A Study in Ebony

The Diary of a Dead Nurse

13 October 1898

Dear diary,

I wish everything I had written yesterday had been a mere fever dream. I wish I could simply wake up in the morning and tell myself that the things I experienced yesterday were simply the delusions of an overworked mind. I had been telling myself in the morning that the entire thing is a crooked lie — either a delusion produced by my mind, or a terrible prank played at my expense. A part of me had even been hoping that some sort of explanation would be provided to me when I returned to the hospital to return the gown they had lent me. I had been terribly wrong. Today, the matter has worsened by far.

I woke up to a peculiar rhythm today, and it took me a while to recall the origin of that beat. I had been hoping that the muttered incantations would subside in my memory and eventually be forgotten, but in the wee hours of the morning I awoke to the hum running riot in my head. I tried shaking my head, but it wouldn't work. I attempted to return to sleep, but my body was not the least bit fatigued at the moment, even though it was an ungodly hour of the morning and the sun had not risen yet.

Finally admitting defeat to my wakefulness, I got up and trudged to the toilet to complete my ablutions. It took me a while — primarily because my capacity for thought had been compromised by the relentless recitation reverberating inside my skull with a syllable-perfect precision — but I was finally able to relieve, bathe and prepare myself for the day.

I walked out of Mr. Taylor's establishment in the wee hours of the dawn. For some reason, my body felt very fresh, as though it had been gifted several hours of sleep. The fatigue of yesterday was no longer affecting it. But my mind felt strained and tired.

I had been hoping that a brisk walk in the cobbled streets would dispel the gnawing incantation in my head, but this was not to be. It followed me around, mocking me with its persistence. The words were perfectly clear to me, repeated exactly in my thoughts, their precision rendering them unbearably banal and annoying. At one point, my head felt so heavy with the rhythm that I almost regurgitated the contents of my belly. Fortunately, there was nothing in my belly to regurgitate.

I returned in time to the lodging, when the sun had risen. Mr. Taylor saw me walk in from the street and enter the mess room the boarders sit in for breakfast and supper. No one else had arrived yet, and the only other person in the room was Mr. Taylor himself. He stared at me with a slight expression of awe. He had never seen a boarder wake up and walk the streets of London this early in the morning.

"Good morning, Mr. Taylor." I said cheerfully, sitting myself down at the mess table. "I am famished."

Mr. Taylor nodded with urgency, quickly hurrying with the breakfast preparations.

I sat and waited for breakfast to be served, and without realizing it, I had begun to rap my knuckle on the table surface. It was only when Mr. Taylor gave me a look that I realized I had been doing so, and immediately ceased my action. But the rhythm I had been rapping to remained fresh in my memory. It was the same rhythm that had denied me peace of mind ever since I had entered that accursed Mr. Broker's room.

"Kuth naag whszipfr suwhzaus thwa?"

I had been rapping this rhythm on the table, my mind fixed on the words. I felt a helpless pall come over me — how would I ever be rid of this nightmarish chant?

I ate in silence, and left quickly after. It was not lost on me that I had clothes to return, and that I had been dismissed from my berth at the hospital. I had to look for some other source of employment, and I could not afford to tarry in this.

———

After breakfast, I returned to my room and fetched my hospital gown. I did not delay this duty, making haste to the hospital where I had been employed in menial work for just a week. I would not miss this place, I thought to myself, watching the building stand before me. There was a nasty clinical smell to it, and I shivered as I thought of having to go in.