The Stranger From The Film
'Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.'—Edgar Allan Poe
Harold Gilliam was a prominent doctor, whose residence stood in Hampstead, north of London, near the junction of Charing Cross. His house had distinctive columns, and a pronounced Gothic aspect to the architecture that overshadowed the lancet windows, gable roof, and wooden trim hanging from the outer edges, representing the elaborate interior decorative style.
The multi-coloured brickwork in red was noticeable and uniquely typical of the local area. The interior of the house was filled with elaborate fabrics and wide mantelpieces that accommodated an array of splendid ornaments and décor, establishing the essence of the house.
I never would have imagined that within this luxurious house, a dark secret would be unveiled, leading to the most disturbing and unbelievable occurrence I had ever witnessed as a man. Dr Gilliam had mysteriously disappeared, and no one knew of his whereabouts—not even I.
My name is Simon Flynn, a reputable doctor and man of science by profession. The following account, which you will read closely from this journal, is the undeniable horror that terrorised a man I knew well, with a brute force embodied by an intimidating figure who had returned from the dead, with a lethal vengeance unmatched.
The journal begins with the following entry:
04 April, 1910
I was in the main hall of the house, where I proceeded to reveal to Dr Flynn a new gadget I had recently discovered that belonged to my late grandfather. It was a unique vintage camera, a coveted piece for the time period. I also began to explain the general function and capacity of the machine after the demonstration. There was a certain amount of curiosity and fascination displayed in my presentation.
‘What you have seen is an unexposed colour photographic film suitable for use in a motion picture camera. The projector bears the incredible image in colour’.
‘I believe I’ve heard about this type of camera before’, Dr Flynn responded.
‘Edward Raymond Turner tested it in 1902, but a simplified additive system was successfully commercialised within the public sector in 1909, as Kinemacolour. It was launched by the Urban Trading Co. of London in 1908, by a Charles Urban’.
‘Kinemacolour? Interesting. How does it function?’
‘By using black-and-white film to photograph and project two or more component images through different colour filters. Two colour filters are used in taking the negatives, and only two in projecting the positives. The camera takes thirty-two images per second. It is fitted with a rotating colour filter—an aluminium skeleton wheel with four segments allowing the exposures to be fully developed. Thus, a silent film is produced. All by the power of this vintage camera I’ve shown you today, and you have seen the images yourself’.
‘Indeed! Although the image was blurry at first, I could see the colourful images of the interior room of a house clearly as they developed. Who was the man that was visible in the film?’
‘That I do not know. A complete stranger to me. Perhaps an acquaintance of my grandfather, or an actor. I could ask George the butler, but I doubt he would know his real identity. What do you think of this modern technology?’
‘It is remarkable, but I suppose we should not marvel too much at such advancement. After all, we are in the 20th century’.
‘I wonder what secrets are to be exposed in this century, and what new things we shall discover?’
‘As men of science, the unknown will always be more exciting than the known’.
05 April, 1910
It was around midday when I awoke to find myself lying on the floor of the main hall in my home, next to the shards of a glass cruet. The chiming of the clock somehow quickened my senses, but I was stupefied and bewildered. I looked around me as an eerie silence suddenly prevailed over the main hall. It was a surreal experience that I had never encountered before.
Immediately, I rose to my feet, pondering the reason for my lapse of memory. What had caused this? How did I end up on the floor of my home, mysteriously? I felt that this was no mere occurrence, and I would have to contemplate the sharp contrast between my active sense and my physical reality.
I returned eagerly to my study to think precisely about this strange incident, when the doorbell rang. It was my good friend and colleague, Dr Flynn, who regularly visited to chat about new scientific discoveries and theories relative to our studies and collaboration.
He had returned to know more about the wonders of the camera, but I was more interested in what had happened to me the day before. When he entered, we went to speak in private in my study. I was eager to talk to him about the strange occurrence. He seemed bemused by the urgency on my face and was pressed for time due to a prior engagement he had scheduled the day before.
I was very reluctant at first to reveal my distressing episode, but I ultimately began to explain it, in the best of my recollection. His reaction was to be expected, for I myself did not comprehend its relevance or reasoning. The episode was still fresh in my mind and had occupied my thoughts persistently.
‘I came here enquiring about the disappearance of your grandfather. Instead, you tell me about a peculiar occurrence. What exactly are you attempting to make me believe, Dr Gilliam? I have heard your account, but I’m afraid I don’t quite understand’, he admitted.
‘I do not have any substantial tidings on the whereabouts of my grandfather. As for your question, I have always considered myself a man of science, but I am beginning to question my memory. I have never experienced anything of this unsettling nature before. What could it be attributed to, Dr Flynn?’ I asked with intrigue.
