Alexander Worth sighed as he set the small gyroscope down on his desk, twelve years of his life he had spent on these device, after hundreds of attempts he was close. He had been working on it ever since he left university, he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "God I'm tired," he thought before proceeding to mentally chastised himself for using the Lord's name in vain. Alexander Worth was a quiet man, he worked long hours at the London Institute for Magiscience and they were not bearing fruit quickly enough for him as after all these years his project was still not complete, hundreds of attempts, all failed. He was probably the only person left in the building, it was probably nearer dawn than dusk and he should probably get some rest. But, he was so near a breakthrough, he could hear it calling to him, or it was Michael, the illusion that sometimes appeared to him when he got tired. Michael was the name he gave the shadowy figure that he was too afraid to acknowledge, because he knew if he did he would fall into madness. With a sigh, Alexander started tidying his workspace, each tiny chisel, each small screwdriver, each little mallet was put into its own little clip on the wall. His notes were filed carefully into the overflowing filing cabinet, along with the note on all his other failed experiments. He jotted down some notes to himself for the next time he was in. He grabbed his long coat off the back of the door and removed his hat and cane from the hat rack behind said door. He did his final checks before he left, bolting all the windows, locking all the doors, making sure that the lamps were extinguished and that no experiments had been left running by mistake. Satisfied, he left.
Alexander walked down the streets, coat buttoned tight against the chilling autumnal air, hands thrust in pocket to prevent them from freezing. While he had been at work the first autumn fog had rolled up the Thames and was smothering everything in the city.
Suddenly, a shrill scream rent the air, followed closely by a bubbling, then harsh, low laughter. Alexander froze, he was not a fighter, but that scream came from a woman, or a child, he was honour bound to help. He readied his pistol, hoping he would not have to fire it, as he did not know how to use a gun.
The sight that greeted Alexander was a macabre one that made him freeze, on the ground lying in a pool of her own blood was a woman, a maid by looks of her black and white garments. Standing over her corpse was a man dressed in clothes that would have once been considered smart, he was in a top hat, long black coat, shirt, collar, black tie and black trousers, but the clothing was filthy and torn, like an aristocrat fallen on hard time. He was gaunt, with strangely iridescent eyes that looked like they had a light behind them, his filthy, straggly, jet black hair was longer than fashion dictated (as far as Alexander interpreted fashion) and his nails were long, yellowed and talon like, now covered in blood, the blood was slowly dripping onto the floor. The figure grinned at Alexander, showing blood stained teeth, "lovely night for a bite to eat," he said in a low, croaky voice before jumping over the ten foot wall behind him.
Alexander knelt next to the young maid, she was dead, her throat slit by some sharp blade, or the figure's nails. Alexander was hesitant to think of it as a he, as no man would attack a defenceless woman, even at this ungodly hour and no man would ever eat another human, it was a monster of some kind, but Alexander could not remember any such creature from his studies at school, fifteen years ago now. The maid's chest appeared to have been pulled apart by some strength that the creature did not appear to have, but must have to cause the injuries. Horrified by the sight, Alexander ran and ran and ran, ran as fast as he could, ran until he was lost, ran until his breath burnt his throat.
When Alexander was unable to run any further, he sank to the ground and lost his last meal into the gutter, he was now in an area of London he had never visited, but he could see landmarks through the hazy, smog filled skies, the Bell Tower of the Palace of Westminster, backlit by thousands upon thousands of street lamps reared like a finger thrust through the mist, the location of the horizon told Alexander he was somewhere in the East End. He looked around himself at the gridiron streets, rows upon rows of neat little houses, labourers houses, the workers, who make Britain's capital the wonder it was, all blissfully unaware of the monster that roamed their streets, for if they did they would surely tear the city apart to insure the safety of their children and womenfolk.
"What a predicament," Michael commented, his suddenly presence startling Alexander, there was none of usual playfulness, he appeared to be standing next to Alexander, "you should do something." Alexander ignored his sleep deprived mind trick, "but what can you do? Will the Aurors take you seriously if you go to them talking about a torn up maid and that thing," he spoke with contempt in his voice, "of course," he said suddenly changing his tone, a mocking smile dancing on his lips. "You could hunt it yourself, find it, track it, all you need is to find a way to track it and you are no tracker and that thing can really jump. He's like one of those creature in the southern lands what were they called? Oh, it doesn't matter, just tell the Aurors, they can deal with it, it's their job. Now, which way to the Aurors? Why did I ask you, we both know you're lost."
And he was, he knew which side of the Thames he was on, but not where in London and he had lost sight of the Clock Tower as the mist thickened around him, twisting like fingers as it reached for him. He wandered the roads, up alleys, through gaps between buildings barely wide enough for a man and down through avenues, Michael appearing ahead of him and goading him on, or insulting him, or just laughing. Eventually, Alexander burst out of the workers' quarters and onto Oxford Street, normally busy with rich shoppers buying fine clothing, now empty except for homeless people, who wandered studying the street, hoping for a shiny penny or two to pay for their breakfasts. "What a sad waste," Michael said, nothing but a voice in the wind, or in Alexander's head, "humans do such dreadful things to each other, they fight, steal and kill. Then they realise they have no rules, so they make rules to justify their fighting, killing and stealing, sometimes they do it for something as trivial as their uncaring imaginary friend." Alexander spun, finally having enough of his imaginary stalker, but Michael was nowhere to be seen.
Alexander walked down Oxford Street, through the higher end of central London until he finally reached his family home, 12 Heinlein Place, of course, 12 Heinlein place is on no maps and the houses stop after the eleventh townhouse. But, that did not worry Alexander, he walked up to the eleventh townhouse and then up to the wall next to it which segregated the artisans and business folk that lived in Heinlein from the riffraff, that wall just happened to be a clockmaker's workshop. Alexander drew his key and held it out in front of himself and inserted it into a hole in the brickwork, he turned the key and a door appeared marked with a brass twelve, he opened the door and stepped inside.
After hanging his coat and hat, changing his shoes for carpet slippers and putting his cane in the umbrella stand, before breaking from his usual pattern, something that would usually horrify him. He passed straight by the kitchen and the pantry and instead, he walked instead straight for his bookshelf lined study. Once inside he opened the drinks cabinet and took out the decanter of strong sherry that was usually reserved for special occasions, he then took out a tumbler, poured a glass and downed it in one shot, the alcohol burning his throat. He was about to pour another when a voice stopped him, "tsk tsk, if you drink away your horror what's to say you won't forget and then you won't be able to talk to the Aurors and that young lady will never find justice."
Alexander put the decanter back in the cupboard and picked up the tumbler, he turned and walked past Michael, he left the tumbler in the kitchen for the maid to clean. He then took extra care as he did his usual checks before bed, all the windows were locked, all the doors were sealed up tight and all the lamps were extinguished. His checks complete Alexander prepared himself for bed.