Victorian Nocturne

In a neighborhood to the northwest of Whitechapel, there sat a two-story home, quite ordinary among its company, a row of homes owned by families of moderate wealth. It was brick and boasted dozens of windows that looked out on the street. Four chimneys jutted towards the sky. A row of low trees lined the property, as well as a wall at waist height. It was a stately place, but a few details kept it from being the envy of its neighbors. Only a rickety gate gave access to its yard, and inside, the house was well-appointed with sturdy furnishings and a piano, but little artwork covered its walls.

The Taylors once owned the property, but they had gone out of country on family-related matters and become gravely ill while away. After their deaths, the house stood empty of inhabitants. Dust cloths draped the furniture and the curtains were drawn tight. A demon, attempting to pass into this world from another, became trapped in the home. Forced to take up residence there, it dwelt in the physical structures of the house, unable to leave without a human host. Unfortunately, the original owners of the house could not return, and the conditions of the demon's release were so specific that brief visits to the house would not do.

Faced with an indefinite wait, the demon, a being eager to escape and wreak its brand of havoc upon London, decided to lure people to the property and keep them there. On one particular Saturday, passersby began to experience hallucinations. Some heard children crying. Others, screams for help, the scent of a delicious meal, or a familiar face calling their name from the front door.

Once inside, the door slammed shut and they were caught in the confines of a house that had become impervious to harm. The windows wouldn't shatter. People on the street heard no cries for help. Nothing burned in the fireplaces. The doors wouldn't open or be torn down.

Upstairs in the hallway, an oval mirror hung on a wall. Since the demon inhabited the entirety of the house, the mirror was no particular point of suspicion, and no one had reason to guess at the danger it represented. The mirror was the demon's portal out of the physical realm of the house and into a host, if a victim could be goaded into saying a particular string of words within sight of the mirror: 'Is anybody there? Make yourself known.' It was a simple phrase, but surprisingly difficult to match in its entirety.

Of course, the demon would do its best to inspire it from the guests...



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Winter, 1890
( Love's Labors Lost )