‘Really? As a man of science myself, I tell you that there must be a logical explanation. You most likely forgot, that is all! There’s nothing more to it’.
‘Logical? We live in a world that appears more illogical by the day. I sound foolish, talking about this episode. It’s just that my memory has never failed me before’.
‘Precisely. This world has a lot of inconsistencies, but we humans are flawed beings who cause our own misfortunes and anguish willingly. Sometimes there are things that our mind does not want to recall or occupy itself with’.
‘Perhaps I’m only overreacting, and there is a reasonable explanation for this odd occurrence’.
‘Whatever it is, it most likely has a compelling reason for what you are experiencing, as I’ve mentioned before’.
‘Indeed. As usual, I must use my mind and my intellect. I suppose I would be lost without their facility’.
Afterwards, we discussed other scientific matters of the day, related specifically to our field, the study of the human mind. There was a new, innovative term being expressed at the time: psychology. We were determined to resolve lingering questions of the mind. The question that had mostly haunted me was the inexplicable origin of man's insanity.
For some time, I had been experimenting day and night with modern concepts, experiences with patients, and even with myself. Every experience and experiment were becoming more intense and frightening, but this peculiar fear fascinated and enthralled me.
It was the fear of the unknown, more than the fear of the known. I was fully aware of the dangers of my experiment, but my compulsion and desire to discover what lay behind the door of sanity compelled me toward that endless realm of many possibilities.
Possibilities that soon would have extreme consequences of an unimaginative nature, never understood before. When Dr Flynn left the house, I remained in the study, perusing my prior notes. Then I added a new entry describing the recent development. I knew something was occurring that was not yet understandable. What greatly confused me was what that particular something could be.
Had I only experienced a rare phenomenon, an exclusive exception, or was there something more I had failed to realise? From what I remembered, I had been resting my eyes upon the escritoire in the study. When I awoke, I was lying on the floor of the main hall, alone. I attempted to remember every minor detail.
In the end, I could not recall much; the details were vague and needed to be sorted into precise facts. I needed a reliable method to ascertain them. Without that, I was essentially clueless.
06 April, 1910
Two days passed quickly, with no incident of great importance. I did not experience any unusual episode, but I was unnerved by the uncertainty of not knowing when these incredible occurrences might betide. I could only speculate and attempt to understand the meaning.
The more I pondered, the more the strange sensation within me quickened my heightened senses and mental cognition. My senses became acute, and I began to perceive extraordinary and fantastic things I had not perceived before. I also became extremely sensitive to all sounds, and my instincts sharpened inexplicably.
A thousand thoughts rang in my head, and it seemed that for every doubt I had, I intuitively found an answer—except for the full extent of what was truly happening.
This impossibility still frightened me to the core, with an unwanted rapidity. I began to sense that it was connected to the film of the camera I had found, though it made no logical sense to conclude so.
8 April, 1910
I cannot stop thinking, nor can my hands cease writing at this moment. Yesterday, I experienced yet another indescribable occurrence of the most surreal nature ever encountered by a man. I shall begin by informing the reader of this journal of the account that has afflicted me with such an intangible sequence of dread.
I was in my study near the fireplace when I started to notice something unusual about the film in the camera, as I had initiated it. I had been observing the film that had been left in the camera by my missing grandfather. As on the previous occasion, the images were blurry at first, then gradually became clearer. I saw the stranger once more. He walked towards me, as though he sensed my presence. I could see his appearance clearly.
Somehow, his image was the most distinct of all the images. The film appeared to have been taken inside a house. There was something about him that absorbed me, fixing me in a stare and placing me in an ultimate trance. His engrossing posture and air of intimidation imposed themselves upon me.
The dark and large eyes of the stranger stared directly into mine. The peculiar thing was that I had never met nor known this man, but I wondered again whether he was an esteemed acquaintance of my grandfather. I also wondered whether my grandfather might still be alive, along with the stranger.
The film appeared to have been made only a year or two ago. What was even more strange was the fact that I could sense there was a terrible secret lurking behind those piercing eyes of the stranger. The question was: what was the daunting mystery?
After he approached me, he stopped in his movement and smiled at me wickedly. Then he laughed, as if to amuse himself with my anxious disbelief. It was then that his once-shadowy figure emerged from the film of the camera and entered my room.
Suddenly, I awoke from my stupor, astonished by the shocking presence of the strange man, and found myself once more in the present time. It was as if the stranger had somehow traversed the invariability of time and entered our reality for a brief period.
12 April, 1910
Several days have passed, and I have not recently experienced a new episode of the surreal encounter with this inextricable occurrence and stranger. I spent the morning in the library of the house, attempting to find any proof I could retrieve from copies of previous transactions my grandfather had conducted, seeking any particular individual who might offer an optimal clue to initiate my investigation into his disappearance.
