Death's Puppeteer

1908-Winter 1909

For over a month Enoch kept a low profile. So as not to draw his father's attention to any strange behaviour, he kept his head down and followed the daily routine in the mortuary to the letter. He didn't want to take the risk of being caught after so narrowly avoiding it only a month before due to the stupid mistake of not hiding his resources properly.

At home he still kept to his room, coming out only to eat, after a boxing over the ears or two for trying to get away with eating in his room away from the family. Sometimes across the dinner table, little Faith would grin at him and suddenly demand, "Enoch, doll!" To counter his parents slightly confused, albeit amused, expressions, Enoch would simply shrug and look back down at his plate to attempt to his the twitch as his lips threatened to crack a smile. So long as she didn't miraculously form a complete sentence of 'Enoch makes little clay dolls dance for me', he thought it harmless enough to let her in on a little of his secret. Even if she did, were their parents likely to believe it?

After six weeks of enlivening nothing but homunculi and the occasional dead bird or cat on the street, Enoch's fingers began to itch. Or more correctly, the soles of his feet did. He had long since embraced the strange tingling in his feet and fingers whenever he used his talents but now that he had been trying to resist the urge to bring another human back from the dead, it was beginning to irritate him.

Rain drizzled down in sheets so light it barely felt much more than fog on the faces of London's early risers, mainly workmen and school children, as they milled about the streets towards their various jobs and classes. Enoch had been up since dawn with his father, having been called to collect the body of a man who had died in the night. His wife, a matronly looking woman in her forties with a bossy tone and authoritative manner of speaking, had seemed strangely at peace with the passing of her husband. As they had wrapped and lifted the corpse inside the wagon, she had loudly expressed her keenness to come into the parlour that same day to discuss funeral arrangements. As they were about to leave, Enoch had suddenly decided he preferred to walk back, leaving Uriah and Owen to take the wagon.

It wasn't only the wait that irritated Enoch, he considered as he stifled a yawn and kicked a stray stone down the street, but the secrecy in which he had to conduct his 'experiments'. He didn't want to be found out by any means, he knew nothing could come of that, but Enoch's pride in his morbid achievements kept nagging at his mind how great it would be for them to be witnessed. Even making dolls for Faith to watch run around her bed filled him with a little more pride. He was in two minds as he ducked under a long beam being carried by two sturdy workmen who turned and shouted something after him which he ignored. Other men and boys didn't concern him anymore. They were painfully normal to him, why should he be bothered?

Enoch was special. He had long known it now. Wherever his powers had come from they were unique and they were a part of him, so why shouldn't he use it? Why should he have to hide? Because a superstitious and religious Britain in 1900 was not a place where difference was celebrated. He was no sideshow act, he toyed with dead things and transferred life between them. He had very nearly been caught in his morbid habit of collecting hearts once, and had, a few years ago really been caught with his hands in a dead cat. It didn't take much imagination to know what the wrong person would do to him if they knew what he was really doing. But all the same, he ached to do it again.

Enoch sighed and reached a hand up to scratch the back of his head as he stopped on the street corner. He could see the funeral wagon and aging bay horse at the end of the street outside the funeral parlour. Dropping his hand from his dark curls, the fifteen year old made his decision. He had a few minutes before his father and uncle would know he was intentionally dawdling, but that would be enough if he hurried.