England, West Coast
Devonshire, Dartmoor
St. George, Skirrid Inn
5 November 1898, 6:11 pm

Benjamin stared. He could do nothing else, for long heartbeats his whole body was frozen. The room was bathed in the dim candlelight, which now made its way unhindered through the open door into the corridor. The window was still open, the curtains hung heavy from the rain on the poles and a puddle floated on the floor. But no one paid any attention to it. Not even Ben. His gaze lingered on the grotesque scene.

Dangling from a roof beam on a fixed rope, was the corpse. Candles had been placed everywhere, illuminating the scene as if it were one of the macabre freak shows on the grimy streets of London. The wind pushed into the room from outside and flowers had been placed everywhere. Some were fresh, others already faded, and they exuded a nauseating mixture of different shades of sweet smells. Flowery, that already withering life and the unmistakable stench of decay that now couldn't begin to hide underneath. But despite the sickeningly sweet nuance and the damp breeze, he was glad of it - because otherwise, he would probably have thrown up immediately.

The rope creaked and strained, holding the weight of the dead body all by itself. Mrs Andrew's neck was covered in dark marks, the rope wrapped around her neck like an ugly collar. Her eyes were milky, wide open and empty of life. The dead woman still wore the black dress from the evening of her arrival. Flies crawled all over the dead body, over her face and hung from the ceiling. They buzzed around the room like an orchestra of their own.

A large, wooden marital bed lined part of the room. It was surrounded by heaped bunches of flowers and thick bundles of strong-smelling herbs that had also been hung from the ceiling beams, probably to mask the smell.

Ben's voice broke at the reality before his eyes. The image was so unbelievable, so repulsive, so grotesque and sick that it just wouldn't seep into his mind.

There in the bed lay the slowly rotting corpse of Mr Andrews. He was completely naked, his eyes already eaten away by the advancing rot and instead, two pebbles jammed into the black sockets of his skull. Two eyes had been painted on them, staring as blankly into space as the gaze of his hanged spouse. His lips were slightly parted and torn open. His fingers were already discoloured from black and brown to above the joints. His skin possessed a hideous white-grey and in many places greenish tinge and on his arms and the man's neck the bumps of decay showed. A fly settled buzzing on his forehead and climbed over the putrid face. A bowl of water and a rag stood beside the bed, and two empty bottles of coloured glass lay tossed aside. Probably perfume from the former madame.

The young girl got out of the Andrews' marital bed with trembling legs in an eerie silence. The bedclothes rustled, and the sheet drew folds all across the bed to the slender hands that tried to cover an almost naked body with it. Elly wore her hair carefully coiffed. Benjamin would have had to be blind to miss that it was the same one Mrs Andrew's body wore. Apparently, Elly had wanted to imitate Madame and look more grown up. Then Elly dropped the sheet, which sank to the floor with a sigh and remained there like freshly fallen snow that had slid off a mountainside. A silk-thin negligee lay over the girlish body. It reached just to her thighs and exposed the feminine triangle between her thighs far from any decency. 

Nausea drove the stew down his throat with a gag reflex. The groan he had heard... "Elly?" The Doctor's voice broke at the sight, inwardly hoping it was a hideous nightmare.

"Mr Archer. What do you think they're doing?" Elly's bare feet barely made a sound on the floorboards. "It's very rude to intrude when you're not welcome." She continued softly. Her voice hummed in his ears. The creak of the dead body made him come and he jerked his gun forward.

"Freeze! Don't move!" his voice rang out. Elly, however, took another step towards him.

"They won't shoot me. You would never shoot a defenceless, poor girl." Her voice was a sweet melody to his ears. Like honey, gumming up the breath and the thoughts. He had never harmed anyone innocent before.

Benjamin blinked hard. Is someone innocent?! He tried to concentrate.

