When his sight came back, he was no longer out on the dark street. It was bright and it was warm. He was looking straight up to a ceiling. A gas light burned brightly to one side, and the glare started to make him see colours. His eyes were itchy. He tried to blink and move his gaze, but he could do neither. He was paralysed completely. Not even his eyes would move. Nothing moved. He began to fear that he had been hurt, and he hoped that he was just dreaming. His eyes remained trained on the ceiling for what seemed like hours.
Footsteps then finally clunked across, what sounded like, a wooden floor. They were passing alongside the man, but he couldn’t turn to see who was making them. They stopped. He could hear breathing. The footsteps started up again and they made their way ever closer to the man. They stopped again, this time very close to the man’s side. A figured leaned over him, but he couldn’t make out the face. The figure was silhouetted by the gas light, which was directly behind him. The figure then disappeared.
“It has been long enough, so I will assume that you can hear me,” said a strange voice. The voice had a slight accent. Possibly eastern European. “Do not try to move, as you will not be able to anyway. Save yourself the distress at this time. There will be plenty of opportunity to be terrified later. For now, let me do you the courtesy of explaining what is happening to you. And why. I have injected you with a serum of my own imagination and hard dedicated research. It has left you in no fit state. In actual fact, it has rendered you physically dead. Well not totally. I do not know if you are awake yet, although I am hoping you are. Your mind is working fine. You can hear, you can think. You can see, you can feel pain, unfortunately for you, and you can wish to God to save you all you like. But your body, on the other hand, does not work at all. Your heart rate is slow, and your breathing is shallow. To the outside world, you appear dead. Do not worry, though. The serum will wear off in time. And you will return to your normal pointless little self again. Happy, poor, wretched.”
The footsteps started to move around the room. Then they stopped, followed by an unknown squeaking noise.
“However, if something were to happen to you before the serum wears off, then you are in a bit of trouble, are you not? Please do not try to answer, it is of no use you putting in the effort. I see that you are a desperately poor fool. You live in shit and you dress in shit. But you like your books. I have seen your books. You have no food for your children, but you have money for books. Are they more important than maintaining the life of your offspring? Do they hold more in your heart than seeing your loved ones have a better life? You selfish fool. But this is not about that. I do not care if your family live or die. If you wish to starve them, then fine. Let it be. What I enjoy is making horror. We have something in common there I see. You like to read horror books. Edgar Allan Poe. Is that not right? He is your favourite? Well, I like a man who enjoys horror as much as I do. That is why you are here. For me to do you a little favour. I am making you the star of your own horror story. You will not only be the main character, but you will also have the best seat in the house to watch it performed live before you.”
The man could feel panic taking over him. But it was only in his mind. His heart did not start to race, as it couldn’t. Adrenaline did not help him to break this stasis. He was trapped in his own mind, listening to his fate.
“You are no longer in Spitalfields. You are no longer in London. You are here in my home. I welcome you. You are not known here. You were just merely a poor dead peasant found slumped in my spectacular garden. I have saved your body from the anatomist, who would pay a pretty penny for an unknown person like yourself. No one around here would claim your body. But I have. Am I not a very gracious host? In order to protect you from the dissection table, I have kindly agreed to pay for your burial, tomorrow. If the serum wears off in time, you can make a miraculous recovery and return from the dead. If not, then, well. But let us not worry too much about that.”
The figure strode across the room to the lifeless man. There was a knocking noise, which was very loud and extremely close to the man’s ear.
“I wish you could see what a nice coffin you are laid in. It is not too fancy, but far above what you would ever normally be allowed to have. I have confidence that you will not escape from the grave in time. To do so requires determination and a high quality of character. I just do not think you have it in you. You are far too selfish. So I am a gambling man. I will tell you my name. If you make it out, you can tell on me. But, I am confident that you do not have it in you.”
The silhouette appeared again above the man’s face. It hovered above him for a few seconds.
“Dr Demontig. At your service.”
Demontig reached out a hand towards the man’s face. He gently pulled the man’s eyelids shut.
“Goodnight,” he whispered.
The night was long and very cold. The man could feel the bitterness in the air, and it hurt. He could not shiver and he could not curl himself up. He just felt pain running up and down his body. His head ached and his mind raced nonstop. The room he was in was still. Dr Demontig had left and now the man was all alone in his mental oubliette. The wind outside rushed by the windows and howled long through the night. The man couldn’t sleep. He just thought about his life and his loved ones. He vowed to himself that he would be courageous and strong. He would see that this Dr Demontig would receive the proper payment for his cruel treatment.
Halfway through the night, the door to the room whined as it slowly opened. Soft footsteps shuffled around the room in various directions. The man’s eyelids were once again opened, and a lit candle was waved in front of his eyes. All he could see were blue and red flashes as the candle light had shocked his vision.
He heard Dr Demontig clear his throat before he started to speak.
“I am far too excited to sleep. I am so looking forward to your funeral tomorrow. I have been standing at my wardrobe for hours now, trying to decide what to wear. I thought I might speak some more to you to try and calm my exuberance a little. It all sounds a little mad does it not? A real life horror performance. Well, actually I hate horror. I hate that people think it is fun to scare poor decent people. It is not fun. You think horror is fun do you not? Well it is not fun. You will see. For those that pedal this rot, and for those, like you who invest and encourage it, then all I have to offer, is to show you what real horror is about. Poe tells a story. Demontig is the story. I would not normally choose a man as unimportant as you, but I saw you reading your ghost story and laughing today. I was already in a bad mood, and so it angered me enough to seek some vengeance. I do feel a little petty. But when urges take over, who am I to stand in their way? In the morning we will have a real adventure. You may become the hero. I look forward to seeing you try. Once again, good night. I will leave you able to see. When you are in my house, I aim to be a good host at the very least. Again, good night.”
With that, the lights were blown out, and the shuffled footsteps drifted out through the door. Silence once again flooded the room.