Then I searched other documents and found certain transactions my estranged grandfather had with a gentleman by the name of Robert Barrentoff. Indeed, Mr Barrentoff had been in business with my grandfather—a boon for them both—but there was a portentous sign that something terrible was about to transpire, perhaps the cause of my grandfather's demise.
The details surrounding the disappearance of my grandfather have begun to thicken the plot of the mystery, which seems only to lead to even more suspense and uncertain consequences, especially involving the film.
16 April, 1910
Today, I have experienced the most haunting and vivid encounter yet with the unknown, one that has left me somewhat apprehensive of discovering the whole truth behind the intrigue surrounding my grandfather’s disappearance. The experience was enough to compel me to request the immediate presence of my dear friend Dr Flynn, who is the only colleague and confidant in whom I place my deepest trust.
It did not take long before he arrived at the house, bearing a troubling and puzzled expression on his face, which reflected his concern. I knew him well enough to discern his thoughts and opinions, which were always impartial.
‘I came at once! What is this pressing matter of such urgency?’ He asked.
‘I have summoned you to the house to speak to you about the chilling incident I experienced early this morning’, I replied.
‘Do proceed! I am most interested to know the details’.
‘I tell you candidly, what has been happening to me lately is something unimaginable—something I myself can scarcely believe could transpire so naturally’.
‘Well, do not leave me any longer in this billowing suspense!’
‘It all began when I was perusing old documents my grandfather had written before his untimely disappearance’.
‘What is so odd about that, to stir such fear in you?’
‘What truly roused my attention is what transpired afterwards’.
‘Then go on and tell me the story!’
‘As I said, I was perusing these unknown documents when I came across the name of Robert Barrentoff’.
‘Who is this Robert Barrentoff? What is his connection?’
‘Somehow, this mysterious man had dealings with my estranged grandfather. He appeared to be an important figure in London society, and an acquaintance of my grandfather. This investigation will eventually lead to the answer of the riddle’.
‘I fail to see the relevance to the chilling incident you mentioned’.
‘Allow me to continue, then!’
‘Proceed’.
‘I have not yet disclosed to you the most troubling aspect of this intricate mystery’.
‘And what is that?’
‘I saw the stranger from the film enter this world’.
Dr Flynn was perplexed by my candid revelation.
‘What do you mean by that?’ He asked.
I responded, ‘I am telling you that I saw this dreadful occurrence unfold before my very eyes’.
‘What do you mean by that? Do you realise what you are implying?’
I noticed his interest had deepened as he added, ‘Are you saying you saw this happening so real and vividly, as though you were actually witnessing his emergence?’
‘Yes!’ I affirmed.
‘You mean—you believe you saw this man emerge from the camera?’
‘Yes’.
‘Could it not have been an illusion, then?’
‘No, I do not think it was. I tell you, I saw it—as if I were there’.
‘You understand, of course, that what you are describing is physically and scientifically impossible’.
‘I know it may seem illogical or unreasonable, but I tell you it was real. I saw this ghastly scene with my own eyes, and it replays itself with a daunting rapidity’.
Dr Flynn was even more intrigued.
‘Are you certain that what you saw was real, in its absolute form?’
‘Are you suggesting that what I saw was nothing more than a hallucination?’
‘Could it not be precisely that?’
‘That is what I thought at first, but I can recall every detail of the stranger with haunting precision’.
‘Evidently, something of a peculiar nature has occurred that has shaken you’.
‘Perhaps it is a particular phenomenon related to my mind and memory, but it cannot be so, for I have total recollection of this event. All I know for certain is that if I do not solve this conundrum surrounding the stranger and my grandfather’s disappearance swiftly, I fear losing my mind. I believe this Robert Barrentoff is the key to solving the mystery’.
‘Is this individual still alive and presently in London?’
‘That, I do not know at present, but I shall investigate that matter forthwith’.
The conversation ended on that note, and I could not forget the circumspect mien he displayed. He departed, saying he would return in a few days, as he had an engagement to attend outside the city. After the doctor had left the house, I resumed my inquiry and investigation.
I had already engaged a private investigator to handle that thorough task exclusively, whilst I continued to pursue answers to the unexplained phenomenon concerning the film and the stranger. I pondered the significance of these incidents: was this phenomenon more of a premonition that I had yet to comprehend?
As a man of science, I was fully aware of the complexities and ramifications within the realm of scientific analysis and veracity. All I could offer was, at best, an incredible theory or supposition—utterly inconclusive. If I was merely experiencing dramatic hallucinations, then was I going mad and unaware of it? But if these were not hallucinations, what then was the origin of these bizarre occurrences?
