Death's Puppeteer

March-July 1909

Enoch's late night conversations with the dead happened at least once and more often than not twice, a week by the time March 1909 came around. It was almost a hunger that grew in Enoch every time he used his power, to repeat it. But even six months after the first time he'd done it, it had never brought as much pride and satisfaction as it had done right under his father's nose. So he resolved to do it again.

Enoch had taken up the habit of preserving the grisly organs in jars of formaldehyde and pickling solution and keeping them hidden in his room with his homunculi instead of the funeral parlour to reduce the chance of discovery. Enough time had passed that Enoch was confident that suspicion would not fall on him if he were to do it again, after all, it would seem too fantastical to believe that a teenager could have brought a dead person back to life it had been hard enough to comprehend for himself when he'd first discovered it.

It was the first business the O'Connors had had in over a week when they were hired to oversee the funeral arrangements for a young worker who had fallen dead of a malignant tumour. The funeral business, of all businesses, was growing to be a competitive market as more and more began to open doors throughout London. Enoch and his mother had both overheard a heated discussion only days previous between Owen and Uriah about dropping their rates. One which Owen had come out victorious in arguing that while Uriah did not have a family to support, he had two children and a wife to provide for and couldn't afford to drop his prices any further. As the elder brother, he stood his ground to make the executive decision for the partnership.
So when a grieving family came to their doors after the death of their twenty-two year old son, Uriah and Owen had gone to every inconvenience to provide as smooth a service as they were able.

Enoch saw none of this. The possible repercussions of his actions did not even enter his head as the door closed behind the young widow and her in-laws as they trudged out into the gloomy afternoon.

"Right then…straight on it." Uriah clapped his hands as he closed the door and crossed the room in long strides to wave his hand in front of Enoch's face who had been staring off into space. "Enoch, look alive...I know, ye can't 'elp it." He laughed at his own joke which only earned a groan from his nephew as he pushed himself off the stool in the corner where he had been sitting for the last hour.

"You're in 'igh spirits, Uriah." Owen looked up from where he stood beside the body and smirked over at his brother in amusement.

"Why shouldn' I be? First customer in a week…should celebrate it."

"Business ain't that bad…Enoch, come and take over 'ere."

Enoch shook his head to himself at the conversation and his uncle's ever cheery sarcasm as he crossed the room to take his father's position at the cadaver. He had only had minutes to work out the logistics of what he was about to attempt and it relied largely on not being watched.
The scalpel felt cool in his hand as he picked it up and began to silently make the necessary incisions to insert the tubes and syringes to pump the body with fluid. The man had been dead for a minimum of twelve hours judging by the coagulated blood that would not flow freely from any cuts he made. That was a point in Enoch's favour and would help to hide evidence of foul play a lot easier. He could cover up the evidence from resurrections he performed by cover of night easily enough and hadn't been discovered yet apart from one occasion when his father had commented on a peculiar cut.

It was a full hour into the embalming procedure when Enoch got his chance. Uriah had stepped outside for a few minutes to light his pipe and his father had disappeared into the back of the shop to check the coffin for sizing. The body had been connected now with rubber tubes and needles to a large industrial pump that steadily worked to fill and inflate the body with embalming fluid to replace the blood. Enoch was left massaging the joints and limbs to ensure an even distribution when he seized his opportunity.

One hand slipped into his pocket and closed around the dry pig's heart he had concealed there as clear fluid ran out of the dead man's side when Enoch forced his other hand inside to grope around for the heart. He had only just felt the familiar lurch inside the dead chest as its heart began to beat before he had to pull his hand free and hurry towards the other side of the shop when the office door creaked on its hinges and his father reappeared.

"Enoch, why aren't y-"

"I needed a drink." Enoch cut his father off from his position at the far end of the room holding a cup in his free hand and trying to appear as casual as he could with his other hand planted firmly in his pocket.

No sooner had his father approached the corpse and touched one long finger to its shoulder than it shot rigidly uprightly and stared at Owen O'Connor.

Both the dead and the living man appeared as terrified as the other. All colour drained from Owen's face so rapidly that he closely resembled the corpse for a moment as they both suddenly shouted in shock.

