An Imprint of Evil
London, UK, 1888
On a clear spring day, I received a letter offering me a post as a junior physicist at University College London. The remuneration was poor, but as I had failed to find any other employment since January of that year, I readily accepted the position, one that entailed conducting my own research as well as lecturing and tutoring undergraduates, a necessary evil associated with any junior appointment.
I began my duties in August, and within a brief period, I had set up a modest work area inside the laboratory of Professor Balfour, the senior faculty member whom I was assisting. The days were long, but I did not mind the hours, as I was young and my research gave me a great sense of satisfaction, knowing that I was helping to advance the field of electromagnetism. Then, early one morning, at the start of second term, Professor Balfour called me into his office.
“Have a seat, Robert, and help yourself to as many biscuits as you wish. My wife insisted I take the entire lot with me this morning as she has decided to adopt a healthier food regime and does not want to be tempted by their presence at home.”
I thanked him and took three, not having had breakfast that morning.
“Now that you’ve had the time to make the acquaintance of several of the other physicists in the department, what is your opinion of Professor William Taylor?”
“He strikes me as a very intelligent and amiable man. He’s dropped by the lab on occasion while I was working late and was kind enough to express interest in my research.”
“Yes, he’s told me as much. Professor Taylor has recently taken an interest in what some call ‘psychical research’, applying scientific methods to the study of—how should I put it— the paranormal.” He uttered this last word with a subtle hint of disapproval.
“He asked if I would be interested in helping him with his work,” the professor continued, “but I declined.” He paused a moment to let this last word sink in, then leaned forward from behind his desk, adding in a lowered tone, “I’ll be straight with you, Robert, I have no time for such tomfoolery myself. However, since you are new here and have no scientific reputation to protect, you may find the experience a worthwhile one, as you would be compensated financially for your time. Mind you, you are expected to work on this project only outside of your regular research and teaching hours.”
And that is how I came to work for Professor William Taylor and to forever regret having done so.
My first official meeting with Professor Taylor occurred one week later at eight-thirty in the evening. I arrived at the appointed time only to discover that two other individuals were already seated in his office. One was a tall, broad-shouldered young man with round spectacles that complemented his lean, square-jawed face. The professor introduced him as his assistant, Allen Foster. The other was the most beautiful woman I had ever set eyes on. She had a round face with sensuous, heart-shaped lips and large, haunting eyes. Soft brown curls flowed down the base of her neck from under her hat. It was the professor’s voice that broke in on my thoughts as I stood there, captivated by her beauty.
“Robert Evans, I would like to introduce you to Miss Dorothy Hill.”
I took her outstretched hand and bowed slightly. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Hill.”
“Likewise, Mr. Evans,” she replied warmly.
“Miss Hill is a spiritual medium, a remarkable one, as I hope you will soon discover. Take a seat next to me, Robert, and I’ll let Miss Hill tell us about her recent experiences in her own words.”
“Thank you, professor. Let me begin by assuring you gentlemen that I do not, and have no intention of, profiting from my special abilities. I am here to help those poor souls who seek final closure for the tragic deaths they experienced on this earth, deaths that only their perpetrators know about.”
“Murder victims,” I uttered in surprise.
“That is correct, Mr. Evans. I became aware of my gift, for that is what I believe it to be, two years ago, at the age of nineteen. My cousin and I were walking along the edge of the large pond that is situated next to the gardens of Jackson Manor. We had been walking for a quarter hour when I heard a sorrowful voice call out for help. I looked around but could see no one. My cousin looked at me strangely and asked what was wrong. ‘Did you not hear the call for help?’ I asked anxiously. She did not, but as I stood there, I had a vision of a woman’s body submerged in the pond. I walked to the very edge of the water and would have fallen in had my cousin not grabbed my arm at the last moment. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked in alarm. I did not reply to her question, but asked her to walk me home.
“The next day, I foolishly went to the police with my story, who tried to appease me by telling me I had experienced a ‘vivid dream’, one which I ‘mistook’ for reality. I knew otherwise, and at that moment saw it as my duty to have that poor woman’s body recovered. I went to my uncle, a lawyer at Harris-Lee, and recounted my experience. He was very interested in my account. ‘You say this occurred by the Jackson Manor?’ he asked. When I confirmed this, he inquired if I could describe the drowned woman. I gave a slight shudder before replying that she had blond hair, was about my height, was wearing a red or burgundy dress, had a crucifix around her neck, and a terrible gash on her forehead just above her right eye. His manner became very serious as I recounted my experience, and when I was through, he instructed me to return home and get a good night’s rest, as he would have a carriage at my door for eight the next morning that would take me to the pond, where he would be waiting.”
“And did he send the carriage?” I asked, captivated by her narrative.
“Why, of course. He had hired two men to drag the bottom of the pond with grappling hooks in the vicinity where I experienced my vision. They found the body a half-hour later. A large wound was above her right eye, and a crucifix was plainly visible around her neck.”
“How dreadful,” I murmured under my breath. “And has the woman been identified?”
“It was Lord Jackson’s wife, Lady Audrey, who, incidentally, was purported to be traveling on the continent, according to her husband. That is why my uncle took such interest in my story, as my description of the woman matched that of Lady Audrey. Moreover, for days, gossip had been circulating among the servants that no one saw her depart for the journey, nor assisted in preparing her steamer trunk. Two weeks after the discovery of the body, her husband was charged with murder, found guilty, and executed.”
“Truly remarkable,” Allen said after a moment’s pause. “And since then, have you found other victims?”
“Yes, an Inspector Berryman has, unlike his fellow officers, taken a keen interest in my ability. This past year, he has called upon me to visit other suspected crime scenes, where I was spoken to by the spirit of a child who was beaten to death by his parents and buried in their cellar, and by that of a domestic helper who was robbed and murdered for a few shillings, her body dumped into a deep well.”
The professor thanked Dorothy for recounting her experiences, then addressed Allen and me, asking, “Do either of you gentlemen question the authenticity of her account?”
We both shook our heads in the negative.
“Then let me explain what I have in mind,” he continued, as he rose from his chair and began to pace the room. “I would like to investigate, by scientific means whenever possible, Miss Hill’s unique gift. I know science scoffs at the very mention of the paranormal, but I, like numerous others, believe it to exist. I plan, with your help, to record and gather enough tangible evidence to present to the scientific community in the hope that others will initiate their own research as well. We owe it to humanity to rationally explain what are currently inexplicable events.”
“But professor,” I began after briefly considering his words, “as the murder location remains unknown to all except the murderer, I don’t see how we can investigate such an event. It may take months, if ever, before Miss Hill happens by chance alone to come upon such a spot. And I don’t see Inspector Berryman allowing us to trample about on a possible crime scene if he should request Miss Hill’s services.”
The professor nodded in agreement. “Everything you say is correct, Robert, that is why I have a very specific location in mind—The Burwick House.”
A profound silence fell upon the room.
“A haunting…” I said uneasily, as I recalled the accounts I read in the local newspapers concerning the house.
The professor returned to his seat and looked at us with a faint smile, commenting, “Your silence tells me that you are all familiar with the history of the place.”
We hope you are enjoying the book so far. To continue reading...
Copyright © 2026 All Rights Reserved
Please log in to recommend or discuss...
