Chapter Fifteen

Shirley waited to satisfy her curiosity until they were out of the kitchen and seated in one of the parlors. While Mrs. Preston placed disinfectant and a bandage on her neck, Shirley sucked in a deep breath and said, “You seem to know much about what that was down there.”

“So do you,” Mrs. Preston replied. “That day you screamed and fell out of that water closet, you weren’t screaming over a spider, were you, dearie? You saw something in there, something you couldn’t explain, and you lied to keep your job.”

“So, what is it?” Griffin asked, his voice slightly hoarse. He rubbed the red marks around his neck tenderly. His tie was loosened, and the top buttons of his shirt had been undone so he could breathe easier. “What are those…visions, I guess you could call them.”

“I wish I knew,” Mrs. Preston replied. “They just started showing up three or four years ago, around the time Sir Joseph started building whatever that giant machine in the ballroom is. I think everyone but Sir Joseph has seen something at one point or another, something that scares them to the very core of their beings. They wouldn’t be harmed or nothing, but some of the staff were scared so bad, they left.”

“You mean not everyone left because Sir Joseph cut the staff?” Shirley asked as Mrs. Preston drew away from her neck.

“That’s right. Had three maids and a footman quit on us. Said they could no longer work in a house that’s haunted.”

“Why did you keep it a secret?” Griffin raged. He coughed, then resumed, “Why did you not tell someone?”

“Tell someone what?” asked Mrs. Preston. “That the Lodge was haunted? That people were seeing whatever scared them the most? Working for the baronet is hard enough! His scandals touched us too, you know. Made it more difficult for those of us who left to find new positions. If we added ghost stories to the Lodge’s reputation, we would never find reputable employment! Besides, the spirits or whatever never attacked anyone before. Mostly they scared us. Granted, that was bad enough, but at least we could live with it.”

“Well, they’re attacking us now,” Griffin replied. “And I’m sure they’re aiming to murder us.”

“I have noticed, Mr. Avondale,” said Mrs. Preston. “Which is why I’m planning on leaving after we’ve laid poor Ms. Dean to rest and heading to stay with my daughter in Bedfordshire. Mr. Milverton and the other maids are planning to leave as well. It’s unfortunate. The Lodge has been my home since Sir Joseph was a boy, but it’s not worth dying over. Hopefully, whatever these things are will leave us alone until then. I don’t know about you, dearies, but I do not want to be murdered by the Black Shuck. As I’m sure you don’t want to be murdered by your father, Mr. Avondale. Or you don’t want to be murdered by—who attacked you, dearie?”

“Jack the Ripper,” Shirley replied. “I met him when I was a girl.”

Mrs. Preston gazed at Shirley as if to determine if she was lying. When she realized Shirley was being truthful, she whispered, “My word. Then you definitely should vacate this place as soon as possible.”

Shirley ignored her and turned to Griffin. “Was your father always like that?” she asked. “When you were alone with him, I mean?”

Griffin shook his head. “But I feared that was what he thought of me. That I was never good enough for his standards. I’m certain my love for you would never have met his approval. I guess whatever attacked us knew that somehow and used it against me.”

“If it helps, I only ever heard him praise you when he spoke of you.”

“Thank you. It does.”

“Well, if you two do not need me anymore,” Mrs. Preston interrupted, “I will take my leave. I still have much to pack before I go—!”

“Not just yet,” Shirley said, holding up a finger. She could almost hear her thoughts with her ears, like the gears of a great machine, making connections between the strange apparitions they had encountered and something Mrs. Preston had said earlier. “You said all these things started showing up around the time Sir Joseph started working on the Eden Engine?”

“That’s right,” Mrs. Preston replied. “But I don’t see what one has to do with the other. It’s only a machine, after all. It can’t do that much, can it? Also, it’s called the Eden Engine?”

“Shirley, what are you thinking?” Griffin asked. “Does my uncle’s machine have something to do with all this?”

“I think it does,” she answered. “Have for a while now, really. But what you said, Mrs. Preston, gives me more proof.”

Briefly, she explained Plato’s Theory of Forms to them, mostly for the benefit of Mrs. Preston, who was unfamiliar with it. She then revealed the purpose of the Eden Engine, and how the energy of the Pure World produced the same ash that appeared after each of the strange occurrences.

When she was done, Griffin had a stricken look on his face. Something had occurred to him.

“You said Uncle Joseph’s machine can reach the Pure World?” he asked. “A world where the perfect, purest idea of everything exists as reality?”

“That’s right,” Shirley replied.

“Even the purest idea of terror?”

Shirley felt the blood drain from her face. “Oh my God,” she whispered.

Suddenly, it all made sense. Something that could take the form of anyone’s worst fear. Something from the Pure World, where everything was perfect and unsullied.

“Pure Terror,” Griffin said. “Uncle Joseph’s been stealing energy from that world. Maybe when he does, the Idea of Terror comes through as well and looks for anyone to terrify. Then after a while, it goes back, and waits for the Eden Engine to steal more energy.”

“But why?” asked Mrs. Preston. “Why is Terror coming through? Why could Pure Happiness not come through? Or Pure Music, or something else we would be happy to have come through?”

“Who knows?” Shirley wondered aloud, her mind running through the possibilities. “Who knows how things work over in the Pure World? It might only be coming over here accidentally. It might not even be aware of what’s happening. It’s just doing what it’s supposed to do, which is to terrify anyone it encounters.”

“Accident or not, we have to warn Uncle Joseph,” said Griffin. “Before he fires up that Engine again and lets the Terror through again.”

“Come along, Mrs. Preston!” Shirley stood and turned towards the door. “We have to let Sir Joseph know what’s going on.”

“Wait, I already told you—fine! Wait for me!”

They rushed from the parlor, across the foyer and into the north wing. As the laboratory approached, however, Shirley heard a familiar noise coming from behind the closed doors. A terrible cacophony of spinning gears, clanging levers, and humming consoles.

“He’s turned the Engine on!” Shirley yelled, wrenching open the doors. “We have to stop him!”

They ran into the laboratory, Griffin and Mrs. Preston following behind Shirley as she led them to Console Seven. When they arrived, they found Sir Joseph standing by the bombardment chamber, which was full of pure white light. He turned to them and flashed them a wide, insane smile.

“Ah, Shirley. Griffin. Mrs. Preston. You are just in time. I think I’m close to perfecting the process for humans.”

“Sir, you need to shut the Engine down!” Shirley shouted, terrified.

“Quite right, my dear,” he replied, as calm as could be. He flipped the switch up into the off position. “Come now. Help me turn the machine off.”

Shirley and Sir Joseph ran between the consoles, turning the Engine off. When the noise had died down, Shirley had time to wonder about what Sir Joseph had said. I think I’m close to perfecting the process for humans. Who did he put into the bombardment chamber?

“Lucinda!”

Shirley started as Griffin shouted and spun around. The light in the bombardment chamber was dissipating. And beyond the dirty glass stood Lucinda Avondale, looking pale and dazed.