"What's goi-bloody 'ell!" The door clattered open with a bang as Uriah stormed in at the noise and another softer thump sounded as his pipe hit the wooden floor with a shower of singeing tobacco. He staggered backwards so violently his back connected hard with the door and nearly sent him falling to the floor while Owen was swaying unsteadily on his feet as he stumbled backwards.

That was enough. Enoch slackened his hold on the heart in his pocket and let it drop to the bottom of the fabric as he broke the connection that kept the two hearts beating. As suddenly as it had sat up, the body went limp and with a final low groan, collapsed forward on itself and left one limp arm hanging heavily off the table.

xxxXxxx

From that day on, Uriah and Owen took new precautions between them. After so many years in the trade, they had for the first time come up against something neither of them could explain. Whilst Enoch and one of the men set about embalming the body, the other would stand close by the corpse' head with a fire poker or a block of wood held ready just in case.

This amused Enoch more than anything and he had been unable to hold back a laugh the first time his uncle had appeared warily holding a heavy pot as if he were ready to smash the already dead man over the head with it.
"What's that s'posed ta do if 'e's dead already?"

"Buy us time…"

"Don't fink 'e'll be that fast..."

"Well 'ow do you explain it then, Enoch? Open ta ideas 'ere, mate…"

Enoch just scoffed and shook his head, choosing rather to evade the question and pretend that it was his uncle being the irrational one.

Enoch's luck did not begin to change for another few months on one of what he had taken to calling his supply trips.

It was an unusually warm summer night in June, so much so that Enoch was sweating beneath his long coat and his cap pulled low over his head was bothering him more than ever in the dark. He only wore them to carry the spoils of his expedition and hide his face better to anyone who might catch him hurrying down a street.
He'd certainly been seen before, running out of sight into shortcuts he knew well, though was sure he'd never been recognised. Besides, London was full of thieves trying to burgle houses in the night, he was hardly out of place.

The stench reached him before the sight as he cut through someone's tiny makeshift stable between alleyways. It was less of a stable and more of a poor tin shelter held up flimsily with wooden beams and posts just wide enough to house a thin horse. The smell was terrible and the blood in the air was almost tangible as he carefully picked his way over piles of manure and promptly stumbled.

Biting back a curse, Enoch caught himself on his hands and knees on the dirty ground. His hand had landed in something wet and he didn't need to see it to know what it was as his eyes fell on the large black shape he had fallen over. The horse lay motionless on the ground, its four legs splayed at awkward angles and its formally grey fur was drenched in scarlet blood. Even Enoch gagged at the sight and pulled the collar of his coat up over his nose against the smell. The poor creature looked old and thin and probably would have been on death's door anyway were it not for the claw like gashes that had almost torn it in two.
Enoch couldn't even begin to think what could have caused that injury. There were few enough animals in the city as it were, let alone anything wild or large enough to have tried to eat a horse. Unless something had escaped from a zoo…but that was hardly likely.

He wondered if he could bring it back, but for once hesitated at the thought of trying. He had failed before, when a corpse was too mangled to revive, and how much pain would the miserable creature be in if he did? That was cruel even by Enoch's low standards. As he stared at the gashes, the boy was filled with a peculiar sense of sudden dread that he couldn't explain and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. It took a lot to disturb Enoch O'Connor.

Partially in an effort to dissuade the unsettling feeling that had suddenly overcome him, Enoch made his move. The thing was dead anyway. He would never have killed such a large animal in cold blood but there was no harm in taking what it had no use for anymore.
He pulled a knife from his pocket and moved beside the horse's stomach. There was little need for the knife at all, the job had been thoroughly done anyway by whatever had killed it. Crouching on the balls of his feet, Enoch rolled up his sleeves and drew in a long breath before reaching inside the corpse. It took several full minutes before he finally found the heart inside and was mildly surprised to find it still completely intact as he pulled his hands free and held it up to the light. To the light?

"Move and I'll kill yeh."

Enoch's blood ran cold and he stayed perfectly still where he crouched. Around him flooded the flickering light of a lantern against his back. Glancing down at the shadow cast beside him over the glistening neck of the horse he saw the shape of a pitchfork he was sure was being held close to his back. Paralysing fear shot down his spine as his imagination ran wild and he imagined he could feel the prongs poking his back.

