“Gentlemen, gentlemen, thank you. Now, who shall be next to tell us of a strange adventure?” Mr Pickman’s gaze took in the room. A young slender man in a once well tailored suit, stood. “Thank you Mr Shadbolt. Gentlemen, I give you Mr Padget Shadbolt.”
The tale I have to tell involves a trip to the City of Norwich, an encounter with the miscreant and a possible foreshadowing of the future. We had reports of a similar creature to this “Spring Heeled Jack” that has been seen in London also sighted in Norwich, and so I had decided to investigate these particular reports, not to mention that I had a yearn to visit Norwich.
I had considered a steam packet to get me to Southwold, thenceforth travelling to Norwich, but both the price and thought of a trip through the Broads and down the Wensum filled me with dread. The intervening landscape is a stinking morass of marsh and river channels, its inhabitants subsistence farmers of the poorest type, and along the coast the fisherman are of the hardiest and gruffest sort. All are known to distrust strangers. Still, hardly more inviting was the ensuing coach trip which took several days and was uncomfortable in the extreme. I alighted in Whitechapel and changed at Ipswich however, at its end I was abed for two days in the boarding house room I had secured at very short notice.
This establishment was run by a Mrs Rosie Chiddock, a stout elderly woman who, it seemed, had an inordinate amount of extremely comely daughters, all of whom were at great pains to tell me about the latest gossip in the city - including the tales of “the jumping monster with hellfire eyes,” along with many other things of a more “delicate” nature.
I later discovered that the coachman had misunderstood my accent and intent and taken me to a house of ill repute, this was much to the amusement of some of my fellow travellers as this was a well known establishment within the city. However I found Mrs Chiddock’s “daughters” to all be sweet tempered intelligent girls, good company and of a good honest nature. There I have said it, and I shall speak as I find!
I took to the streets that night, armed with my trusty sword stick and an ash truncheon as you know I have an aversion to firearms, since that incident in Cardiff with the sheep! My search began in the area this creature had been known to frequent. Sybil, one of the “daughters” had told me it had been seen by an acquaintance of hers three nights previously in this very place. The streets were dark and foul smelling with the gables of the houses almost touching at the top stories, so close that I can believe the old stories of occupants shaking hands from their windows.
I was making my way between hostelries on Bethel Street heading towards the Market Place, a warren of stalls and food places open even at that late hour, when I heard a noise coming from a side alley. Thinking I could be accosted at any moment, I put my hand into my coat pocket and gripped the truncheon tightly. From out of the alley strolled a battle-scarred, and evidently pugnacious cat. It was obviously the Lord of the Alley and wanted me to know as such! The feline glared at me with its one good eye sat down, and started to wash itself. Just then, a medium size dog of indiscriminate heritage rounded the alley corner and approached me for a morsel of some kind. The cat stopped its washing and glared at the poor hound, which tucked its tail between its legs and fled post haste, this cat was evidently known and feared - in fact it put me in mind of a childhood pet, a magnificent white Cornish Rex I named Ghostcat… but I digress!
This feline strolled towards me with no fear, came to within a foot or so, then me and stopped stock still, looking wide eyed past me. It emitted a low, its ears went back, it bared its fang (it only had one) and hissed at something behind me. Now, since it is popularly believed that felines can see things humans cannot, I was, I must admit quite concerned. This concern was heightened when the said Lord of the Alley fled, howling and spitting, back down, the alley at high speed, knocking a bin over in its haste.
I turned slowly, and there before me in the gloom shone a pair of red eyes, at approximately knee height to a tall man - as you know I am over six feet tall. However the eyes rapidly ascended in height from the ground and I found myself looking up at them slightly. This menacing figure was wearing a cowled garment of indeterminate colour. On instinct, I drew my truncheon and swung at him roughly where I thought its skull might be. My attack was batted aside with the ease of a seasoned fighter. I felt the sudden stinging impact of a limb of some sort striking my arm, so I endeavoured to grab the limb with my other hand, in order to twist it as I had been taught by my old Sergeant. Yet the thing was preternaturally quick and I found myself thrown to the alley floor with ease. Muck spattered my clothing, the truncheon was torn from my hand, thrown a considerable distance, clattering away down the alley.
