J&L: Mysteries of the Macabre (1)

The Red Tavern

PGL: "I must confess Jago, it is somewhat refreshing to be able to enjoy an evening with you, without the customary excitement we tend to find ourselves in."

HGJ: "Too true, Professor. It is a relief to spend time devoid of sinister statues, crazed cultists and charismatic captains."

PGL: "Though, you appear to be a trifle out of sorts, Henry. Whatever has gotten you down?"

HGJ: "Just the realities of being one of London's most eminent theatrical impresarios. The trials and tribulations of theater management are troubling Henry Gordon Jago."

PGL: "My condolences, old chap. Though, I had thought that your Egyptian artifacts exhibit was a tremendous crowd pleaser?"

HGJ: "Hmm. Eddie? He was popular with the punters for a period, but you know how how fickle they can be."

PGL: "What is the latest craze sweeping London's performance houses then?"

HGJ: "The Great Galvani, apparently."

PGL: "Galvani? As in, the scientist who pioneered the study of bio electricity? But he died about a century ago!"

HGJ: "All this technical babbling is over my head, George."

PGL: "Luigi Galvani discovered that the body transmits signals and impulses via some form of biological electricity. He demonstrated this theory by the application of electrical stimuli to the legs of deceased amphibians, causing them to twitch. Very interesting stuff, medically speaking."

HGJ: "Sounds like this chap alright. I've been to his show in the Apollo, you know, to scout out my competition. His act revolves around shocking audience volunteers, and that business with the frogs is his finale. A gruesome and grotesque of Gallic gyration, if you ask me."

PGL: "It appears someone is taking genuine scientific practice and using it for lowbrow titillation. I admit I find it somewhat revolting."

HGJ: "As do I Professor. But that isn't even the worst of it!"

PGL: "Oh?"

HGJ: "Wait until you hear how Eddie hopes to top the competition... He wants to unravel a mummy! Live, on stage!"

PGL: "How macabre! How does he plan on faking it? Some kind of dummy? A waxwork maybe?"

HGJ: "No George. He plans to use an actual mummy! Apparently it was shipped over here by an archaeologist friend of his, as a gift, if you can credit it."

PGL: "My word! I've heard of such unwrapping parties happening in some private circles, all part of this Egyptmania sweeping England. The upper classes will procure a corpse from abroad, and unwrap it in their parlours! But I've never heard of it in a theater before!"

HGJ: "It's grotesque. These are actual deceased people, George, not trinkets from the Orient. They deserve some dignity in death."

PGL: "I agree completely, old chap. As a pathologist, I must say that there is a certain morbid curiosity towards such a display... But it is not something that should be displayed to the masses for the sake of financial gain, or some kind of shock value."

HGJ: "I don't know what the world's coming to, Professor. There was a time when respect actually meant something."

PGL: "So, what did you say to Mr. Edmund, when he mentioned this new act?"

HGJ: "I told him, Eddie, The New Regency has standards of practice. I don't display any old sensational show, or appealing acts. If I refuse to hire a Pose Plastique, then I'm certainly not going to have corpse on stage. Intentionally, at least."

PGL: "How did he take the news?"

HGJ: "He said he didn't need my theater to run his bally show, and he looked forward to keeping the profits to himself."

PGL: "Sounds like you've had a terrible time of it all today. How about another ale,  my treat?"

HGJ: "How could a man refuse such a generous and good spirited offer, George?"

A London Alleyway

A man wanders through the London fog, stumbling and singing merrily, if not melodiously. As far as he can make out, he is alone on the deserted street. A muffled clanking sound wakes him from his stupor.
"Is somebody there?" he cried out into the fog. "Probably just a cat landing on a bin."

He continued on his way. After a few seconds, he heard the noise again, closer this time. He spun around, checking behind him. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he turned to face for home. Standing in front of him, on the edge of visibility, was  a large, hulking shadow.
"You're a big lad!" cried the drunkard. "Sailor, I wouldn't wonder."

The figure was silent. As the man drew closer, he could work out some details. The figure stood 7ft tall, about twice as broad in the shoulders as a normal man. He was curiously wrapped head to toe in grimy, off white cloth. His fingers were bound together by the cloth, which also wrapped around his face. There were no openings, no way to see or breathe through the material.
"Some kind of costume, is it? Or a prop. Is someone playing a joke on me?"

The figure stung to life, with a speed far greater than its looks would suggest. It grabbed the man by the shoulders, slamming him into the alley wall. It's hands found their way around his neck, and compressed, straining the life from the man's body. When it was over, the figure let the man slump to the ground, and returned to the mist.