"What've ye done to my horse?"

The question was low and measured, strangely calm for a man who had just found his horse butchered behind his house. But when Enoch didn't answer he really did feel the pitchfork prod his back and sucked in a breath in response.
"Answer me or I'll have you in jail 'fore you can blink!"

If he hadn't already been paralysed with fear, Enoch would have been now. He knew that voice. Had heard that voice many times working in a funeral parlour. Of all houses to be caught at, it would have to be a police officer.
"I didn't." He spoke slowly, and for the first time in his sixteen years made a conscious effort to enunciate his words to try and disguise his very Cockney accent and his voice. It didn't work very well and only resulted in adding a strange slur to his voice. "I didn't kill it. Wasn't me."

"Hands up then."

When Enoch still didn't move, he felt the fork poke his hand again threateningly and the deep tones of the policeman shout behind him. "Now!"

There was nothing for it. He couldn't run and jump the fence without being caught, the man was too close to him. If he resisted, he'd either be run through or seized and found out anyway. Maybe he could hide his identity a little longer this way. Slowly, Enoch dropped his head down towards his chest and raised both hands drenched in blood up to the elbows.
"I didn't kill it."
The evidence against him was damning, he wasn't naïve enough to expect anyone to believe him in these circumstances. He had left his bloodied knife on top of the body and in his right hand, as he raised it, was the animal's heart large, red and unmistakeable.

He closed his eyes and waited, his breaths beginning to come short and fast in his sheer panic as it grew by the second. He heard the policeman behind him let out a disgusted groan and a moment later the fork prodded his back harder and the voice became louder, more aggressive.
"Turn around now! Now!"

It was turn around or die here. Show his face or be run through and as dead as the horse at his feet.
The boy kept his hands raised defencelessly, still holding the heart and slowly started to push himself to his feet, turning as slowly as he possibly dared as he did so.

The light fell over his face, though it was still partly cloaked by his peaked cap. It felt like fire, harsh, hot and damning. His skin, already deathly white had been made all the more ghostlike in his fear and coupled with the circles ringing his eyes made darker by the shadow of his cap, he looked altogether skeletal.

"Demon!"

Of all things that Enoch had been expecting to happen, his captor to stagger backwards and lose his ground was not one of them. But he didn't think twice about it and seized his chance to run. His long legs leapt over the dead horse and scrambled over the fence on the other side of the makeshift shelter in seconds. He landed hard on his shoulder on the pavement but didn't stop to dwell on the pain as he scrambled to his feet and bolted as fast as he could.

Enoch didn't stop until he reached the docks by the river. His sides burned painfully with the exertion and his face that had moments ago been deathly white flushed hot. He dropped to his knees at the edge of the Thames exhausted and sat back on his heels. Demon. The superstitious policeman had called him a demon. Enoch knew very well that he didn't look normal, at best he looked unhealthy, but he didn't think he was that strange. But he was covered in blood and was still holding the horse's heart in his hand, he had to give the man that much, and it had distracted him suitably enough to allow Enoch to escape.
He looked down at his hand, still curled around the heart that had caused him all the trouble. He had been too tempted by opportunity when he could have simply continued on to the slaughterhouse. He'd never been caught there before.
His expression soured and before he really knew what he was doing, Enoch had hurled the organ into the river. He would go back home empty handed with enough to worry about without thinking about hiding another heart.

The grisly sight of the horse seemed branded to his eyelids as he closed his eyes and look long breaths to calm himself down a little. He still couldn't explain the peculiar sense of dread he had felt that seemed to touch him to his core.

Enoch sighed and shrugged off his coat that was now filthy with dirt and blood and cast it aside. He didn't want to have to explain its condition to his mother. Leaning forward over the water, he bent to wash his arms in the filth that was the Thames. Though murky and disgusting the water was, the mood still cast a reflection on the surface and as he scrubbed his arms free of blood, Enoch's eyes wandered to his wavery face reflected back at him. Had he been recognised? Did the man who he was and if not, would there be drawings of him around the city in the next day or so? How long would it be before his secret really was out? Enoch wasn't even sure if he'd rather be known as a livestock killer than what he really was.
Enoch stared at his pale face reflected in the water and then down at his hands and not for the first time wondered, who exactly was he?

xxxXxxx

"My son didn't so much as leave 'is room last night, I'll 'ave you know and 'e ain't no 'orse killer either." Valentine O'Connor drew herself up to her thoroughly unimposing full height and stared down the policeman at her door indignantly. Why this man would ever think that Enoch would have been trespassing on his property in the middle of the night, she didn't understand and was not going to have such horrible accusations against her family.