The creature turned away apparently losing interest in the combat, as if I was no threat to it . Angered by my assailant’s contemptuous manner, I rose, gripped my swordstick, and drew the blade. The noise as it hissed out of the cane caused the creature spin back towards me as I lunged, my attack hitting home, straight into its chest. I had been expecting it to reel backwards with force of the lunge, yet was like striking a heavy training dummy, it moved back not an inch! Sword embedded in its chest, the thing backhanded me down the alley and I slipped, crashing to the muck-filled floor again. As I gazed up in shock, it gripped my sword by the blade, pulling it out of its body with no sign of pain, nor any sound at all. A toss of the hand, and blade followed by club in clattering down the alley.
The creature advanced, I pushed myself away with my legs, trying to back away from my approaching doom. Yet, as I looked up, the creature paused, looking past me into the darkness at the end of the alley. It suddenly span on the spot and leaped, straight up, landing sure footed and with uncanny precision on a corbel supporting part of an upper story of the tenement. From there, it leaped again, turning midair to land on a steeply tiled part of a gable window, from there vanishing over the roof. Other than the clattering of loose tiles as they slid to the ground, the creature had made no sound whatsoever during the whole encounter
Rising quickly I made to follow it, running to the end of the alley hoping to catch a glimpse of it in flight. I heard a noise like a click of a door latch, then realised there was another figure in the darkness of the end of the alley, this one was far smaller and was dressed what appeared to be a dark suit. It stared at me with a quizzical expression on its thankfully human face for a few seconds, then advanced, with a hitch in its gait, favouring the left leg. It appeared to be holding a rather large , peculiar looking pistol in its hand. A buzzing, as of a swarm of bees, suddenly surrounded me, outside, also in my head. Then came a blue flash, like summer lightning, and I knew no more.
I awoke, or more correctly regained consciousness, feeling as if I had been beaten with a cudgel. To my surprise, I was not restrained in any way, laying on a cot bed in a dimly lit room, the source of said illumination being a single, small window set high up near the beamed ceiling. From its construction I surmised I was in a flag-stoned cellar of some kind. It was gloomy, damp and dank, off to one side a set of steps lead up. I gingerly arose, there was barely enough room to stand without striking my head on the beams. Through the gaps in the boards above, I made out a dim light and could hear low voices and movement.
Although I thought I had made no sounds, the trap door was pulled opened and a man’s voice called down to me.
“We know you are awake. Would you please join us Mr Shadbolt? We know who you are and why you are here in Norwich.”
I was dumbstruck, as I had told no-one of my mission or its reasons, not even Mrs Chiddock’s “daughters.” How had this been known? How had I betrayed myself?
I ascended the steps into what appeared to be a rude farm kitchen, a lit range sat to once side providing warmth, a plank table with plain food and drink on occupied the centre of the room. A tall, stocky man, with the aspect of a farm labourer stood in front of the only door, his hands held loosely by his side, a slight smile on his face. No exit that way, I quickly surmised.
The fellow who had called my name stood by the trapdoor. I recognised him as the small, neatly dressed man I had encountered in the alley, the man who had rendered me unconscious with his dammed “lightning gun.” His voice was cultured and well spoken, with a slight hint of an Indian accent.
“Help your self Mr Shadbolt.” He gestured at the food. “It helps the body recover from the effects of being stunned by one of their weapons. Please, you will be free to leave soon. My…” he hesitated, “supervisor just wants to talk to you. Please, take some sustenance. You will be returned to the city by dawn. You have my word.”