"What is this!!!" He wanted to shout it out loud. Harshly and as harshly as the situation demanded. Instead, his voice managed no more than a hoarse murmur. Elly stepped closer to him. Sweet scent assaulted his nose. It smelled incredibly beguiling. Ben blinked again and only then did he realise how heavy his arms had become. That he had let them sink.

"You should have just gone to sleep." Elly continued to talk. By now she was so close to him that all she had to do was hold out her arm. Confused, as if Benjamin had said something crazy, she blinked. "This is our bedroom," she replied nonchalantly.

Ben just couldn't get a clear thought out. Elly's hand stroked the buttons on his waistcoat. Tapped playfully, over their silver. Her eyes fixed directly on his like a snake holding a helpless mouse in its grip. Her slender fingers slid higher. Benjamin noticed she was wearing the wedding ring. The flickering light made the gold shine. His thoughts, on the other hand, were without glimmer; they were dull and full of mist. With a clatter, his weapon fell to the floor on the floorboards. The enchanting fingertips reached his chest. He barely listened, though his gaze was transfixed on her red-brushed lips. She spoke something, a language he understood as little as anything else she said - and then, all at once, his breath caught.

Her fingers closed around his neck and squeezed. It felt like a vice tightening around his throat and Benjamin's hands immediately went to the woman's slender arm. Immediately there was a roaring in his ears, he gasped and tried to loosen her grip. But it didn't work. Against all logic, her delicate fingers pressed deep into his neck, cutting off air and blood. She was inhumanly strong as she lifted him like a straw doll until his feet dangled a hand's breadth above the floor. Benjamin convulsed, choked and struggled for breath.

It was that moment when Kyle slithered into the hallway. His fingers grabbed the doorframe just in time, the momentum propelling him around the corner and he braked abruptly. His eyes fell on the scene, briefly wiping bare any expression on his features. Kyle, too, saw the widow dangling there by the rope, the marriage bed with the corpse in it, and Elly holding Dr Archer in the air by the outstretched arm. The seasoned soldier was gasping and his gun lay beside the girl's bare feet.

"Miss Elly. Please calm down." Slowly, Kyle raised his hands. He didn't let the walking stick out of his hand for a second. "We're not here to hurt you." At least that wasn't quite a lie, but it wasn't quite the truth either. Kyle swallowed hard. No matter how many times he swallowed, the lump of disgust in his throat wouldn't go away. Each breath drove the taste and smell of death and decay back into his senses. Dr Archer's face was already flushed. Sweat stood on his forehead and he was trembling all over. If she squeezed too hard, she might break his neck like a rotten branch. The very thought made panic rise in him. He had to gain control. "I know what they did and what they can do." he continued, his tone calm, though he had to force himself to keep away from the sight of the bed.

Elly helped him, for she met his gaze and stared at him as if she could whisper words to him with it. Then, very slowly, she tilted her head to the side.

He seemed to have won her attention, at least for the moment, because Kyle could see that Dr Archer's face had regained a little more colour. The doctor opened his lips, greedily trying to gasp for air as she loosened her grip a little and her fingers no longer dug into his neck so succinctly. Every muscle and throbbing vein on Dr Archer's neck had come out, trying indispensably to pump blood and air into his head.

"Oh?" Elly eyed Kyle narrowly. "And what would that be?"

She played. Like a cat that thought it saw a mouse across from it and nudged it a little with its claw-covered paws. Kyle felt dark waters within him lapping against the dam of his self-control. He reached inside his pocket, and then tossed the contents at Elly's feet. Jangling, the two rough pieces of iron rolled across the wood in front of her until they spun staggeringly, the whirring only ending in their fall. They were the two branding irons he had found upstairs. Now they lay like silent accusers before Elly.

"Love spell," he said, gesturing with a nod of his chin to her arm. Now that she was barely clothed, you could see the ugly marks of burnt flesh that had already healed. Still, it drew the symbols in scars on her skin like a witch's mark. "Strengthening spell. Probably more? You have skill and talent. And obviously no scruples." he tried to butter her up a little. "Put him down, please. Then we can talk."