I have to apologize to my readers about not having posted anything new from the Standish files for quite a while. After I posted that first letter, the box in which I keep all of his personal material disappeared. An acquaintance of mine got a hold of it. I'm not quite sure what he wanted with it, but I suppose his objective was publishing the letters and whatnot in some format himself (and leaving me out of it). I have no idea how he thought he was going to avoid a lawsuit if they ever got published. Ironically, this person then died from eating the poisonous part of a puffer fish (he did not revive), and the Standish box passed to his daughter. It was only recently that she opened it up and discovered what was inside. Completely unwitting of what her father had intended, she emailed me and asked if I would be interested in it, and I finally regained what was rightfully mine. In gratitude to the daughter for returning it to me, her father will remain anonymous.
I mentioned in the last posting that Standish corresponded often with his Aunt Miriam (or Aunt Mim, as he sometimes called her). After finishing medical school in 1901, Standish got a residency at St. Anne's hospital in New Orleans. His aunt lived in New York at the time. During his residency, Standish made several attempts to raise the dead, with varied degrees of success. There is a series of letters detailing one such experiment, the first of which is below.
Dear Aunt Mim,
March 1, 1902
I hope this letter finds you well. How is the family? I have to say that I haven't heard much from them recently; I suppose they still largely disapprove of my research. Speaking of which, I finally secured a warehouse large enough and secluded enough for my work. I know better by now than to try experiments using the facilities of my workplace, so this will have to do. I've decided to start using more voodoo "magic" in my experiments, although I think that in its own way, the voodoo ritual that wakens the dead is as scientific as any method derived from modern medicine. I've employed Jean-Jacques, a Haitian immigrant, as an assistant, in the hopes that he can help me with the gaps in my knowledge. It took me some time to find him, though. You can't exactly put an advertisement in the paper asking for someone with a knowledge of voodoo ritual, especially of the kind I am interested in. It was a delicate process to see if he would be amenable to my work, without revealing to him the exact nature of it, in case he was of a mind to go to the authorities. He's a sharp fellow, and guessed at what I was about sooner than I had wished, but luckily for me he had no issues with it and accepted my offer. I shall still have to keep a sharp eye on him, though. There will be a period of time in which he will be deep enough in my research to be able to do a good job of blackmailing me, but not quite so deep that he himself will be held accountable. Or he might choose to give the police an anonymous tip. At any rate, I can't proceed without his help, and I believe I am compensating him fairly.
My next step is to find a method of obtaining fresh cadavers, since I believe they must be fresh in order for the ritual to work most reliably. Or at least, I think that will be easier, and perhaps I can then proceed from there. Let me reassure you that I do not plan to create these cadavers myself! My goal is to bring people back to life, not to kill them. While I'm figuring that out, I shall busy myself in the meantime with laying the groundwork, so that as soon as a proper subject falls in my hands, I will be ready.
I cannot tell you how much it means to me that my research does not disturb you. It's gratifying to have someone who appreciates my work. Although I do believe the research is worthwhile, the thought of your support often helps me work into the late hours of the night when I would rather be in bed. I still have to fulfill my regular duties as a resident at the hospital, which are demanding enough!
When the weather turns warmer you should come down to New Orleans to see how my work is getting on. New Orleans is an enchanting city; I think you would like it.
I have to apologize to my readers about not having posted anything new from the Standish files for quite a while. After I posted that first letter, the box in which I keep all of his personal material disappeared. An acquaintance of mine got a hold of it. I'm not quite sure what he wanted with it, but I suppose his objective was publishing the letters and whatnot in some format himself (and leaving me out of it). I have no idea how he thought he was going to avoid a lawsuit if they ever got published. Ironically, this person then died from eating the poisonous part of a puffer fish (he did not revive), and the Standish box passed to his daughter. It was only recently that she opened it up and discovered what was inside. Completely unwitting of what her father had intended, she emailed me and asked if I would be interested in it, and I finally regained what was rightfully mine. In gratitude to the daughter for returning it to me, her father will remain anonymous.