I turned sharply. “How dare you imprison me thus! I have been scared half to death, attacked, have run something through that just took it on the chin, so to speak. Oh, and been shot with a lightning bolt and apparently kidnapped and am now being held prisoner! And your supervisor just wants to talk to me?” I raged at him, making to step forward. The smaller man did not move, excepting for a restraining hand to the muscular chap, who had stepped forward, hands raised, to intervene.
“No Mr Jenks, no need. Let him be, he will not harm me.” Jenks nodded and stepped back to stand impassively once more in front of the door, arms crossed. The other glanced up the narrow staircase to an upper floor and gestured.
“You will go up alone, but do not be frightened. He will not harm you, though he is quite capable of doing so. It is dark, but with enough light to see by. For your own protection, do not move out of the circle of light. This merely stops you seeing my supervisor clearly, whilst allowing him to see you. He is somewhat sensitive about being seen by outsiders, that is all.” He gestured again and, with little other option, I started the ascent to the upper story
A thin rickety door stood at the top of the stairs, upon opening it, I was struck by a wall of frigid air. The temperature in this room was several steps lower than the kitchen below. The room itself was gloomy, with a circle of dimly flickering lamps set around the door. In the thickest part of the gloom, pushed back in the corner, a small, hunched figure sat in a large, winged chair. It was swathed in what appeared to be dark robes or perhaps a blanket of some kind, the whole effect being I could make out no details of the person. The scene held for a moment, then a thin papery voice whispered,
“Ah Mr Shadbolt, so nice to meet you at last. I do hope that we can reach an understanding to our mutual benefits. You see, my associates and I need your help in a delicate matter, one that, should we fail, will impinge on us all. You see, I have limited,” the thin paper voice paused slightly, “resources in this place, and as an invalid have virtually no mobility. My associates also have their limitations. Lamsal was injured in my service, and despite my best efforts will not heal in time. As for Jenks, well, Jenks is a blunt instrument, useful when one is needed, but at present I require a scalpel. Which brings me to you, Mr Shadbolt. We have, I believe, the same aim. To either apprehend, or at least stop, the being you call Spring Heeled Jack.”
There was slight rustle as he shifted position in the chair. “You see, I cannot go to the authorities, as I wish this matter to be kept most private. But make no mistake, Mr Shadbolt, this creature is dangerous in the extreme and will, I am certain, bring ruin and death to this place, as he has in other cities. For a long time we have tracked him, and we now know that he is near to here. I entreat you for aid. I can call for assistance from my kind, but it will not be forthcoming in time to be effective. Matters are coming to a head, it must be stopped now, at any cost.”
I stood looking into the shadows beyond the light. Fantastic as they sounded, I sensed the underlying truth of his words, though was certain he was not telling me all of the tale. “Why do you need to capture this Jack?” I asked, “What has he done?”
He is a an aberration. His behaviour threatens the future of my,” again a short pause, “family, shall we say?” The halting cadence of his speech was confusing, as though he were translating a foreign language in his mind, then relaying to me in English. The papery texture to the voice, its breathlessness, made it thin and weak, and hard to follow. He spoke again.
“Its sole purpose is to spread violence and destruction. At present, its psyche is at war with itself, and i fear it will succumb to its more baser urges. It escaped from confinement killing five of what you might call its handlers, and fled to this country. It has been roaming your cities ever since, I do not know why”
“If I agree, what do I gain from this venture? What is in it for me” I asked firmly
The shadows seemed to sigh, “As ever, the same question from your kind,. What do I gain, what is in it for ME? Do you seek monetary rewards? Knowledge? Power? All of this is possible, of course. Or will my gratitude and the gratitude of my… family suffice? Perhaps the gratitude of Mr Pickman, and the adulation of your cohorts in your quaint circle of friends would be enough for you? Or, perhaps a satisfied ego, knowing that you have apprehended a dangerous miscreant? Don’t look so surprised, Mr Shadbolt. I have a far more powerful intellect than you can possibly imagine, and I discern with ease who and what you are. But time grows short. If you do not wish to help me that is understandable, but I will not allow you to hinder my stated purpose either! I will have Lamsal return you to your lodgings, unharmed as promised,. Of course, he will have to stun you again. Well Mr Shadbolt your decision, if you please?” The thin papery voice rose in tone slightly, as if agitated
“What guarantee is there that you are telling me the truth, Mr …how can I begin to trust if I don’t even know your name?” I exclaimed
A thin, papery wheezing , which I took for laughter came from the shadows.
