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We couldn’t do anything to help him. The shock froze us in place for a moment, but as soon as we realized he was being brutally hacked to death, we rushed to his aid. It was too late. He was likely dead instantly, given the mercy of that monstrous thing. A sharp blade, over eighteen inches long, had pierced straight through him from its stomach. The writhing, grotesque figure held him skewered in multiple places. Trying to free him would have meant tearing him apart. When I tried to drag him away, I only succeeded in toppling the whole thing over. It pinned him to the floor, continuing its horrific contortions, slashing him a hundred different ways. It was hard to believe it wasn’t alive.
Seeing that it wouldn’t stop, I grabbed a heavy wooden chair and struck it on the back, again and again. Finally, it became still, its movements ceasing. It rolled over lethargically, leaving behind a gruesome sight. The creature’s face wore a grim smile, as if satisfied with its work.
Later, we dismantled it to understand its workings. The construction was diabolically ingenious. It was a light steel frame shaped like a human body, powered by strong springs set in motion by clockwork. The whole thing was encased in scarlet leather, resembling an artist’s mannequin. Numerous eyelet-holes in the leather allowed blades to peek out. When activated, these blades sprang out and kept moving until the clockwork ran down. The head contained a mechanism like a phonograph, producing the eerie sound of a woman’s laughter.
Investigations revealed that the contraption was likely meant for sacrificial purposes. Lawrence had purchased it in Allahabad, probably from a native craftsman known for creating such devices for temple rituals. On certain days, priests would present this puppet with great ceremony, claiming miraculous powers. It would then perform its gruesome act before an assembled congregation. The thought of its original use was chilling. Strange things still happen in India.
Edwin Lawrence must have been unbalanced to buy such a macabre toy. A sane person wouldn’t have wanted it at any price, and Lawrence must have paid a fortune for it. The brothers had a history of constant quarreling. Edwin would provoke Philip, who would then attack him violently. After the rage subsided, Philip would feel remorse and spend vast sums to make amends. This cycle had continued until Edwin left for India, funded by Philip’s latest act of repentance. Edwin’s resentment festered, leading him to buy the scarlet puppet.
The final crime might have been a spur-of-the-moment decision, as Edwin claimed. But it was clear he had prepared for it. He had a suit of clothes identical to Philip’s hidden in his room. After the puppet killed Philip, Edwin dressed the body in his own clothes, ignoring the fact that they weren’t torn and bloody like his brother’s. He then put on the prepared suit himself.
Whether Edwin noticed me, or even if I was truly there, remains unclear. He either didn’t see his visitor leave or didn’t care about the implications. After the tragedy, his actions were strangely deliberate. The catastrophe must have finally shattered his already unstable mind. It’s the only explanation for how he maintained his composure, even as he expected to be caught red-handed at any moment.
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He disguised himself to look as much like his brother as possible, and wrapped the “goddess” in a cloth to carry it out into the street. Turner saw him and thought he was seeing the man who was actually lying mutilated on the floor. Turner knew both men well, so the disguise must have been incredibly convincing.
No action was taken against Mr. Isaac Bernstein. There was no concrete evidence against him apart from the dead man’s words. But the fact that Edwin Lawrence’s story might have been true was suggested by Bernstein’s sudden disappearance from London a few days later. Since then, no one has seen or heard from him. Whether he feared being implicated in other shady dealings or was haunted by the memory of the dual tragedy, we can’t say. The fact remains that he hasn’t tried to claim the large sums of money due to him when he vanished.
With the brothers being the last of their line, Philip’s estate eventually reverted to the Crown, becoming one of those numerous unclaimed properties. Old Morley and his wife had been in the family’s service for years, staying out of loyalty. They were left comfortably off, inheriting a small property in the Surrey hills, where they live to this day. Their once rural neighborhood has since become more developed, adding to the value of their property, though they find it a bit unsettling.
Hume remains unmarried and increasingly disengaged from active medical practice. However, he is still an authority on obscure brain diseases and has written several books on the subject. I haven’t read them, as such works aren’t my interest, but he claims we are all somewhat mad, and he provides convincing arguments for this theory. He hasn’t changed his low opinion of my mental faculties and once told me that physically strong men like me are inherently mad. Despite this, we get along reasonably well, and he concedes I am better off outside an asylum.
Rumor has it that Miss Adair plans to retire from the stage soon, possibly influenced by Hume, who has been close to her lately. If they do end up together, they’ll make a fitting couple, both being sharp-tongued.
Bessie, who I now feel comfortable calling by her first name, never returned to acting after that horrific night. She fell seriously ill with brain fever, teetering between life and death for weeks. The doctors gave up hope several times, but miraculously, she recovered. Her first coherent words were, “Where is Tom?”—her wayward brother. Despite all she had endured for him, he was still on her mind.
“I hope he’s on the road to fortune,” I said. When she asked what I meant, I explained that I had given him the means to seek gold in the Klondike. He had set off on his quest but never found what he was looking for. Months later, I learned he had fallen into the Yukon River and drowned, drunk at the time. I kept that detail from Bessie, not wanting her to think poorly of his end.
Bessie and I have been married long enough for me to fully realize my happiness. I won’t say exactly how long, but our children are a clear testament to it. There was no courtship; I knew as I watched over her that if she lived, she would be mine, and I hers. As soon as she was strong enough, we married and have been lovers ever since. Sometimes, as I sit holding her hand, watching our children, I feel as if our courtship is just beginning and will never end.
God has been exceedingly kind in giving me my wife. Through what seemed like chance but was surely Providence, I have ended up with the woman of my dreams. Both in sleep and wakefulness, she is mine, proving that sometimes a man’s good fortune far exceeds his deserts.
THE END