzi spread out his palms, like a preacher orating to his congregation.

“My friends, I have isolated the neurotransmitter that activates the fear response. Which means, very soon, I’ll discover a way to control fear.”

Mal, who’d been greedily devouring the steak his wife had cut for him, suddenly gave Dr. Forenzi 100% of his attention.

“You can cure fear?” he said.

“I’m very close, Mr. Deiter. Fear begins in the amygdala, which is located in the medial temporal lobes of the brain. When you are frightened, it releases hormones and neurotransmitters that stimulate the fear response. You are aware of the symptoms. Paranoia. Increased heartbeat. Dry mouth. Sweating. Shortness of breath. Lightheadedness. The feeling of hopelessness. Because many of you survived some horrific events, your brain chemistry has physically become altered. Which is why you continue to be afraid all of the time. Your mind still believes it is in danger, and it keeps pumping chemicals into your body. “

“So you’re going to test our blood for these these these chemicals,” Dr. Belgium said, “then scare us, and test our blood again. And then am I to assume you’ll then try to block the fear somehow?”

“All in good time, Doctor. All in good time.”

“So why are Mr. Wellington and I here?” Pang asked.

“Every good experiment needs controls,” Forenzi said. “Your skepticism will provide a baseline metusamine level.”

“Metusamine?” Belgium said. “Metus is latin for fear. So metusamine—”

“Metusamine is the neurotransmitter I isolated that is responsible for the fear response. Correct, Dr. Belgium. And I’m synthesizing the transporter protein—”

“Which will terminate effects of of of metusamine!” Belgium yelled, obviously excited. “How close are you to synthesis?”

“I’ve been able to induce fearlessness in a primate, a Panamanian night monkey.”