PROLOGUE

The London fog was a living, breathing entity, a thick, palpable presence that enveloped the city like a shroud. It hung heavy in the air, muffling the usual sounds of the metropolis, turning the familiar streets into an eerie, otherworldly landscape. Emily Stanton navigated this surreal world with a mixture of excitement and trepidation; her phone held high to capture every unsettling detail for her ever-present online audience.

At twenty-four, Emily had built a life and a career on sharing her experiences with the world. Her followers were her constant companions, a digital entourage that accompanied her on every adventure, every foray into the unknown. Tonight, they were with her as she delved into the mysterious heart of nocturnal London, eager to experience the city"s secrets through her eyes.

"Can you believe this fog?" she whispered into her phone, her voice tinged with a combination of awe and unease. The camera panned across the scene, capturing the way the mist curled around the old, worn buildings, transforming the ordinary into something sinister and unfamiliar. "It"s like something out of a Victorian ghost story. I keep expecting to see Jack the Ripper lurking in the shadows, or maybe Dr. Jekyll prowling the streets in search of his next victim."

The comments flooded in, a cascading stream of thumbs up, heart emojis, and words of encouragement. Some of her followers urged her on, eager for more of the atmospheric footage, thrilled by the prospect of vicarious thrills. Others expressed concern for her safety, urging her to be careful, to watch her step in the treacherous fog. Emily smiled, drawing comfort from their digital presence. She wasn"t alone out here in the mist – her followers were with her every step of the way.

As she rounded a corner, a shape loomed out of the fog ahead, stopping her dead in her tracks. It was a building, but not like the others she"d passed on her nighttime stroll. This one seemed to emanate a sense of history, of secrets long buried and forgotten. It was as if the structure itself was whispering to her, beckoning her to come closer, to uncover the mysteries that lay within its walls.

Intrigued, Emily zoomed in on the facade, trying to make out the details through the swirling fog. The building was old, that much was clear, with crumbling brickwork and boarded-up windows that spoke of long neglect. But there was something else, something that tugged at the edges of her mind, a nagging sense of familiarity that she couldn"t quite place.

"Look at this, guys," she breathed, her voice hushed with excitement. "I'd heard it was here. It"s an old, abandoned bathhouse. I"ve never seen anything like it before. I wonder what stories it could tell, what secrets it might hold..."

Her followers were quick to respond, some sharing her excitement, others urging caution. A few claimed to know the history of the place, spinning tales of dark deeds and restless spirits. They spoke of a Victorian-era bathhouse, once a place of relaxation and rejuvenation, now reduced to a crumbling ruin, haunted by the ghosts of its past. Emily felt a thrill run through her, a mix of fear and anticipation. This was the kind of moment she lived for – the chance to explore the unknown, to uncover the secrets that the city kept hidden. But all was not as it seemed. She herself was performing. She had prepared somewhat for the destination, unbeknownst to her viewers. It was not as happenstance as it appeared.

With a deep breath, she approached the bathhouse, her footsteps echoing loudly on the damp pavement. The building seemed to grow as she drew near, looming over her like a slumbering giant, waiting to be awakened. A part of her wanted to turn back, to retreat to the safety of the well-lit streets and the comforting glow of her phone screen. But she pushed the feeling aside, steeling herself for whatever lay ahead. She had a responsibility to her followers, to her own sense of adventure. She couldn"t back down now, not when she was so close to discovering something truly extraordinary.

The door groaned as she pushed it open, the sound echoing through the cavernous space beyond. Emily stepped inside, her phone"s light cutting through the gloom, casting eerie shadows on the crumbling walls. The interior of the bathhouse was a testament to neglect, a once-grand space now reduced to a shell of its former self. Cracked tiles, stained walls, and pools long since drained of water greeted her, a stark reminder of the passage of time and the inevitability of decay.

"I can"t believe this place," she murmured, her voice sounding small and muffled in the vast room. "It"s like something out of a dream... or a nightmare. I can almost feel the weight of the years pressing down on me."

She moved deeper into the bathhouse, her phone capturing every eerie detail, every haunting vignette. The comments continued to pour in, some of her followers sharing her sense of wonder, others growing increasingly worried for her well-being. Emily tried to reassure them, to laugh off their concerns, but she couldn"t shake the growing sense of unease that gnawed at her stomach, the feeling that she was being watched by unseen eyes.

And then, in the periphery of her vision, a flicker of movement. A shadow, darting across the far wall, too fast to be a trick of the light. Emily spun around, her heart hammering in her chest, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The beam of her phone scanned the room, searching for the source of the disturbance, but there was nothing there. Just the empty, echoing space, and the relentless press of the darkness.

"It"s okay, guys," she said, forcing a laugh that sounded hollow even to her own ears. "Just my imagination playing tricks on me. There"s nothing to be scared of here. It"s just an old, abandoned building, right?"

But even as the words left her mouth, she knew they weren"t true. There was something in the bathhouse with her, something that didn"t belong. She could feel it watching her, could sense its malevolent presence lurking just beyond the reach of her phone"s light. It was as if the very walls were alive, pulsing with a dark, ancient energy that threatened to consume her.

She took a step back, ready to flee, to abandon this place and never look back. But it was too late. A figure emerged from the shadows, a specter clad in Victorian finery, its face hidden behind a grinning mask that leered at her with a twisted, mocking expression. Emily"s scream caught in her throat, her phone tumbling from her suddenly numb fingers as she stared at the apparition in mute horror.

The figure loomed over her, a disjointed poem spilling from its lips, a hymn of madness and despair that echoed through the cavernous space.

"Dark, the time in which we live. No peace, not life, we shan"t forgive. For those who fame above all crave shall lie within an unmarked grave."

Emily tried to run, to push past the specter and escape into the night, but her legs wouldn"t obey, rooted to the spot by a terror deeper than any she"d ever known. The last thing she saw, before the darkness claimed her, was the glint of a blade in the figure"s hand, and the endless, pitiless gaze of the mask, staring into her soul.

Her phone lay forgotten on the cracked tile, a mute witness to the horror that had unfolded. On its screen, the comments continued to scroll by, a litany of confusion and growing dread as her followers tried to make sense of what they"d just seen. And then, abruptly, the feed cut out, leaving only a final, chilling image – the masked figure, bending down to stare directly into the camera, its eyes glittering with a madness born of ages past.

In the silence that followed, the fog seemed to thicken, swallowing the bathhouse and the secrets it held. The city slumbered on, unaware of the horror that had just taken place in its midst. And somewhere in the depths of the mist, a figure in Victorian garb slipped away, melting into the shadows like a ghost, leaving only a trail of whispered poems and the memory of a scream in its wake.