Dear Dean Devereux
I am disheartened to have to inform you of the cancellation of the holy matrimony of Giles Sinclair and Selina Beaumont on the 14th of March 1834 on account of both of their deaths. Yesterday morning their neighbours reported a rotting smell to the authorities, who entered the house to find that both of their corpses were in the master bedroom on the second floor. Both cadavers had sustained odd injuries and are going in for a detailed autopsy as soon as possible. The body of Giles has been severely lacerated, also upon first inspection it seems as if the corpse has been subject to either cannibalism or necrophagous. The case of Selina however, is more of an oddity. She had all the signs of dying of extreme brain damage and concussion, but no knuckle bruising was found on Giles at all. The main reason I sent you this letter however, was the fact that Giles left a hand written note addressed to you, which I will now relay.
I, Giles Sinclair am writing my story to clear all confusion and doubt about the case that will eventuate from this situation. My fiancé, Selina was the beautiful daughter of Lord Beaumont, a man of considerable status and fortune. Selina was highly regarded throughout York as one of the fairest young women in the city; because of this reputation she had many suitors. Selina was a woman of angelic grace and beauty, a glance from her would mesmerise even the most abstinent man. Like any other man, I was drunk on her beauty and elegance and sought to possess her for myself. Perhaps it was my born gift for persuasion or just my persistence, but in the end I convinced Selina’s father of my worth as a partner, we were to be married the next year. After recent contemplations on the reasoning of Selina and her father as to why they would have chosen me over many other possible suitors, I believe it to be a case of financial stability. My father had died three years previously of pneumonia and had left a significantly large amount of money in my name, this combined with my doctorate in Natural philosophy promised a prosperous and comfortable future for the Duke’s daughter. My love for Selina was complete and consuming; my fascination in her was becoming one of morbidity.
As you can imagine, my heart was eviscerated when I found out that she was living a secret life of infidelity. I didn’t alert her of my knowledge or give any obvious attention to her actions for three months, not because I was content with being a wittol, but because I was readying a plan that I originally thought would forever fix the problem. The plan itself was entirely complex and sounded preposterous, but through a combination of years of natural philosophy and months of research into the mythical, I had composed a seemingly effective method of refashioning a living being’s mind to suit the craftsman’s wishes. The method of the plan however, was surprisingly simple, although I will pay mind not to outline how to recreate the effects as to save others from the fate I have made for myself.
One night when the moon was new and the streets were devoid of light, my Selina was walking down a narrow street on her way back from one of her many devoted courtesans, to come home to her seemingly clueless fiancé. I had been awaiting her return, perched upon a darkened ledge; I was embraced by the shadows and was entirely hidden from sight. I heard her breath, it had hastened is if by knowledge of her hidden assailant; I heard the rapping of her shoes upon stone quicken as she hurried to reach safety.
I tensed to pounce.
I had seen a momentary flash of recognition and terror upon her face as I leapt out of the enveloping penumbra, but terror was instantaneously replaced by relaxation; her unconscious body fell to the floor.
I toiled vigilantly on my darling Selina in my office for the next two days, keeping her from waking by holding her in a state of chemically induced anaesthesia. The surgery was an arduous task, it could have surely been done faster and without as much effort, but I paid painstaking amounts of attention to even the most minute detail; for before then, an operation to alter the thinking mind was merely theoretical. I had finished, hands shaking and breath ragged. I transported the limp body of Selina to her bedroom, she was far from stirring, and it’d be a fair while before she awoke. I had paced the hall outside of where she laid, reflecting on the surgery and hoping for a success.
The next day was spent idly, waiting and preparing for a reborn Selina. I retired to my own personal chambers for the night and slept for barely an hour when I heard an incessant wailing accompanied by dull thuds that sounded like someone throwing themselves against a wall. My heart sank into my chest.
It was Selina’s voice.
With an immense feeling of trepidation, I crept along the dark halls of the old house. The fearsome sounds of anguish and fury rocked my body. As I neared the door, I tripped and fell out of ignorance to my own footing. Despite the amplified din of pain from behind the door, my blunder sent a shockwave of deafening silence. All sound stopped. The only sound in the house was that of my heart and breath, seemingly thunderous in sound. The creature behind the door sensed this and with full force, flung itself at the door. I ran at full velocity towards my room and slammed the door behind me. For the last hour or so, I’ve been writing this note which I wish to be sent to the Dean of the church in which I was meant to marry Selina in. The beast stopped throwing itself against the door, it lost interest in pursuing me and I’m praying that I’ll be safe for now. The monster that now stalks Selina’s room is no longer my fiancé, but a vestige of what she once was. All beauty was stripped of her; all that’s left now is a husk devoid of the soul that once embodied the mortal flesh. In trying to keep the one thing I loved to myself, I lost her entirely; leaving myself with a horrific mockery.
I am consumed by guilt.
I cannot withstand the torturous howls of my miscreation.
The room will purge me of my loss.
The monstrosity will be my self-created finale.
Yours Sincerely
Father John
