God May Pity All Weak Hearts

by Daniel Russell

gardens. I adore the light she brings to this place.

  However, supporting the career of a star of the music hall is a burden on the finances, and for one on such a meagre wage as Drouef pays, I have found myself advertising for lodgers to supplement our income.

  And as for my other problem, the poor workmanship regarding the wall of our bedroom, I feel the mystery deserves a little more space in my journal to document its intricacies!

  I will recall a few nights previous, upon which Cora had retired early to bed following a performance that same afternoon. After concluding some business for the Institute and ensuring the house was in order, I too ventured up the stairs and into our bedroom. I found my wife already fast asleep, lying on her back and snoring quite stridently. I placed my lamp upon the table by my bedside and readied for the night, eventually climbing between the sheets and extinguishing the flame.

  At some point in the night, and for lack of a time piece I cannot be accurate, I registered an odd noise from the other side of the room. In the sensible light of day, one could easily dismiss this as the scraping of a tree branch against the window, but lying in the darkness, the horrid sound filled my head with giant rats scratching and gnawing within the very walls! I do not admit to a phobia of the vermin, though I will abide them not, for they are carriers of pestilence, and rodents by the Thames can grow to the size of cats.

  Being careful with my actions, I reached from the warm sanctuary of the bed sheets and lit the lamp beside me. At once, the dry, abrasive noise came to an abrupt end, leaving me feeling foolish; an educated yet terrified man fearing noises in the dark, as a child would cower in a storm!

  It surprised me little that the source of the commotion had been the thin fissure in the wall, which had grown in size over the last few weeks. Even as I watched, another chunk of plaster fell from the crack, revealing more of the darkness within. Surely, some activity would have disturbed this plasterwork? Damning my fright and even more so my languor in repairing the blasted wall, I turned down the lamp and tried to sleep, vowing to seek a tradesmen at the soonest opportunity.

  December 6th 1906.

  I write these words with a shaking hand, a numbing combination of brandy (of which I do not usually partake) and anger that boils through my veins like lava. I shall start at the beginning of this cursed day.

  With the festive season fast approaching, my wife has seen her bookings almost double. While her singing voice is far from the most eloquent, her buxom personality and rosy way are a much sought after commodity in this time of good cheer. This increase in fortune has snatched what time I would ordinarily spend with my wife, leaving me with little more than tending to the lodgers and my work at the Institute.

  Just this morning, I found myself staring at my wearisome reflection in the bathroom glass. A serious man stared back through the tiny lenses of his spectacles, fine moustache hiding the straight line of his mouth. I pitied this poor soul. I wondered, what visage would stare back at me should this man find his situation changed? For a moment, in which God would have looked away and the Devil clapped his hands with delight, I considered a life with my dear Ethel. A quiet girl as opposed to a wife who is both loquacious and promiscuous! Would such a life bring a smile to this serious man’s lips, or a sparkle to these lacklustre eyes?

  Nonsense, I told my reflection. Ethel is but a girl and would have no interest beyond that of friendship.

  I finished my preparations for the day and departed for the Institute, wherein my duties proceeded as usual. It was upon my return home that my troubles began.

  One of our more recent lodgers, an older gentleman by the name of Hodges, was often to be found loitering about the house before he ventured out to attend business of his own come evening. I know not his career, but allow that he is an early riser and his lodgings are paid in full. A private man, something of which I can relate to, Hodges has never been a cause for concern.

  Upon my return home, I noted that Hodges’ door, which led directly from the hall, was ajar and on my approach, was knocked closed. This was no surprise to me, as I say Hodges is a reserved fellow. Allowing him his solitude, I passed by his room and on to the kitchen, wherein I prepared a pot of tea. To give the drink time to cool, I headed to the master bedroom with a mind to examine the fissure in the wall further. The prices demanded by some of the tradesmen I had spoken to were a little too steep for our meagre income, and I aimed to attend the job myself, another for the list of chores supplied to me by Cora.