“I forget that there are other methods of determining social bondings. My kind are not tied to these strictures, yet I understand your people are hide bound by social etiquette. My profound apologies, Mr Shadbolt. My name is Yarnwood, and I am what you would call a scientist, although my kind have an entirely different understanding of the term.”
I stepped back and mentally reviewed the conversation. My captor, for there was no doubt I was a captive, had peppered the conversation with phrases such as “your people ” and “my kind,” also referring to Spring-Heeled Jack as a “being”, not a man. Yarnwood’s obviously powerful intellect, that weapon Lamsal had fired at me , this all was like nothing I had ever experience or heard of, it was damned perplexing.
“Mr Yarnwood, where exactly are you actually from? You are not from these shores are you?” I queried politely “I cannot place your accent. Are you from one of the Southern States of the Union, Louisiana perhaps? I will not co-operate at any price if this is a covert operation against my Government!”
The wheezing laugh again, even more breathy this time.
“Calm yourself, Mr Shadbolt, it is nothing so prosaic as that. You see I am not from anywhere that you will have heard of, indeed, your limited intellect could not understand the vast distances involved or the method by which my kind have travelled here. Nor do the petty politics of your world concern me in the slightest. You see, I am not a native of this world, and am hunting a byblow of an unauthorised experiment that has escaped confinement. As I mentioned, it has the potential to cause a great deal of harm, for my kind, as well as yours. Also, if discovered and examined, by even your primitive technology, its unusual origins will be plain for all to see.”
My mind struggled to take in this information. Beings from other worlds? Yet more shocking revelations were to follow.
“We have been on this world for aeons, but it is only since you have developed civilization that we have concerned ourselves with your kind. It is predicted by our savants, that in approximately one hundred revolutions of your planet around its star, you will develop the technology to effectively fight back against us. This is inevitable. If our presence becomes widely known, it is also predicted that the pace of your technology will accelerate exponentially, and we will merely doom ourselves all the quicker. Our technology is far superior in every way to yours, but we do not have the numbers to either destroy your kind completely, nor to rule the survivors of any such a war. In short Mr Shadbolt, I need your help to stop a catastrophe, for all our sakes, for such a war would kill billions and likely render your planet uninhabitable forever.”
I stared into the shadows “Does Lamsal know all this?” I asked quietly. “Surely he is human?”
“Lamsal is a valued servant. His people have served mine for thousand of years. In return, we have guided and enhanced them, they are superior in many ways to baseline humans. Faster, stronger with a better capacity to learn,“ stated Yarnwood matter of factly,
“And no doubt reliant on you as well” I said quietly
“There is that of course” he wheezed dryly
“How do I know you are not lying to me to get what you need from me?”
Yarnwood fell silent, evidently thinking, “There is a way, I can let you see into my thoughts, but it is dangerous for both of us. For me, linking with such a primitive mind could have unforeseen effects. For you, there is a possibility of overloading your mind and damaging your brain permanently. It will not be pleasant for either of us, but it will allay your concerns of duplicity on my part, of that I am certain”
I nodded, replying, “I agree to this, with reservations, for I see no choice. I certainly have no desire to be a party to Armageddon. How do we go about this Mr Yarnwood, what do I need to do?”
“I would suggest you sit down in the chair behind you.”
I glanced round A similar wing back chair sat empty in a darkened corner. I was moving to take a seat in it, when the floor smashed me in the face.
Yarnwood’s papery voice echoed in my mind.
