In the Name of Science

***Summer.***

The unusual duo made its way through the heavy layers of vegetation covering the cabin’s entrance. There was no door, not even a plank to seal it off. The wooden shack stood abandoned in the heart of the rainy, dark forest, welcoming the embrace of its vines just like a child willingly runs into the arms of a mother, no matter what her intentions may be. Under each leaf lived a secret, or so assumed Dr. Nihon; secrets that must remain undisturbed, surely.

“Nobody has rented this place in years,” said the caretaker as he walked into the bare, desolate structure. “As a matter of fact, I don’t think a single soul has crossed this threshold in at least a decade.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Dr. Nihon, wiping off sweat from his forehead. “This isn’t exactly state of the art.”

Both men could not have been more different. The caretaker wore stained overalls, torn and worn, and with each unraveling seam exuded the charm of one who dives into the wild and travels to the remote corners of this world on a daily basis. Dr. Nihon, on the other end, kept his eyes bouncing nervously from one corner of his pristine white shirt to the next, shaking off dirt the minute it settled somewhere. His glasses kept sliding down his nose as a result, and one of his long fingers immediately reached to put them back into place every time.

“You don’t strike me as the outdoorsy type Doc,” commented the caretaker, his acumen sharp enough to notice the obvious. “Mind if I ask you something?”

“Ask away,” declared the Doc, now staring in fright at the corners of the shack in search of a sign animals were lurking somewhere.

“On the way here, I thought you would pass out just about a hundred times,” he said. “If the forest unnerves you like that, why on Earth would you want to spend the winter in a cabin in the woods? This place is so deep, I can’t even rent it to actual outdoors aficionados.”

“I need somewhere to isolate completely,” he said, a grim look on his face. “My research on String Theory barely made any progress this year. All my colleagues said it: the best way to save my career is for me to isolate where I can fully concentrate.”

“You can’t concentrate in the Bahamas or something?”

“I’m afraid not. True genius is forged in strife and struggle.”

“Maybe that’s why all the geniuses end up going mad, ya know. Anyways, you do you. I’ll fix up this place once the greenhouses ramp down in September, it’ll be all yours for the snowy months, with a proper wood stove and all. Just remember though: it’s not for the faint of heart.”

“I can take it. It must be, in the name of science.”

Just as the Doc said these words, he screamed in terror at the side of a tiny spider lowering itself onto his shoulder from its web.

“If you say so.”

“Just out of curiosity,” added the Doc, suddenly nervous. “Is there emergency network or something here?”

“Network? Aren’t you supposed to isolate?”

“I mean, there must be some sort of backup right. Being completely cut off can be… dangerous, no?”

An eerie smile formed on the caretaker’s lips. He had been waiting for this moment.

“You’re a science guy, right. Can’t wait for you to see this. There’s no service or anything, however we do have one thing if you really need to… make contact, let’s say.”

He walked over to the middle of the room, the planks on the floor bending to the sound of sinister creaks with every step. The Doc’s terror turned to the kind of pragmatic curiosity inherent to his job as a physicist. Rays of sunlight pouring through the vines hanging by the entrance painted his silhouette as he adjusted his glasses again, trying to bring the caretaker into sharp focus. His guide bent and lifted the centermost plank, revealing a hollow hiding spot underneath.

“Take a peek,” he said, his lips still twisted into a slightly disturbing grin. “There it is. It's an experimental set up made by a friend. You'll love it.”

Slowly, the Doc approached the location of the hole in the ground, slight shivers running down his spine. There was a certain trepidation that came with the unknown of what hid beneath. His eyes finally caught a glimpse of it, and he recoiled, gasping. One thing was for sure: he would strive not to make contact.

***Winter.***

It tore through the cold dark night again. A deafening sound that pierced the raging snowstorm outside and preventing the Doc from sleeping. He could not tell what it was. Surely, no animal could wail like this. It was as if the forest itself screamed, calling to him.