The plot thickened even further as the days passed and new information came to light. I made a startling discovery: after seeing a photograph of Mr Barrentoff, I realised, to my utter astonishment, that he was indeed the very stranger from the film.
20 April, 1910
For the first time, I have come into full contact with the mysterious stranger beyond the film of the camera—and I now know who he is. What I do not yet understand is how the image of Mr Barrentoff appeared before me. All I know is that he is no longer an anonymous figure; he has a name.
I still cannot fathom how he is connected to the film of the camera, nor can I explain what transpired that day in any way that might seem plausible. Yet it felt entirely real in every moment. I shall now recount the horrific encounter I had with Mr Barrentoff.
I was uncertain whether what I had witnessed was reality or merely illusion, but I was soon to discover the morbid truth. As I stood in my study, I sensed the faint approach of footsteps from afar. Gradually, I heard the creaking of the floorboards intensify as someone neared. Suddenly, the footsteps halted in their tracks. I could hear the doorknob turning—as though someone were about to enter.
An eerie silence descended, heavy and mysterious. I waited, but the anticipation became unbearable. Thus, I moved towards the door. As I walked, I was suddenly seized from behind by a man who began to strangle me. He had a rope wrapped tightly around my neck, and with each breath I took, he pulled it tighter.
In that desperate struggle, I felt I was on the verge of succumbing to death at the hands of a treacherous murderer. Somehow, I managed to free myself from his deadly grip, tearing down the curtain from the window in the struggle. When he lunged at me again, he was abruptly startled—apparently by the approach of someone or something—and thwarted.
I caught a glimpse of my attacker’s face, and it was indeed the stranger—Mr Barrentoff. The person approaching was none other than the butler, George, who was just opening the door.
I rose to my feet, and the butler immediately sensed something unusual about my demeanour. Not wishing to raise suspicion or cause alarm, I feigned calmness, acting as though nothing had happened. After all, he would not have believed me. I chose my words carefully. The only visible trace of my struggle was the sweat pouring uncontrollably down my face and a pallor that betrayed me. I explained to him that I had fallen. He accepted my excuse without question and resumed his duties with diligence.
The fiend has reappeared and once more attempted to murder me. I was fortunate enough to foil his attempt. This time, the surreal incident occurred in the hall, which was dark. I had been occupying my mind with solving the mystery of his appearance and the film when I suddenly started to hear the familiar sounds of footsteps approaching from a distance.
It was in the afternoon, and there was a dreary shade of darkness present. It was then that I saw the shadowy figure of a man standing, wearing a noticeable cloak. It was no ordinary man; it was him—Mr Barrentoff. For a brief moment I paused, mesmerised by his virtual presence. There was an undertone of intrigue in the uncertainty, but that uncertainty was quickly effaced by his impulsive and sinister actions. His footsteps paused, and I simultaneously paused too. I began to sweat as perspiration reached my eyes and my heart beat faster. My legs stiffened with every passing second.
The clock began to tick as I waited, anticipating whatever was to happen. I could sense him with an acute awareness that intensified into a heightened anxiety, perturbing my senses and faculties with a pervasive facility. I could only approximate the time, but it felt like a bloody eternity. Suddenly, I felt the familiar rope around my neck and pressure applied with the full force of Mr Barrentoff’s irrepressible urge to murder me. I fell to the floor as we struggled, and I felt the breath in me quickly dissipating, but I managed once more to thwart his attack. He failed in his unavailing effort.
When it was over, I lay on the floor gasping heavily for breath anew and was left startled, next to a fallen copper samovar, broken. The velvet draperies of the nearby window were torn in the commotion, and a ray of sunlight was shining upon the exasperated expression on my face.
For a brief moment, I stared into his piercing eyes—a devilish gaze of evil that few men should ever witness or forget so easily. The oak-panelled walls of the room were noticeably visible, marked by a distinctive dent, and a crumpled silk handkerchief, which had belonged to the villain, lay discarded.
This was not the most shocking revelation of the day. I discovered later that the culprit, Mr Barrentoff, was no longer living amongst us. He was stone dead. Somehow, he was alive—magically—through the film of a camera. I was apprised of these pertinent tidings, among others, by my private investigator. According to him, Barrentoff had been dead for several years, although his death was shrouded in absolute mystery. There was an ominous inscription written on his tombstone, engraved with the words: 'Beware of the dead, for they do not remain dead for long'. I thought those words were compelling and prophetic.
He also revealed a fascinating fact. Apparently, Mr Barrentoff had been committed to an insane asylum, where he later died. He left me some documents from which I gleaned intriguing information. What I read was enough to send chills down my spine with a celeritous effect. It compelled me to act—and that I did. I became firmly convinced that Mr Barrentoff was involved in my grandfather’s disappearance. I also discovered that Mr Barrentoff had been accused of the heinous murders of a man and a woman, in cold blood. He was notorious for his unsolicited remarks, unmerited accolades, unfavourable reputation, and refractory behaviour. To many of his foes, he was a man of extreme depravity. For some reason, my grandfather had, at one time, considered him his partner in business.
