“In this guise I made my way one evening towards Smithfield, and asked for directions to the hospital there. You know the area well, do you not? The public house was a few yards from the entrance and as I approached it I could hear the mayhem of voices and of oaths coming from the interior. So I waited on the corner, just beyond the entrance. I was waiting for three men. It was raining that night but the cool drops hardly reached me. I am a powerful source of heat, and the water is dispersed. There were many who hurried past me, but not one of them looked up at me. A dark stranger, on a dark night, is to be avoided.
“Many people came and went from the inn, but they came out singly or in pairs; some of them reeled out into the night, some of them slouched in the rain, some of them ran across the cobbled stones of Smithfield. I was so intent upon my purpose that I did not grow tired of waiting. Eventually three men came out into the night. One of them gave a violent kick to his companion, as if he had been his dog. I knew then that these were the three men whom I sought. I followed them down a small thoroughfare, keeping my distance from them; they turned a corner, where they stopped and fell into a fierce argument concerning the division of some money. No doubt this would be the proceeds from one of their graveyard robberies. I stood against the wall, on the other side, and then spoke very softly.
“‘Gentlemen, where is my sister?’
“‘Who is that?’
“‘One of your friends. I will ask you again. Where is my sister?’
“Then I turned the corner and stood in front of them.
“I think one of them may have had a glimmer of recognition. ‘What in the buggery are you?’
“‘You know very well.’ I unwrapped the stock, and showed them my face.
“One of them yelled, and made to run down the alley. Before he could move I took him by the arm and held him firm.
“‘You see,’ I said, ‘the dead can move very quickly. Now where is my sister?’
“One of them, the oldest, was in a state of fear so excessive that he could not speak. The other stared at me with an expression of exquisite alarm. I shook him roughly, and I suppose that I fractured a bone in his arm; he gave out a yell.
“‘That is not the least injury I will inflict upon you,’ I said, ‘if you do not give me the location of my sister. You must remember it. You took my body from there and conveyed it over the water to Mr. Frankenstein. You bartered me for guineas. Where is she?’
“‘By Broken Dock. In Bermondsey.’ He seemed too confused, or alarmed, to continue; so I shook him again. ‘She lives in the last tenement on the left as you approach the river. On the third floor. A toy-maker.’
“‘What is her name?’
“‘Annie. Annie Keat.’
“I squeezed his arm tighter, so that once more he yelled in pain. ‘And mine?’
“‘Jack.’
“I released him from my grasp. Once his companions realised that they were free, they turned and ran down the alley. I stood there for a moment, watching them flee, and then I fastened the stock across my face and returned to Smithfield.
“Like some distant echo I recalled the name of Jack Keat; it might have been revealed to me in the low rolling of the thunder, or the instant of the lightning flash, so subdued and sudden that I scarcely grasped it.
“It was too late now to call upon my sister. So I returned to the estuary, by means of the river, and laid myself down in the blackened ruin of the cottage. No one had come back to that place, and I believe that no one ever will. It has been marked down in the vicinity as a spot of darkness.
“I endured a few days of repose and silent thought. Sometimes I sat with my eyes fixed to the ground; on these occasions I had rather have been a stone than what I am. Is it not better to die than to live and not be loved? I yearned for extinction. Can any being die twice? So I encountered tempests without the hope of their blasting me. The light revived me. The sun revived me. I longed and prayed for utter oblivion, but my despair was stronger than my prayers. I cannot die. I must endure. That is my destiny. That which I am, I am. I am no longer Jack Keat, but something deeper and darker than any individual doom.
“After some days and nights had passed I resolved to visit my sister. I again took the precaution of wrapping myself well, and swam one evening from the estuary to Bermondsey and Broken Dock; I could escape detection only by travelling at night, when a dark shape in the river provokes no interest whatever. As I climbed the stairs, the water fell from me; I took the hat-your hat-from the pocket of the cloak and placed it on my head. Then once more I wound the stock about my face. The villain had told me the location of the tenement: it was a ruinous building close to the side of the wooden dock, and sharing its general air of dilapidation. There were some stubs of candlelight in one or two of the rooms, and some shreds of linen or cloth had been draped across the windows. I stared up at the window on the third floor on which there glimmered some fitful illumination, as if an oil-lamp had been placed in a far corner. That room had been the scene of my death. I glimpsed my sister’s figure, and watched her as she moved back and forth across the room; she seemed restless, as if my presence had unnerved her. When she came over to the window and looked out, I moved into the shadows. I could see her only dimly in the half-light, but she seemed to me then the most beautiful creature in the world; there was something indefinably familiar in her bearing, as if I could recall her bowing over me in my last sickness. I have no real memory of that time, but it is as if I have. After a few moments apparently lost in thought she moved away, and the light was extinguished.
“I crossed the threshold, and entered a dim hallway that seemed like the phantom of something half-remembered. To the dead, does the real world appear to be wraith-like, populated by ghosts? There were two doors on the third landing, and as a matter of instinct I turned towards the left one. It seemed that my physical body had some memory of the past buried within it. I hesitated before the door; how could I present myself to my sister, without terrifying her perhaps beyond reason? I had an earnest desire to talk to her, but she could hardly view the appearance of her dead brother with equanimity. I put my ear to the door, and could hear sounds of movement. On a sudden instinct I tapped and whispered, ‘Annie!’
“‘Who is there?’
“‘Annie!’
“‘I know that voice. Who are you?’
“My fear of frightening her now returned, and I hurried down the stairs into the street. I concealed myself when the window was opened, and she leaned out. ‘Annie!’ I called again.
“She closed the window. Then, a few moments later, she came out into the street with a shawl but no bonnet; her long hair fell across her shoulders, and she seemed to be in a state of some excitement or distress. Still she could not see me, as I had retreated at once into a doorway which hid me from view; when I peeped out from my vantage I saw her hurrying down to the riverside, looking about her. I followed her, at a distance, but I could no longer curb my desire to talk to her; so I advanced slowly towards her. ‘Annie, do not be afraid. You can come to no possible harm. No. Do not look around.’
“‘That voice-’
“‘Do you know me?’
“‘If I were dreaming, I would know you.’
“‘This is not a dream. Do you remember your brother?’