  The enigma around this strange feature continues! Opening the curtains to allow the maximum of light into the room, I saw with some dread that the crack had widened further still, as if a seismic force had shaken the wall during my hours at the Institute. The jagged edges of plaster lay a good inch apart, wide enough for my probing fingers. I found nothing inside, and even holding a lamp up to the wall and peering inside the gap revealed nil. The darkness held, resolute against the pressing light. I considered the layout of the house and anticipated that the wound in the structure would pass into the bathroom.

  It was at that moment that I heard hushed voices from below, followed by a feminine laugh like the call of a tropical bird. At least one mystery was solved. It is without question that Hodges would demand his privacy; he had the company of a lady within his chamber!

  I judge not lest I be judged. In my consideration, business within his room, signed for and paid in full, shall be his own concerns and not my own. While acting before wedlock is indeed a sin, I have seen much worse atrocities committed following the bond of marriage. I believed Hodges to be a mature man of level head and good intentions, and I left him to his devices, but remembering the tea and bitterness over the ever increasing fissure in the wall, I returned downstairs.

  It was here that I discovered a puffed Cora, red of face, slipping forth from Hodges’ room. While my heart denied what so blatantly stood before me, my reasoning I could not ignore. To perform such deceitful and lusted sin beneath our roof pushed the boundary of my own tolerance. I have been too long impotent in the face of her cavorting.

  Hodges, that coward and scoundrel, remained locked in his room while we argued. Cora, as stubborn and dramatic as is her way, challenged my sobriety and routines and despite the hours and finance invested in her career, she accused me of becoming obstructive to her ambitions.

  Stung by her words and actions, I left that cursed house in a temper. My dear Ethel would listen, for what she lacks in age and experience, she makes up for in a listening ear and kind heart. Oh dear Lord, how cruel you must be to allow my marriage to this tyrant while such a fragrance goes unsavoured!

  December 7th 1906.

  My pen causes long shadows across this page, thrown by the morning sun that creeps over the rooftops. My curtains are drawn to allow that welcoming light inside.

  I have slept scarcely a wink since the early hours. After my long talk with Ethel, I visited a local tavern for what is known as Dutch courage before returning home. My wife can be such an intimidating woman.

  Worse for wear, I stumbled back to thirty-nine Hilldrop Crescent, expecting to find Hodges and Cora once more in relations, however, Hodges had since made his leave, his rented room open and stripped of any effects. At least the man had the sense to move on to pastures new. As for Cora, she too had vanished. With Hodges? I knew not at the time, nor cared. Unsteady on my feet, I lurched up the rickety stairs and into our bedroom, collapsing upon the bed.

  It began with that damned scratching sound.

  Rousing me from my ragged slumbers, the rats I imagined clawed and gnawed from behind the wall, no doubt adding to the width of the ever widening crack.

  I sat up, reached for the lamp on my bedside table and lit it for its meagre glow.

  The damage had indeed worsened. A crack now ran vertically through the middle, like the plaster was mere skin that had been sliced with a scalpel and peeled back, revealing a dark pit at the centre. From within came the sound of vermin burrowing, ever burrowing. It e
choed out of the hole as if from the depths of a well.

  Still in my day clothing, for the alcohol had taken the effort to undress, I swept my legs from the bed. The moment my shoes touched the carpet, the noise ceased.

  At first relieved that the rats had taken their leave, the sudden silence seemed to snatch the air from the room, leaving me to stand in a vacuum, hairs standing up along my arms, the flame of the gaslight flickering.

  I slowly approached the wall, my light held aloft, each step bringing a surge in trepidation, a magnet whose repulsion increased with proximity.

  In hindsight, I believe it was the remnants of whiskey still floating in my system that leant me the bravery to gaze inside the dark depths of that hole, yet my efforts proved fruitless. Despite the extra width, the contents of the fissure remained in secret.

  My education lies in the field of medicine and alas I am no expert in the area of physics, though surely the knowledge of any man of sound mind will report that darkness is to be gone on the presence of light!

  What lay beyond my wall did not obey any laws set down by man or God.

  The darkness held thick as oil.

  Filled with such unbridled horror, I retreated from the wall and fell back onto the bed, holding up the lamp like it had been blessed by the Lord