The Island of Doctor Moreau: The Law of the Island

On Doctor Moreau’s island, the animals could speak. They could recite the law. And when one of them broke it, the others were made to hunt him.

I had heard cries behind the doctor’s walls. Now I knew what made them: animals forced, through terrible experiments, into something like human shape.

They called the enclosure the House of Pain. Moreau called it his work. I depended on him, and I was afraid of almost everyone else.

The law forbade eating flesh. Someone had killed a rabbit. Moreau summoned the island, and the Leopard-man tried to hide at the back of the crowd.

“Back to the House of Pain,” they chanted. The Leopard-man struck at Moreau and ran.

I ran too. The same creature had once frightened me in the dark. Now there were dozens of us, and only one of him.

We drove him toward the end of the island. Sea behind him. Hunters in front. The leaves shook, then stopped.

I saw him first. He had crouched into the smallest space he could find. His eyes moved from my face to the weapon in my hand.

Now I recognised his terror. I could call the others over. In moments, they would drag him back through the gate. My hand went to the revolver.

I fired before they could take him back. The jungle filled with running feet. Moreau shouted that he had wanted him alive.

I said I was sorry. I was not sorry in the way Moreau meant. But the creature was dead, and I had no word that made that merciful enough.

Below me, the island began its chant again: “None escape.” This time, I could hear myself among the people it was speaking about.