25 April, 1910
I began to prepare myself for another attack and to comprehend the surreal nature of my experience within the context of its explanation. Was this something more than a mere phenomenon that might culminate in my death? Or was it, in the end, a deplorable aberration of my hallucinatory mind?
I had once believed that the dead belonged to the irrevocable past, but I was wrong. I could not afford another careless action. My uncontrollable anxiety had heightened even more, and this was evidently displayed in my physiognomy. I could not sleep, and my insomnia was becoming an insufferable paranoia that bewildered me constantly. I could not eat or think without anticipating the sudden reappearance of the fiend and his intermittent attacks.
My pleasant dreams had become horrific nightmares, and I could not appease their insubstantial nature. I persisted in my effort to unmask the mysterious finality of my grandfather, but to accomplish that, I needed to solve the mystery of how on earth a presumed dead man could rise unannounced from the grave to haunt and murder me in reality, with a plausible explanation.
How could a dead man be responsible for this phenomenon? Who would believe such an uncommon experience—that an image of a dead man, from the film of a camera, could come to life in our physical world? I could not permit this ineffable terror to undermine my health and sanity any longer.
My focused investigation would ultimately lead to the answer to the riddle of Mr Barrentoff. I spent countless hours observing the film, attempting to decipher the mystery that so thoroughly baffled me. How could the image of a man on a film enter our physical world?
27 April, 1910
Dr Flynn had returned, and I immediately called upon him to come over to the house so we could speak privately about the recent developments. He did not tarry and arrived as soon as he could. He was interested to know what had transpired at my residence during his absence. We convened in my study, where we usually discussed matters of importance, but what I would reveal was something not even Dr Flynn could easily find credible. How could a dead man, by some undaunted contrivance, be the same man supposedly linked to my grandfather’s disappearance?
I knew Dr Flynn well, and his conventionality made his reaction quite predictable; he was always conversant with the complexities of my reasoning. My anxiety was plainly apparent, as was the pallor that reflected my weary and unnerved semblance.
‘You look as though you have witnessed death and are under its horrendous effects’, exclaimed Dr Flynn.
‘I am afraid it is more than that’, I answered.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I have been visited by the same man on the film of my camera that you saw. Mr Barrentoff has attempted to strangle me to death on every occasion he has appeared. There is something worse than that. This Mr Barrentoff is no longer amongst the living’.
‘Are you implying that a dead man, from the film of a camera, is trying to murder you?’
‘Indeed!’
‘How could this be logically possible?’
‘I do not know. Whatever explanation I can give you would pale in comparison to the truth’.
I proceeded to describe and expound upon the latest episode and the fact that Mr Barrentoff had been committed to an insane asylum, where he died afterwards. When I had finished, Dr Flynn could not fathom the idea in earnest that a dead man was trying to murder me.
‘Are you certain that what you saw was truly a dead man and not another man?’
‘Are you insinuating that I am going mad?’
‘You have uttered those words, not I’.
‘I admit that I may appear to be suffering paranoia, but what I have recently experienced is not illusory. It is as real as you and I. And so is Mr Barrentoff’.
I paused before continuing, ‘I have been pondering at length the possibility of an actual parallel world or another dimension connected to ours’.
‘Do you honestly believe that unproven assumption?’
‘Yes!’
‘What if this is connected to your mind—like a chemical imbalance of impulses of anxiety affecting your cerebral thoughts?’
‘I doubt it!’
‘Think! We have studied the mnemonic patterns of animals, their habit formation and concatenation. The psychology and neurology of the mind’s framework. We both know about the psychotic odyssey or delusions associated with dementia praecox and paranoiac episodes’.
'No, this is not a mere discord. This is beyond anything we have studied or examined previously'.
'I have heard about the study of a Swiss doctor by the name of Dr Eugene Bleuler. He believes that there is an illness, a physical disease characterised by exacerbations and remissions linked to the equilibrium of the mind. He calls it, I think, schizophrenia'.
'Whatever may be assumed of me, I am not mad. I know that what I am postulating is not something hypothetical. On the contrary, it is real'.
That was the end of the intense conversation, and Dr Flynn left the residence troubled by my worsening condition and mentality. After he left, I was immersed in thought, with the immovable anxiety that had immured me within the four walls of my private study. I could not accede to the notion that I was losing my sanity or comprehension of reality.