“Just relax, Mr Shadbolt, just focus on the images. What you will be seeing is a recording, the racial memory of my kind on your planet, or at least a version of it that you will be able to comprehend without going insane.”
I saw the great lizards that are being described in the latest scientific journals, but of vastly more variety than currently known to human science. I witnessed the continents cracking and moving, vast ice sheets growing and shrinking across a vastly different map of the world than we know today.
There came a race of strange beings with starfish-like heads, wielding terrible weapons against flying creatures that appeared a cross between crustacean and intelligent fungus, I intuited, somehow, that the latter were Yarnwood’s kind. This all occurred aeons before any life was present on Earth. Indeed, they speculated that all Earthly life was nothing more than an experiment of the starfish-heads spiraled out of control! Yarnwood’s race came from other colder, more arid, worlds by methods not made clear. They engaged in terrible wars that lasted for thousands of years for possession of this globe, it being a relatively rare world, in that it could support life without the expenditure of a lot of precious resources.
After long and prodigious wars in which neither side could claim victory, both races retreated. The starfish heads to the the deepest parts of the Ocean, where they built cyclopean cities, forever wreathed in darkness. Yarnwood’s kind retreated to the tops of newly forming mountain ranges, to high, cold plateaus where they built prodigious cities of stone, in ages long past, all trace of which has now vanished. The detritus of failed experiments from both races spread across the Earth, living and dying, engaging in their own proxy wars, never knowing their origins.
Further aeons passed, the age of the Great Lizards was long gone, ending in fire, dust, and then extreme cold. This badly affected Yarnwood’s kind, being surface dwellers. The starfish heads,retreated to the sea bottom and cities deep within the Earths crust, survived relatively intact. Still, internecine wars eventually destroyed their original civilization, leaving their created servants in possession of their technology, living amongst the ruins of a civilization that they did not understand and could not possibly replicate.
Humans now made their first appearance in this tale. Yarnwood’s people tried to influence them to be willing servants, to no avail and further wars raged across the planet, further culling Yarnwood’s kind. They came to be forced back to the highest and most desolate mountain ranges, where they became more introspective, reclusive and paranoid
Still, their advanced medical technology had made them, barring a violent death, functionally immortal. Some cabals within their population continued attempting to manipulate humans, in effect breeding us like cattle in their damnable vats. All to make humans “better,” even crossbreeding humans and other more unsavoury things to create a soldier that would follow orders without question. This, I know understood, was what Spring Heeled Jack was, a purposely bred and engineered killer, capable not only of cleansing humanity, and any other beings, from the face of the Earth. I do not claim to understand the methods used, but it appears that they had taken human child, possibly from its mother’s body before birth, and altered and changed it like some kind of puppet to suit their dammed purposes. I therefore felt I had little choice but to ally myself with this Yarnwood to stop this devilry. At this thought, Yarnwood's voice came back into my head.
“With that, I take it you will aid me in my endeavour, Mr Shadbolt, I thank you and so I will return you to your own psyche. Goodbye, I will likely not see you again.”
Although this part has been long in the telling, it took only minutes at most for me to assimilate all this information. I came to on the floor,with a blinding headache and bleeding copiously from the nose and tear-ducts. I struggled to sit up, wincing at the bright lamp Jenks now brought into the room.
“The miscreants hiding place has been discovered, we know where he is ” said Lamsal, following.
“You will have to give me a moment, and I will need to clean up. Do you have a kerchief I can use?”
Jenks produced a belcher from his pocket, soaked it in the ewer on the small table and passed it to me. “Wipe thy face man,” he said in a north country accent. “ No man should go into a fight looking like they already lost previous one”
Lamsal explained he had received word that the miscreant had recently been sighted near the asylum in Thorpe Hamlet. I knew the place, a large imposing brick building, it had off to one side a small group of cottages rumoured to be of ill aspect. These were the old leper almshouses, shunned by locals, and not used by the asylum. A weirdly-hunched figure had been spotted going into one of the cottages. With all due haste, we set out for Thorpe Hamlet.
