Sir Gregory Alston was prone to dabble more than he should have, in things often warned against between harridans at the market and the words punctuated by a priest’s slamming fist against the opulent podium in the cathedral not far from his townhouse.
It seemed like months had passed since an unseen visitor had taken to his company, invited into his lavish home by the old sacraments and too many dark and stormy nights.
It played upon him. He was far from the learned practitioners of the past, merely a boy toying with volatile chemistry. Picking, scraping and whispering through the walls of Alston’s home and psyche, the visitor wasted no time in exposing its prey.
What was once a benign silence came to an explosive end that night, when the visitor finally made itself known to matter after so many countless centuries of disregard by other, stronger callers.
Gregory’s weakness was exploited. The presence crept up through him and shattered his mind, and he was left an unwitting and powerless host.