There was a synthesis of various elements connected to these haunting episodes: the disturbing attacks on me, the film of the camera, and the alarming appearance of Mr Barrentoff. Also, the ungovernable and unreasonable effects that had been established by the intrusive reprobate and his untoward presence.
I could sense the undaunted terror of the unspeakable nature becoming more palpable with each passing hour. Had I reached the immeasurable realm of possibilities that were more contradictory than feasible? The thought had absorbed me into the engulfing vortex of an unsuspected circumstance that was related to me by way of my kinship. I could not merely deny that fact.
I was confident that I was neither going insane nor delusional, but the thought of my anxiety and paranoia was becoming more obsessive than I could admit in a refutation. In time, it was becoming extremely difficult to masquerade my troubling state of mind and indisposition to accept my condition in front of the servants, who were naturally concerned about my well-being. They often heard me speaking to myself or acting frantically in ways that were unusual to them.
Therefore, I had mostly retreated to the comfort of my private study, with a solicitous regard. The identity and reputation of the undistinguishable Mr Barrentoff had been solved through my investigation, but not the supernatural phenomenon that had brought him from the world of the deceased into our reality in the first place.
He had somehow entered this world and sought to murder me, but Mr Barrentoff, who was not an unassuming man beneath his cloak and façade, was a vulpine man of illicit repute who did not tolerate any form of mordant criticism. I could not afford to underestimate his villainous nature, his pertinacity in his vindictive acts, or his perverse intentions.
I was more cautious and regardful of his suspected re-emergence, and I had to solve the mystery of my grandfather’s disappearance. I had to salvage his worthy reputation that had remained untarnished. Mr Barrentoff, I sensed, was the nemesis of my grandfather, who had attempted to besmirch his reputation expeditiously, through unaffected opprobrium and masterful machination.
—The last entry in the journal of Dr Gilliam.
1 May 1910
I do not want my words scribbled to deface the pages of this journal. I do not know for how long I can resist the menacing horror of Mr Barrentoff in the interim. My undoubted unease and desperation are constant and unyielding. Does this apparent perturbation enjoy receiving absolute pleasure from my torment, or am I forever to be lost and trapped within it unnecessarily?
Perhaps I shall never reconcile the truth with the irreconcilable contradictions of the unknown boundaries of this world that do not equate to irrefutable facts and laws of science, but my determination to answer that vital question is pending and extremely paramount to my sanity. I strongly feel and think this, with my intuition. The implication of this magnitude is daunting in its circumstance. It is too simplistic to believe that evil is merely the inverse of good.
The following account is based on the information I gathered from the testimonies of the servants who were present that day. According to them, Dr Gilliam was washing his face in the bathroom after searching for his phial containing his medication, when he began to hear the strange sound of water droplets falling from the bathtub.
As he paused, the drops echoed and became louder and louder. Then he heard the familiar, haunting footsteps of Mr Barrentoff. He knew immediately that the fiend was approaching his direction. Instinctively, he scurried out towards his study.
One of the servants saw him rush into his study and became concerned. Dr Gilliam was babbling to him about the fiend. He shut the door and essentially waited for the fiend to reappear, as he had done on several occasions. The servant entered and saw him; then Dr Gilliam grabbed a pistol from one of the cabinets to defend himself. Panic overcame him completely, and he was shouting. Dr Gilliam’s knees buckled and his hands trembled as he tried to compose himself nervously. The clock in the study ticked and ticked, as his heart beat faster and faster.
He ordered the servant to leave and close the door. He was covered in pouring perspiration when someone began turning the doorknob, trying to enter, after a few minutes had elapsed. Dr Gilliam sensed it was the evil Mr Barrentoff returning, but it was not him. Instead, it was I who was attempting to enter. I had been urgently summoned by one of the servants. I called Dr Gilliam’s name as I knocked on the door repeatedly. I pleaded with him to let me in. Dr Gilliam could no longer distinguish friend from foe.
He was certain that it was Mr Barrentoff. He had his finger on the trigger of the loaded gun, anticipating the fiend’s forcible entry. One of the female servants managed to find a spare key to open the door. The door swung wide, and I entered to discover him on the parquet floor, struggling against an invisible enemy.
My intrusion had caused the fiend to flee, but there was something eerie and significant about this last encounter that would ultimately make Dr Gilliam realise the fiend’s weakness. That something was the contrast between light and darkness. I was shocked at his terrible and unrecognisable appearance. The suspense had discomposed Dr Gilliam as he began to babble incoherently.
'Good God! I know how to destroy him'.
'Destroy who?' I asked.
'The fiend, Mr Barrentoff! Did you not hear his infectious laugh? Did you not see his indistinguishable countenance? How could one forget the contours of his semblance and the indelible, unbroken stare of the unbridled anger and redoubtable effects of his irreducible terror?' Dr Gilliam replied.
