Because I Could Not Stop For Death | Lockwood & Co.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

— 𝖎 𝖓𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 "𝖊𝖘𝖈𝖆𝖕𝖊"

𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐎'𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 dot, Eden stood beside Anthony and George at the doorstep of the Lavender Lodge. The building itself wasn't all that impressive—a simple terraced boardinghouse of three stories perched on London's East End. The exterior of the house was stucco, years of soot from the chimneys caking to it, giving it the same lackluster appearance most buildings of Whitechapel radiated.

Eden shuddered as rain fell from the stormy, gray November sky. Her auburn hair had since frizzed and began to curl in its natural form as the rain continued to soak it, which she pushed behind her ears. Her eyes scanned the boardinghouse once again, watching as the curtains hung limply from the windows. On the upper floors, there seemed to be no signs of life, but inside the entryway, a blaze of artificial light glowed, just like the sign in the window that announced there was vacancy.

"Everyone ready?" Anthony questioned from where he stood, closest to the door. His long coat rustled in the rainy wind, hair falling in front of his face. "Remember, we ask them some questions, we keep careful psychic watch. If we get any clues to the murder room or the location of the bodies, we don't let on. We just say goodbye politely, and head off to fetch the police."

"Sounds all right to me," Eden agreed, and George nodded his head in agreement as he fumbled with his work belt.

Eden's ears suddenly filled with pressure, as if she'd been sucked into a vacuum. "It's a useless plan!" the voice was a grating whisper against her ears, starting from somewhere deep within her psychic senses. "I say stab them first, ask questions later! That's your only sensible option."

The girl rolled her eyes and rammed her elbow into her backpack harshly. "Shut up," she hissed.

"I thought you wanted my advice!"

"No, your job is to keep a lookout, not distract us with stupid theories," Eden replied with a huff. "So, shut up."

The skull did just that—Eden's ears popped and all was quiet aside from the typical sounds around her.

Anthony was peering through the window pane slotted through the door of the boardinghouse. "Well, somebody's at home," he informed his colleagues. "I can see two people standing at the far end of the hall."

His slender fingers reached for the bell again. It was no nice chime or ring, but a grating, harsh buzzer. A moment passed with no movement on the other side. He reached for the doorknocker, giving it a few tries. Again, nothing but silence and stillness.

"Hope they put their skates on," George muttered from where he stood. "I don't want to worry you or anything, but there's something white creeping toward us up the street."

Eden turned, switching her gaze to the right to glance down the lane. The rain had allowed a misty fog to roll in, but through it, she could see what George had been talking about. A pale, drifting form floating along the sidewalk, headed toward them.