QUATERMASS AND THE POTATO

After the lights suddenly went out, the people in the Abbey started to panic, and fled in every direction they could in order to escape the horror. One of the television cameras had been left in such haste by its operator that he had left it switched on, and, as it slowly tilted back upon its unlocked mountings, the team sitting watching in the mobile control room saw a glimpse of something high up, hanging from the roof beams, something unusual and horrible to look at.

Professor Quatermass struggled to make progress, pushing against the flow of fleeing people to try to get closer to the great doors. At one point he tried to shout above the noises and the screams, “Listen! Listen to me! I am a scientist…” He paused, winded slightly, as a technician barged into him, but he managed to stay on his feet which probably saved his life. Thankfully, his sturdy overcoat took most of the force of the blow and he recovered quickly and began battling forward once more.

“My name is…” he began again, wondering if it would really help, “Quatermass. Professor Bernard Quatermass. If that name means anything at all to you…”

“Oh yeah, we know what it means!” A rough cockney accent drifted across the general melee. “It’s all your fault, innit?” The Professor whipped around, trying to locate the source of this accusation, but the whirling sea of panicked faces failed to reveal him from amongst their number.

“Please…” cried the Professor, but his tormentor, the only person who had appeared to hear his voice had already been swept away by the crowds. Suddenly, he had passed beyond them, and it became strangely quiet and he felt quite alone. With a slight shudder, he gathered his wits and approached the sturdy oak doors, pausing for a moment before plunging into the forbidding darkness within.

He stopped for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the gloom. With the power failure the Abbey was only lit by a few guttering candles, whatever moonlight could penetrate the ancient stained glass, and the flickering embers from the burning clothes of the technician who had been so recently and horrifyingly electrocuted.

He looked upwards, towards the ancient roof beams, and thought that he saw something moving. He blinked and looked again. He could hardly believe his eyes. The vast organic mass that was just hanging there was bigger than he could have possibly imagined. Just what was it that Victor had eaten that had caused such a horrific transformation?

Outside in the sky, the clouds parted to reveal the full moon and, just for a moment, the thing that was once his friends and colleagues, was bathed in a soft and intense light. Quatermass could immediately see from the shoots writhing and twisting from one end of the tuberous mass that the creature was about to spawn. If that happened, it would probably mean the end of all human life on this planet. Humanity would, quite literally, have had its chips.

Why, oh why had the hospital chosen to feed him that baked potato that first evening after the crash landing? Why hadn’t they let him keep Victor in the controlled environment of his lab instead of whisking him away and into the hands of doctors untrained in matters of space medicine? Whatever organism it was that had consumed Victor’s fellow astronauts and adopted Victor’s form could, it seemed, assume the fundamental genetic profile of whatever living tissue it came into contact with. Why the form of the humble potato had come to dominate over three of the finest minds the British Rocket Group had amongst its number was a question for another time, and another enquiry. If, of course, they ever had another opportunity to meet up at all and have that particular post-mortem.

That anonymous cockney had been right, of course. It was all his fault. He should have insisted, but Judith had been so determined and he felt that he had done her enough harm as it was. She had wanted Victor to be moved as far as was possible from the influence of the Professor, and, upon bitter reflection, he could hardly blame her for that. Sometimes he looked into the mirror of a morning and felt like running away himself.

He stepped forward out of the shadows and into a pool of light. “Victor…” he tried to whisper, but his voice wouldn’t come. He cleared his throat. High above his head, the creature shifted menacingly, reacting to the noise.

“Victor!” This time the Professor shouted authoritatively. Again the creature stirred. Was it possible that it was actually listening to him? Did the combined consciousnesses of Greene, Reichenheim and Carroon still exist somewhere within that mass of animated vegetable matter? If they did, perhaps there was some hope for mankind after all, if only he could get through to them…

He drew himself up to his full height and tried to project an image of strength that he certainly did not feel, but which had occasionally been known to strike unnecessary terror into the hearts of his undergraduate students back in his University days.

“Carroon… Reichenheim… Greene… I am speaking to whatever human part of you still remains. I implore you, if there remains within you any vestige of humanity, please, I…I’m begging you… For the sake of all mankind… Do whatever it is you can do… You must do… For… for Judith! Victor! For Judith! For all of us…”

The creature made a sound, half roar and half moan. Quatermass wasn’t sure but could he, did he…, make out the word “Judith” buried within it, or was that just his imagination, his hope…? The form twisted and then there was a sudden spasm, and then another, and another. Something was definitely happening. What it was he simply could not tell. This could be the end of everything or just the beginning of something far worse. For a moment he just stood there and watched, but then his instinct for self-preservation clicked in and he took a few steps to his left to shelter underneath the boards of a scaffolding tower.

Seconds later the air was full of falling pulp as the creature exploded above him and a huge mashy rain of potato fell all around him whilst he just stood there in utter disbelief. After the last drop had fallen, the Professor stepped sadly forward, dipped his finger into the pile of grey organic matter in front of him and, for reasons that he could never really understand, took a taste.

He smiled appreciatively, wondering perhaps whether, instead of ending mankind’s future, the creature would have helped feed it. He stepped forward, remembering those last words that Victor had said on that fateful morning before climbing into the capsule.

“Man, we got mashed last night…”