'I saw no one, except you on the ground'.
'Did you not see him plainly, as I have seen him plenty of times?'
'I am afraid I saw no one, except you'.
'He is watching us right now. I can feel his presence nearby. His actions are furtive and convincing'.
'Your paranoia has overcome your sanity and mental faculties, Dr Gilliam'.
'No, no. I tell you that he is near. My sharp sense of acumen is warning me. I now know how to destroy him! I know this inherently'.
'How? How can you destroy something that is not even present?' I queried, stupefied.
'I shall demonstrate. Close the draperies. Then, when you see him, undraw the draperies for good. By doing this, we shall expose him and cast him forever into the darkness of hell, never to return—I pray. It is the film and camera. We must burn them afterwards in order to destroy him, even if it means destroying me!'
'Are you serious?'
'Do what I ask swiftly. There is no time to waste waiting for another opportune moment to arrive!'
When I closed the drapery, the fiend had reappeared, standing before us by the window, with his devilish guise and smile. He was dressed in the decorative yet indistinctive garments of his status, complete with a cape and derby hat. For the first time, someone else had truly descried Mr Barrentoff. Dr Gilliam pointed to him.
‘There stands the fiend, Mr Barrentoff. Now, do you believe me?’
I was utterly aghast at what I was witnessing. ‘How could this be happening? The dead do not return.’
‘They do, if they come directly from the pits of hell, as the Devil himself,’ Dr Gilliam responded.
‘The devil you say?’
Mr Barrentoff lunged forward and attempted to strangle him, but I did as Dr Gilliam had instructed me: I opened the draperies entirely. The sunlight—the one type of natural light that Mr Barrentoff could not endure—would indeed expose him. I removed the film from the camera.
Then, I threw a lantern onto the camera and film; both burned to ashes. The visible image of Mr Barrentoff also burnt, and Dr Gilliam disappeared into the mysterious world of Mr Barrentoff. Mr Barrentoff’s face could be seen peeling as he stared defiantly into my eyes. We had managed to destroy him, or at least his evil spirit.
Unbeknownst to me, the one crucial thing Dr Gilliam had failed to realise earlier was that the light had frightened the fiend away on every occasion. Sunlight—sufficient sunlight—was the determining factor, and the destruction of the film was what ultimately doomed Mr Barrentoff and sealed the fate of Dr Gilliam.
I do not know precisely how this was possible. The only thing I can assume is that there is a paradox of a surreptitious nature attached to the underlying truth of our reality, which circumscribes us with its plenary effects. All of it—the synchronous movements connected to the interchangeable paths of phenomena—remains largely insoluble and undetected. The gradual intervals of Dr Gilliam’s paranoia had abated with his untimely disappearance. The immutable horror was over, and so too was the memorable story of my acquaintance with Mr Barrentoff.
The following day, I stood alone in the same room where Dr Gilliam had disappeared, his frantic cries still echoing faintly in my mind. The house felt strangely quiet now, as if the air had absorbed all the dread that had once clung to its walls. The fire had long since burnt out, leaving only the faintest warmth that barely reached the edges of the cold room. The shadows that stretched across the floor seemed to stretch further, as though unwilling to let go of the memories embedded in this space.
I could still see it clearly—the last moment when Dr Gilliam had been consumed by the ineffable thing he had sought to understand. His desperate attempt to call out, to reason with whatever dark force had overtaken him. And then, the silence that followed. He was gone, vanished without a trace. The only thing left was the overwhelming sense that something had been irrevocably torn from reality that night.
But what had truly happened? What had we unleashed? Mr Barrentoff, or whatever he truly was had been a shadow in more than just the physical sense. His presence had seeped into every corner of this house, into every thought Dr Gilliam had ever entertained about the mind and its limitations. Perhaps it was the fascinating boundaries of reality that we had crossed that night—the ones that kept the darkness at bay—that had led to this cataclysm.
I stepped away from the fireplace, my mind reeling with the tangled threads of the story I would never tell anyone. No one would believe me. Who could? A man, or something masquerading as a man, had appeared out of nowhere, had left behind only the destruction of a life, the ruin of a mind. No answers had come to me. Only more questions.
I walked over to the desk where Dr Gilliam had often sat, poring over his journals and notes, trying to decipher the complex workings of the human mind. The papers had long been scattered across the table, some torn, others burned. The camera he had used to capture Mr Barrentoff's image sat among them, its lens shattered, the film now reduced to nothing but ash. It was as if the evidence itself had chosen to vanish, just as Dr Gilliam had, as though the house wished to erase all trace of what had transpired here.
I took a deep breath and turned towards the door. It was time to leave. This house would soon be sold, its new owner none the wiser to the horrors it had harboured. I would walk away, a silent witness to an event that would never be understood, never be accepted. The world outside would continue, oblivious to the dark enigma that had unfolded within these walls.