In silence, the three of us crept along the road toward the row of cottages. They were dilapidated overgrown, thatch gone. In the darkness, the exposed timbers had the look of shattered ribs poking up.
“It all seems deserted,” I whispered. “One might expect local indigents to take advantage of such accommodation.”
Jenks snorted “They used to be leper cottages, built on old priory ruins , in the grounds of an asylum. Personally I can’t think of a more ill- omened dump in all Creation. No wonder Jack chose it. And anything strange is seen, who would believe the poor inmates of an loony house? Not a soul. That’s cunning that is,”
“He is certainly that and highly dangerous, besides. Do not underestimate him or we shall surely fail in this endeavour,” warned Lamsal. He stepped back and seemed be distracted for a moment. “Mr Shadbolt, you may need this,” he said, handing me a firearm , which I recognised as a twin to the lightning gun. “Be careful, it has more than one setting.”
“How does it work” I asked. He merely shrugged.
“I do not know, at least not in any detail. It works, that is all, and it is a powerful weapon be careful.”
“Jenks not having one?” I responded, and Lamsal smiled. “ “Mr Jenks prefers a more… classical approach, “ he said gesturing. Jenks revealed a large woodsman's axe. “
“Bessie here can cut down anything,” he boasted, hefting it over his shoulder. We approached the cottages.
“You see anything, anything at all?” I asked .
“We are being watched,” hissed Lamsal. “We must beware”
There was a slight silence in the still air, like a drawing of breath, and then it all went to ruin!
“What was that” Jenks queried, turning slightly. At another noise in front, he span back, whip fast, axe hissing wickedly as it arced down. It was stopped dead in the air by a hand, that seemingly came out of nowhere, It effortlessly tore the axe from Jenks' hand, reversed the grip, and smashed the blade through Jenks' skull as though it were a porcelain bowl.
I was frozen with fear, but Lamsal moved aside putting some distance between us, and drew his weapon, firing at the creature. Blue lightning arced and spat, grounding itself on the cottage walls, knocking me breathless, though not stunned, to the ground. Through the pain I saw the creature stagger, but not fall. Lamsal fired again, the creature lurched forwards and backhanded him hard across the face, sending him crashing into the cottage wall, where he slumped without a sound. The creature turned to me, red eyes glowing balefully, its dark clothing rent, and smoking with the effects of Lamsal’s gun.” It took two of paces forward, I could hear it crunching through the remains of Jenks' skull.
I remained rigid with panic as the thing leant forward,
grasped me by the lapels of my jacket and hauled me up to its face, without any apparent effort. My feet barely touched the ground, the thing’s breath was foetid in my nostrils, I felt myself gagging at the odour. Yet, over my assailant’s shoulder, I saw a slight movement from Lamsal, saw him raise the weapon again, saw him aiming it at us.
At this point I must admit to have despaired, for there was little doubt that I was doomed. Lamsal fired the gun, I screamed in pain and the creature convulsed in agony, its hands opening, dropping me to the ground. Lamsal feebly and desperately gestured to to me, and I realised I had not attempted to fire my own weapon. I drew it, looking across at Lamsal, to see him mime turning the barrel assembly. I looked down at the assembly and saw markings on the gun barrel that seemed to be set at one end of the range. I twisted it frantically, up to what I hoped was the maximum amount.
The creature had regained some of it faculties and was advancing on Lamsal again, clearly intent on taking out its rage on the person that had caused it so much pain. As it reached for Lamsal, he fired at point blank range, but only a low buzz came from the weapon, I guessed it had been discharged of its lightning store. In my fear, I hastily aimed and fired. I do not know what I had expected, there was no noise and certainly no recoil as from any other hand gun I had ever fired. The weapon held steady on the creature and a blue white bar of light struck the creature in the back, punched through, and exited its torso, barely missing Lamsal. The creature dropped to its knees and folded over onto the ground, cored through, the wound burning black, and smoking.