"M'am, I'd just like to have a word with your husband, I did not say any such thing about horse killing-"

"I saw the notice meself this mornin', don't you be finkin' Enoch done it. 'E's a good boy."

"I have no doubt, Mrs. O'Connor…" The constable sighed and impatiently tapped his foot on the doorstep as he craned his neck to try and see into the small house. "If I may just speak with your husb-"

"Valentine? What's going on?"

The woman turned on her heel as her husband suddenly appeared at her shoulder adjusting his bracers over his white shirt and frowning slightly at the sight of the constable.
"Mornin', Constable…my services required today?"

"That's not why I've come, Mr. O'Connor, you see-"

"They fink Enoch was trespassin' last night." Valentine interrupted as her desire to defend her son overcame her desire to be polite.

"What?"

"With all due respect, I never said any such thing. One of our officers reported a disturbance in the early hours of this morning. One of his horses was killed."

"What's that gotta do wiv my son?" Owen snapped bluntly and squared his jaw. His hands fell from the clasp of his bracers and crossed over his lean chest as he looked between his wife and the chief constable.

From within the pocket of his black trenchcoat, Constable Chalmers drew a folded piece of paper and handed it over to the undertaker. "This is the description he gave of the boy he caught in the act. He ran away before he could be apprehended. I'm simply asking if you know where your son was early this morning and if he matches this description. Your cooperation will be much appreciated, we can't have a lads running around killing people's animals."

Owen frowned and glanced down at his wife who was looking quite fiercely back at him as if daring him to confirm the description as he unfolded the paper.
The artist's impression was, to Owen's quiet relief, quite vague. The young man sketched in pencil roughly was wearing a hat and there were few distinctive features that could confirm whether it was Enoch or not. However, the one feature that to Owen's dismay fit Enoch very well was the eyes. They had been drawn with dark circles surrounding them like a mask. But if whoever it was had been wearing a hat, Owen tried to reason with himself, surely anyone could have appeared that way in the right light.

He handed the paper back and shook his head firmly before leaning one hand on the old doorframe.
"Can't be my son. 'E didn' leave 'is room and 'e sure as 'ell wouldn't kill any 'orses. In our profession we don't kill anyfin ourselves."

The constable looked less than satisfied as he tucked the picture back into his pocket and looked between the couple who wore very similar expressions of indignation now. "…Thank you…Mr. O'Connor. Your son wouldn't be available now, would he?"

"'E's washin' up. We 'ave a job ta do this mornin'." Owen said immediately, and truthfully as he'd just made sure that Enoch was indeed cleaning up for the funeral. "I know my boy and that picture ain't of 'im."

xxxXxxx

Enoch felt watched. He had seen the pictures of himself that had been scattered around and even saw the suspicion in his own father's eyes when they worked together. But it was more than that. He could be in a crowd of people where surely at least one person was looking at him quite naturally and yet feel the hair rise on the back of his neck when he was left alone walking or even in the funeral parlour.

He hadn't tried to use any hearts bigger than that of a dog since his failed attempt to find more and was only satisfying the urge to use his power through resurrecting stupid pigeons that smashed into the windows or making homunculi in the security of his room. He felt stifled, like he suddenly could no longer breathe in the smoggy air he'd grown up in. As competition in their business continued to rise, and word spread about the O'Connor's recent history, income suffered. What had formally been a thriving funeral trade, and the leading one in this part of London, had dwindled to one that people avoided if they could.

Whole days passed by when Enoch would only emerge from his room for meals and when his sister would come running along the landing and knock her little hand on his door.
It felt better to share his secrets with Faith, even if she wasn't even four years old yet. She was the one person in the world Enoch didn't feel the need to hide from like a coward. Behind the backs of their parents in corners of the house he would make his homunculi dance and even juggle bottle caps and stones for her benefit as long as she understood what keeping a secret meant.