As I stepped into the corridor, I paused. Something in the air had shifted. I could feel it—a pressure, subtle yet undeniable, hanging just beyond my reach. I glanced back towards the room I had just left, but the shadows seemed deeper now, more oppressive, as if the walls themselves were watching me, waiting for something.
Then, I saw it.
A figure, indistinct at first, lurking in the dim light of the corridor. Tall, its form indistinguishable from the shadows that crept across the floor. The figure did not move, but its presence was suffocating, a looming spectre that was both familiar and alien at the same time. It stood at the far end of the hallway, just beyond the reach of the dim light from the room. Its eyes—I could feel them, cold and penetrating, as if it were studying me with a gaze that cut through to my inner soul.
For a moment, time seemed to stretch, each heartbeat louder than the last. The figure remained motionless, its outline flickering like a mirage in the dim light. And then, just as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished, slipping back into the darkness of the hallway as though it had never been there at all.
My breath caught in my throat, my heart racing as I stood frozen in place. Was it him? Was it Mr Barrentoff? Or was it something else entirely, some lingering fragment of the malevolent force that had entered this house so long ago? A shadow of the past that refused to die, that could never be erased.
I took a step backwards, my legs weak beneath me, my mind struggling to comprehend what had just occurred. But as I turned to leave, I knew—deep down—that whatever had been unleashed in this house had not been destroyed. It still lingered, somewhere between this world and the next, a shadow that would forever haunt the place, and perhaps, in some twisted way, it would never truly let go of me.
I left the room, the weight of the house’s secrets pressing heavily on my chest. The door clicked shut behind me, but I knew it was not the end. It could never be the end. The house would be sold, yes, but some things—some truths—are never truly buried.
As I stepped into the night, the sound of the door creaking on its hinges echoed behind me, and I wondered, for the briefest of moments, whether I had truly left it all behind.
As I made my way down the stairs, the air outside seemed oddly serene, as though the night itself were unaware of the darkness that had once festered within those walls. Once outside, the house behind me stood in stillness, its secrets now sealed away, hidden beneath the surface of an everyday world. The moonlight bathed the front yard in an eerie glow, and for a moment, I hesitated—unsure whether to turn back, to check one last time, or to simply leave it all behind.
But I knew better.
Dr Gilliam was gone. The answers he had sought were buried beneath the rubble of his obsession. Mr Barrentoff, if he had ever truly been a man, was nothing now but a shadow of a past too grotesque to fully comprehend. The house would soon belong to another, a new chapter written in its history, one far removed from the nightmare that had unfolded within its walls.
I did not turn back.
As I walked away from the house, my footsteps heavy with the weight of all that had transpired, I knew that the truth would remain elusive, just beyond reach. It would not be acknowledged by the world, nor would it be remembered by those who had never known it. But for me, it would stay, a lingering presence in the quiet corners of my mind.
I would never speak of it to anyone. There were no words for what had happened, no explanations that could make sense of it. Dr Gilliam’s madness, Mr Barrentoff’s malevolence, the disintegration of reason itself—these were not things to be shared, not stories to be told. Some mysteries, I realised, were meant to remain unsolved.
And so, with that, I moved on.
Perhaps one day, the house would be torn down, replaced with something new. Perhaps the truth would never be known. But in my heart, I knew the real answer—sometimes the most terrifying of all is the silence left in the wake of something unspeakable.
The mystery of Dr Gilliam, of Mr Barrentoff, would live on in the shadows of my mind, forever unanswerable. And perhaps that, in the end, was the greatest horror of all.
Sadly, Dr Gilliam’s house was thus sold to a local businessman who wished to remain anonymous. I sense that Dr Gilliam’s hope had been to solve the intricate and intrinsic problems of the human brain, but he could not ultimately escape the insuperable paranoia and horror that he had unwittingly unleashed in that house, through the means of science.
There are many sceptics who will dare to claim that Mr Barrentoff was conjured by Dr Gilliam’s mind and was not part of reality. I shall not indulge in admitting any circumstantial revelation of this story, nor in addressing their unconcern. No one would believe me. It is unlikely to be understood as anything other than inexpressible.
Who would adhere to the words of the discursive talk of my incoherence, with no shred of tangible evidence? The servants agreed uniformly that we would never speak of nor disclose to anyone the indisputable terror that occurred at the residence of Dr Gilliam.
I was extremely discreet, but I never forgot about the infamous Mr Barrentoff. In the end, it was better that whatever evil had entered our world—from the film of a single camera—remained forever unanswerable and immaterial.
For more features, such as favoriting, recommending, and reviewing, please go to the full version of this story.