The Year of 1869
The thick fog blanketed the streets of Blackburn,
clawing at the dimly lit Gaslamp, they barely made a
dent in the blurring cobbled streets; a chilling grey
abyss.
It was November and the air was icy, but it wasn’t the
only encroaching chill present this winter; Judith
Langdon, a mill girl with eyes the colour of storm
clouds, a sprit fiercer than the looms she tended, felt
it acutely.
Across the land something was underway, a
darkness was creeping, murders had been occurring
much more lately, nine-years earlier there had been
murder within the Moors; a Year following such an
event more had happened, one failed in Trowell, but
more had indeed been successful in places such as
Wakefield and within Kent down in the South; all of
them similar in nature, these increased killings
poisoning an already grim atmosphere of the
Industrial horrors that people from the working class
experienced.
Blackburn was no different than any other Industrial
centre in Lancashire; only a month ago did the first
body appear, a young woman much like Judith, she
had been weaver, she’d been discovered in the
reeking alleyway behind the back of a tavern; her
throat had been cut, slashed from left to right, a
ghastly wound that was no different to previous
killings, the only difference present with this killing
though was a mark; a mark that resembled that of a
reaper’s scythe.
The local constable, a portly and ineffectual man
named Jacob Williams had closed the case, simply
putting it down to the act of a jealous husband after
learning that the young woman had recently been
said have been having rendezvous with other men in
attempts to earn more, an act of desperation.
Judith knew that it wasn’t so simple, she had heard
whispers that there was a Cultist organisation that
had been influencing the English and later British
Parliament’s as far back as the English Civil War, that
they had been involved with various criminal
organisations seeking to create as much misery as
possible.
Judith was certain that it was these Cultists; the
whispers focused on one in particular; the ‘Raven’ he
had started to be a bogeyman.
When a second body had appeared, a local
chimneysweep; barely out of boyhood, Judith knew
him, the young lad lived only a few houses from her;
his body was found in a similar state to the first, a
slashed throat cut from left to right, again a symbol
of the reaper’s scythe was present.
Due to the fear spreading, Judith had decided it was
best to follow the advise of her father, now armed
with a short knife, concealed in a sheath hidden
beneath her jacket, she had begun to investigate the
scenes of the killings, much to the disapproval of her
mother, who believed that Judith wasn’t yet ready for
taking such tasks up.
Walking the thick fog-covered streets, she inquired
various individuals that knew the two victims, and
despite warnings from the night watchman usually
on duty, she has managed to gather information,
discovering that there seems to be a pattern, and
that the constable may have actually been paid off.
With both victims being young and both of workingclass background, it was obvious to her that these
are the usual targets of the Cultists she had heard
whispers about.
Judith’s search for information eventually led her out
to an abandoned manor; she had heard of it before,
it had once been owned by a rather elusive family
that had once been present in the north, but seemed
to have disappeared to the south of England; a family
known as Smythe; this Blackburn Manor had been
abandoned for over 80 Years.
The Smythe Blackburn Manor was a place of
whispered dread, locals claiming it to be haunted,
cursed by a tragic event that forced out the Smythe
family and the reason behind why they vanished to
the south.
Driven by a thirst for knowledge and a desire for the
truth, Judith ventured within the abandoned manor;
it was here that the fog seemed thickest, a
suffocating blanket that muffled every sound except
the beating of her heart.
Inside of this decrepit manor the chilling sounds of
squawking echoed through its dusty halls, a flash of
black wings within the gloom sent gloom down
Judiths spine.
Dusting herself off she realised it was just a crow,
taking a deep breath, she calmed her nerves,
pushing onwards through the decayed grandeur, she
eventually discovered an entrance to a hidden
chamber.
A macabre study, decaying bodies of recently dead
crows littered the floor; laying on bookshelves, Judith
spied ancient leather-bound books; as she ventured
around, she took notice of the table pressed against
the wall; it was clearly set up like an altar to praise
some celestial being; uncertain, she decided to
approach, taking note of dried blood present.
From behind the silence was broken making Judith’s
heart skip a beat; a cold and raspy voice as if from
the grave had just spoken “Curiosity killed the cat my
dear”
Whirling around, Judith saw standing in the doorway
a large imposing man, he was wearing a long jacket
that reached down to his ankles, it wasn’t too
dissimilar from the winter coats once war during the
days of the Napoleonic wars, a hat he had atop of his
head cast a shadow to obscure his face.
It took a moment of silent study before Judith
realised that the voice reminded her of someone;
tilting her head a little to the side in curiosity; she
eyed him carefully, watching as he began moving
forwards, revealing himself “You” she said “I
recognise you, you came to speak with my father, I
remember your threats of violence” she narrowed
her eyes
“Because he wouldn’t back down; you think you’re
the only one investigating these killings; how they are
connected to a ‘Cult’ hm?” a grin present on the
mans face as he stepped closer towards Judith “You
won’t stop us”
Looking upon the face of evil; this was the real Jacob,
a man that used his position to hide the criminal
actions he caused “I do wish you hadn’t continued
all this searching” he told her
Eyeing the Kukri knife that Jacob held, she knew she
was trapped, facing not just a murderer, but
something far more sinister, she was faced with the
embodiment of all she saw as evil, a man corrupted,
and the face behind the growing legend of the
‘Raven’.
The fight that broke out between them was
desperate, brutal; at a disadvantage, Judith struggled
against the much larger Jacob, he was a skilled
fighter, and his handling of the Kukri knife made her
training with a small knife for her own protection
obviously pale in comparison.
Unable to keep up with Jacob, she was eventually
forced down, the knife sliding away from her, turning
her head back, she glanced to see him approach
her; when he came to a stop, he stood over her,
staring down, a grin curving his lips “You’ll be left to
rot down here with the avians” he said with a twisted
voice
She moved her arms in front of herself to try
shielding herself as she saw him coming down
quickly towards her; though she heard a chorus of
deafening caws.
A whirlwind of feathers and beaks engulfed Jacob;
enraged Jacob struggled to fight a bunch of birds that
seemed to have come for him, attacking him without
reason, clawing and driving him backwards.
Eliza, peaking forwards could see it, her opportunity,
she took it without hesitation, fleeing out of the
abandoned manor, the chitting claws of the crows
echoed in her ears; she couldn’t stop running until
she reached the relative safety of her home,
encountering her father.
Unsettled with what Judith tells him, he decided
there and then that it would be best to leave
Blackburn, that getting away would be the best
choice; the encounter that Judith had would remain
present in her mind for years to come.
Written By: Westley H.
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