The caretaker had done good work. The cabin, lit by the single light of a flickering candle on the table, was now in a much better shape, its sturdy walls of logs and refurbished entrance door shielding the Doc from the merciless weather outside. Fire burned in the depths of the wood stove, diffusing just enough heat throughout the room for him not to freeze to death. The walls were now covered from ceiling to floor with papers on which mathematical equations had been frantically scribbled, as part of Dr. Nihon’s wild chase for the secrets of String Theory.

The isolation and the wild did not bother the Doc as much anymore. He had grown accustomed to them during the first months of the winter season, like a domestic dog would eventually grow accustomed to the ways of a pack of wolves if thrown into the wilderness with no choice but to become one of them. What bothered him, however, was the unnatural. There were things he could simply not explain through rational thinking. The constant ethereal cries in the night; the walls that shook violently out of nowhere, even in times of peaceful weather; the pervasive idea of being observed.

If he did not know any better, he could have thought the forest itself rejected him, that it wanted him to leave. It was silly of course. Science could not be reconciled with the concept of a sentient forest. Yet, he was sometimes under the impression the goal of the outside world was for him to “make contact.” This, he could not do. He did not even believe the dreadful thing the caretaker had shown him could even be used to make contact.

The Doc got up and threw some more wood into the stove. Another wail tore through the night, this time accompanied by a round of shaking walls. He threw himself back on his bed, terrified.

Don’t hide, Alfred.

The Doc jumped up. Where did that voice come from? It seemed to come from outside, deep and tenebrous. Was it the wail speaking to him?

We need you, Alfred. Come to us, Alfred.

He grew increasingly restless. Surely, it was his mind playing tricks on him. The forest could not be actually speaking to him, it was impossible. This was all in his mind. The caretaker was right: geniuses do go mad. His stunning progress over the past few months had come with the cost of complete madness.

The walls shook again, more violently than ever. The storm was perhaps worse than he thought.

Come to us, Alfred. Don't be afraid. We are waiting for you. All we need is contact.

This time, it was unmistakable. The forest was speaking to him. Whether it was madness or not, there was no way for him to deny hearing the unbodied voice. All he wanted in this very moment was a phone with service, or any way to communicate with the outside world. Any way, but the one the caretaker had shown him.

The walls shook again, this time with such powerful strength the Doc was convinced the whole thing would collapse on him. There was no other choice. He would die here if he did not do it. Dashing across the floor, he reached for the centermost plank and lifted it with the hustle of despair. It was still there underneath: the dead body of a lab rat, preserved with some sort of chemical process. A flashing, long and thin probe poked out of its skull. He followed the caretaker's instructions to the letter and pulled out the probe, then pricked the back of his neck with it.

Suddenly, it was as if an outside force had completely taken over his body. A blinding light bathed the room as the entrance door flew open, detaching itself from its hinges. With a blank stare, he walked mindlessly outside and disappeared into the light, never to be seen again.

***Summer. The Next Year.***

"I haven't been able to rent this place in decades," said the caretaker, his eyes staring intently at Dr. Blake as the latter scanned the room. The shack looked disheveled again, covered in vines and leaves. "You know, you don't strike me as the outdoorsy type. What brings you to my neck of the woods?"

"I'm not making good enough progress with my research," said the Doc. "I must isolate if I'm ever to complete my work."

"I'm telling ya, it's not for the faint of heart."

"I must do it. In the name of science."

"Right."

Suddenly, the Doc noticed a piece of paper in a corner of the room. It was covered in complex mathematical equations, the likes of which the Doc had only seen in the works of his most esteemed colleagues. The caretaker quickly grabbed it.

"I left this here the other day," he said, shoving the paper in the pocket of his overalls.

"Are you a scientist too?" asked the Doc, a great deal of surprise in his voice.

"I guess you could say so. At least, I have friends who are."

The Doc scanned the room one more time.

"Any chance there is network somewhere?" he asked. "You know, as a back up."

"Well," said the caretaker, his lips twisting into an eerie smile. "We do have a back up if you really need to... let's say, make contact."

He lifted the centermost plank, and the Doc quickly recoiled in horror. Just like that, the caretaker knew he would have another genius for his friends from above to analyze this winter, in the name of science.