Lamsal staggered over to me, bleeding profusely from his wounds.
“Again, shoot it again,” he urged. “Aim at the skull!”
I fired again, and the head vanished into a steaming hole in the ground, the smell of which made us both retch. My companion limped over and slumped down at the side of Jenks' crushed ruin of a body.
He remained silent for a second, then said, “We must deal with his remains as well. There can be no trace for anyone to ask questions over. This is imperative.”
He appeared distracted for a moment, then looked me in the eye, nodding his head slightly, looking past me and gesturing with his chin. Without thinking, I turned to see, and a blinding pain enveloped my head. Once again, I knew no more.
I came to sometime later in the alley near my lodgings, with a bump the size of an egg on the back of my head, bloodied, as if I had been assaulted and robbed. Had that indeed been the case, was all I experienced nothing but an imagining while I lay here senseless in a stinking alleyway? It checked through my pockets. My effects remained intact, and I found a folded note.
It read:
I am sorry, for this outrageous betrayal, but we cannot afford to attract any attention. All remains have been disposed of, there is nothing to be examined at all. Jenks will be buried in a paupers grave nearby the asylum. Again, we cannot have any scrutiny from the authorities. For what its worth you have my thanks.
It was signed in a bold hand simply Lamsal.
“That, gentlemen, is the conclusion of my tale. The miscreant known as Spring Heeled Jack, should trouble the good people of this land no more, there is no body to find or examine, he is gone.”
A brief round of murmurs and congratulations, palms slapping on tabletops, rippled around the room.
“What of this Yarnwood, what happened to him? You do not mention him, after your melding of mind,” exclaimed Weems from his seat.
“I do not know what happened to him. As I have inferred, he appeared to be weak bodied and was possibly an invalid of some kind, nevertheless possessed of a prodigious intellect. I had assumed he left the physical aspect of the chase to myself, Lamsal and Jenks. Though I did notice that at several points Lamsal became distracted, seemingly in silent conversation with another. Is it possible they were mind linked, as I “heard” Yarnwood’s voice in my head? Further than that I cannot say.”
Pickman interjected at this point. “We have made extensive enquires since Mr Shadbolt’s return to the capital, and can find no trace of either Yarnwood or Lamsal. Whilst it is most probable that Lamsal was entirely human - he did bleed copiously during the final encounter, after all - he has now entirely vanished, and we are perplexed in the extreme by this turn of events! We can only speculate that the being called Yarnwood has likely fled the country by means unknown, to parts of the globe, as yet undetermined. However, I do not think we have seen the last of his kind. In the coming years we will need to be vigilant. Even if he was helping us on this particular occasion , we cannot expect that will be the case if we encounter them again. Humans, it would seem are easy for them to manipulate in many diverse ways,”
Le Blanc took over. “The derelict mill where Mr Shadbolt was held captive was burned to the ground a few nights after the incident. Admittedly, not an uncommon fate for Mills in that area, as they are often used by tramps and footpads. The local constables examined the ruin of the mill and informed us that as no bodies were found, they have put down as an accident. Mr Jenks has been buried in the asylum graveyard. Our enquiries reveal that a drunken brawl took his life, at least that is the official account.”
“A poor reward for a brave man,” Pickman sighed. “Still, an excellent story, my boy, you have the thanks of the Pickmanites. And what do you plan to do now?”
Shadbolt pondered for a moment. “As you may imagine, my friends, such an experience, such encounters, such revelations have somewhat shaken the very foundations of my beliefs. I have a mind to travel. I believe in India there is a high mountain range the Hindoo call the Himalazias, which they believe is the roof of the world. Some also claim there is a city within these mountains where people can “live forever.” They legend goes that the beings that live there have great knowledge of the past, and great wisdom. Is it possible that this was one of the places Yarnwood described to me, a refuge of his kind? I must admit, I feel a strange compulsion to explore there. I wonder what I may find?”