From PIC "Best of 2023" Awardthe desk of Dr. Henry Jekyll
London, England
16 May, 1886

Dear Journal, I have just recovered from a hellish transformation.

Last night, I drank a vile concoction—an elixir that I had created to separate the “good” and “evil” parts of man. You see, in my folly, I believed that I could make a potion that could split a person’s soul in twain, allowing us to conquer the very duality of man.

However, upon drinking this potion for the first time, I soon discovered that it did not affect me in the manner that I had intended. Rather, it clouded my thoughts and plunged me into a long and dreamless slumber. And, upon waking several hours later, I discovered to my great horror that I had been transformed, and was now no longer Dr. Jekyll…

No. I was no longer Doctor Jekyll.

Instead, I had been changed into the hideous Mister Jekyll.

That’s right…


You see, dear journal, in many (if not all) respects, I looked and felt exactly like Dr. Jekyll. But in this new and corrupted form, I no longer had the training, intellect, and medical expertise of a man who had studied Clinical Biology for six consecutive semesters at the University of Bristol.

It was only then that I realized what I had created. My hellish elixir did not separate “good” and “evil.” No. It had a far more-sinister purpose:

It separated “Doctor” and “Non-Doctor.”

A fate I would not wish upon my enemies.

Retching silently, I sprinted into my study in search of an opiate to clear my fevered mind. But as I opened my medical cabinet, I felt myself grow pale—for I now no longer recognized any of the labels on the medicine!

What was morphine? What was camphor? What, for God's sake, was ether? Mere hours ago (back when I was still a doctor), I knew what all of these medicines were. But now (now that I was no longer a doctor)… Why, I was as helpless as a pre-med student on his first day at University!

Glancing around fretfully, I saw a horrifying, two-headed snake curled up in the back of the cabinet.

And I screamed.

It is only now, now that I am a doctor again, that I realize that this “snake”…


And the horrors of the night were far from over…

For, you see, that night I was also expected to go to dinner with my fiancée, the lovely Millicent Carew.

Exiting my laboratory, I sprinted to the restaurant in a mad dash—panting, covered in sweat, and still wearing my lab coat… like the charlatan I was.

My dear Millie spotted me from across the restaurant and exclaimed: “Why, there you are Doctor Jekyll!”—I couldn’t help but notice that Millicent had put a slight (yet inescapable) emphasis on the word “Doctor.”

And I felt my skin crawl with terror.

Forcing my lips into a smile, I quietly responded: “Yes Millie. That’s right. I am a doctor.”

Millicent laughed harshly and replied: “Oh, I know that you’re a doctor, Dr. Jekyll. That’s why I’m marrying you!”

I stared at Millicent with a cold and unfamiliar look upon my face. And then, calmly, I muttered: “Look. I already said that I’m a doctor. Can we just drop it?”

I rushed to change the subject of the conversation: “So Millicent, I hear they’ve created a steam powered engine. Can you even imagine–”

But then, just as I was about to finish my question, there was a loud commotion from across the restaurant. “Oh God! This man is choking,” screamed a woman hysterically. And then I heard a waiter yell the following five words—five small, innocuous words that will haunt me until my very dying day:


Millicent stared at me expectantly, and I felt myself grow faint.

“I’m… Mister Jekyll–” I whispered silently as the sweet embrace of unconsciousness washed over me. I heard myself hit the table with a deafening thud. And then my world was darkness.

When I woke up six hours later, the effects of my elixir had finally worn off. And I was a doctor once more.

But by then, the man had already choked to death.

There is more I could say about this vile transformation.

There is more I should say, if only to attest to the vile consequences of playing God. Yet, even now, I feel the horrid power of Mr. Jekyll once more taking over.

And my time is running short.

My dear Millicent, if you find this journal, know that I never stopped loving you.

But enough idle chit-chat. The transformation is happening.

I bid you all a fond farewell.

Forever yours,