Enoch had been left alone with her when their mother stepped out to the markets. He wasn't needed in the funeral parlour today, and even Uriah had taken the day off to go out of the city during the lack of business brought their way.

Enoch sighed and tossed the crust of his slice of bread out of the kitchen window to the birds and rats outside and left the window open to let a breeze into the warm house.

"Enoch, Enoch, do it?" Faith came running through the kitchen doorway just as Enoch was stepping through in the other direction. He barely caught himself from stumbling over her and reached down to ruffle her blonde curls on the way past.

"Not now, Faith. I got fings ta do."

"Please? Please?" The little girl whined, running along behind her brother as he sidled towards the stairs.

Enoch sighed and stopped with one foot on the creaking stairs. He raised his eyebrows and stared down at her as she started to tug on his trouser leg and stared imploringly up at him. He didn't really have anything important he wanted to do. He only wanted to take advantage of not being badgered to come out of his room.

"Fine…come on then." The young man shook his head and smiled. Stepping off the stair he crouched in front of his sister and held out his arms behind him. Faith smiled happily as she got her way and eagerly climbed onto her back, wrapping her arms around his neck as Enoch picked her up.

He took the stairs two at a time and they creaked under his weight as he carried Faith up to the second floor landing and to his bedroom door where he set her down on her feet and gave her a gentle shove down the hall. "Go get it and I'll do it for ye."

The door swung open at his push and Enoch rubbed the back of his neck where his curly hair was tickling the nape it just reached at the back. He nudged aside the stool drawn out from the little table by the wall and sat on its surface instead. Instinctively his eyes were drawn to the floorboards beneath his bed across the small space and only snapped out of it when Faith's feet pattered down the wooden floor and into his room.

In her arms she clutched the doll he had given her for her last birthday which now wore a simple dress that their mother had made. Eagerly she handed it over to her brother who had dropped to his knees on the floor to be level with her.
"Right…'ere you go then…"

Enoch smiled in amusement at his sister's excited face as he pressed his thumb firmly to the middle of the doll where the heart of a mouse was concealed. His hand tingled and his thumb throbbed as energy rushed through it and into the doll which jerked in his hand and started to struggle to be free.

Faith laughed and looked from the doll to her big brother with a look of such wonderment and adoration that it warmed even his cool heart. Other might call him a freak and a demon if they knew what he really did, but Faith, naïve, innocent little Faith, saw nothing but the best in him. Enoch smiled a wide, genuine smile that lit up his entire face and let the doll go where it started to twirl and skip in her new attire around the little girl.

"…'old on a minute…" Enoch smirked and moved away from Faith. He turned his back as he pushed aside his bed and pried up the loose floorboards to find one of his little clay men. Trying to move as fast as possible to avoid Faith getting curious and seeing exactly what he had to do, Enoch pulled from a jar a little mouse hard and pried and pushed until the clay surrounded it.
He dropped the inanimate homunculus into his lap and replaced the floorboard before turning around and sitting cross legged in front of his sister. He pressed his thumb again to the thumb of the clay man which leapt to life just as they always did.

Enoch whistled, not unlike calling a dog to him, and the little clay soldier stood at attention as its kindred ran over from Faith to join him.
"Well, go on." Enoch said, raising an eyebrow and prodded his newest homunculus which seemed to get the message and performed a comical sort of bow to Faith's doll.
Before their matching blue eyes they'd inherited from their mother, the two dolls joined hands and started to dance a clumsy little dance around the small space of Enoch's room as if they were at a party of their own.

"You'll get ta dance when ye big enough too, Faith."

Faith was so entranced by the clumsily dancing dolls that she pushed herself to her feet and started to try to copy them. Enoch burst out laughing at the sight as she spun on the spot and beamed delightedly at what she only knew of as toys.

For a few minutes Enoch could forget any money troubles they were starting to have and any horrible feelings of being watched wherever he went. He could pretend that he didn't know his father was doubting his innocence of killing that horse and that he was at risk of being found out. For a few minutes, Enoch could be happy that at least he made his sister smile, that there was some good in his gift beyond selfish amusement.

Until…

"What the bloody 'ell is that?"