The Frankenstein Testament

As dawn broke over Dublin, Captain Joseph Sheridan, now soaked with rain and sweat and spattered with mud, finally trotted his tired horse into the city's fashionable Merrion Square.

After stabling the beast at the back of his townhouse, Sheridan let himself in by the back door into the kitchen. He sighed as he took off his sodden overcoat then eased the wet, muddy riding boots off his aching feet. He was dog tired now and all he wanted was to get to bed.

He lit a candle and left the kitchen, walking into the narrow hallway. As he turned the corner to begin climbing the stairs, he stopped. On the wall was a painting of a man in military uniform standing behind a sitting woman. The man was recognisable as Sheridan in his younger days, his hair black, his red army dress tunic decorated with a row of proudly-displayed medals. The woman sat before him, his hand rested on her shoulder. She was young, beautiful and smiling.

Sheridan sighed and reached out to touch the painting.

A little cough interrupted him. He looked around to see Mrs Stoker, his housekeeper, standing on the landing above him. The old woman was in her nightclothes but she looked like she had not had much sleep.

"Captain Sheridan I'm glad you're home," she said. "I was beginning to wonder if I should call out the police for you."

Sheridan rolled his eyes. "Mrs Stoker, I am a big boy. I am perfectly capable of looking after myself you know."

"That being as it may," the redoubtable old woman said, "but a respectable gentleman like yourself has no business being out half the night."

"I was working, Mrs Stoker," Sheridan said. "Don't fret yourself. I was not out drinking, gambling or anything else. I had to go to Castle De Lacy for a case I was working on. Thankfully that little matter is now resolved."

Mrs Stoker peered at him over the top of her little spectacles, regarding him with a look that betrayed that she knew all too well about his gambling, drinking and everything else.

"A letter came for you," she said. Along with house keeping duties, Mrs Stoker also acted as Sheridan's secretary, a role she had assumed due to his complete boredom of any form of paperwork except reading. The job also satisfied her her inherent nosiness.

"It was from an important man in Belfast interested in engaging your services," Mrs Stoker continued.

Sheridan did not reply.

"I've also left last night's newspaper for you," she went on. "There is an article about something going on up in the north that seems to be related to the letter. I think you would be interested in it."

Sheridan sighed. The very thought of Dublin's dour, earnest northern cousin depressed him.

"I doubt that very much, Mrs Stoker." he said. "You know that I prefer cases with some sort of supernatural element. Nothing out of the ordinary happens in the north. Fights and factories, that's all that goes on up there."

"That's just it, Captain Sheridan," the old lady said. "The article says that folk claim to have seen the dead returned to life! Read it for yourself," she brandished the paper. "This is your sort of mystery. Perhaps the one you've been looking for all these years?"

Sheridan gave a derisive snort. "Mrs Stoker, I know you like to keep me busy. I realise that you do not approve of my habits when I have no case to work on. I know I tend to fall to drink, gambling and what have you. But I can assure you, I've been investigating the supernatural for the best part of the last twenty years and I've yet to come upon one single, genuine case of anyone ever coming back from the dead."

Sheridan stopped again, a far away look in his eyes. He once again reached out to touch the face of the beautiful young woman in the painting.

"Not a single one," he said with a deep sigh.

At the top of the stairs, Mrs Stoker look of concern deepened.