Paul Wrexham was a graduate of one of the less well-known colleges to be found in the prestigious university town of Oxford. He was commonly identified as a swot in his school years, and now he found himself about to begin a career that would provide the most clear-cut path to the one position he'd always hoped for, to be named a provost of the university. One day he had just returned to his quarters where he found a parcel waiting that he had not ordered, and why would he for the name on the label was that of his roommate.
"Jason!" He called out, finding no answer. He considered how the parcel was inside their rooms if neither of them was in as he cautiously set about off-loading his own baggage before he heard the front door, causing him to start and move in a somewhat threatening manner to the living room before catching sight of Jason Atkinson, his roommate. "Ah, there you are. I was wondering about this package of yours." When he gestured to the same Jason's expression of apprehension cooled into one of mild enthusiasm.
"Oh, that arrived a few minutes before I had my appointment for dinner." He explained. "I picked it up at an auction in Bicester last week. It cost me £40!" Paul gave him a dubious look, wondering what kind of picture (what else could it be with that shape) would bring his roommate to pay that much. Jason promptly tore off the paper and hauled out a black-and-white landscape... no! Paul corrected his thoughts as he recognised the style; it was a mezzotint. The scene was of a Victorian country house, about three stories high with six-or-seven windows along the front, a long drive that swung round in a classic loop right in front of the main entrance, a prominent stretch of open lawn flanked by woodland and some suggestion of shrubbery in the foreground under a dark sky like a cloudy night.
"You paid forty pounds for this?!?" Paul remarked incredulously, Jason looking rather put out at this.
"Actually, it was put under the hammer sight unseen." He tried to explain. "All we had to go on was a description of it being a depiction of a country estate on a night." Paul shook his head in disbelief and lifted the picture up to place it somewhere where it wouldn't be noted by just anybody who'd come into their quarters, not wanting too many awkward remarks about such a middling piece.
The next day the two gentlemen paid host to Paul’s sister, one Sandra Wrexham, who was given the standard quiet hospitality that young scholarly men were practically trained to in the more prestigious halls, before she took to perusing the otherwise rather modest collection of objets d’art that had built up during their residency. This was how she became the next person to gaze upon the mezzotint and, in doing so, made a sound of subdued surprise and curiosity.
“And where did this piece come from?” She asked, causing Paul to glance up and explain.
“Jason got it from an auction last week. It only arrived yesterday. Can you believe he paid forty pounds for it?” She gave a brief glance at her brother before turning back to the picture and remarking.
“Well, it could be worse. The setting is shaded enough to imply a moonlit night, and the animal in the foreground seems fairly evocative.” The two men exchange a glance of bewilderment before Paul said.
“What animal? When we saw it last there was no indication of any wildlife.”
“Seems clear enough to me.” She replied. “How you could miss it, I have no idea. Okay, only the head is visible, presumably the body’s meant to be in amongst the bushes.” At this the two gentlemen stood up from their chairs and went to see the picture in question. There was no doubt that the shading was sharper than they could recall, and there was clearly the head of a lagomorph of some description in the foreground. They had no indication of scale and so could not determine if it were a rabbit or a hare, but it seemed to be looking directly at the house, and somehow this one silhouette was considerably blacker than any other shape in the picture.
When Sandra had departed Jason removed the mezzotint from where it had been propped and turned it over to see if any clues might be had as to the exact location portrayed or of any sign of its provenance. All he could find was a torn label that read ‘-nton Hall’ and ‘-mshire’.
“Oh dear.” He murmured at this, drawing Paul’s attention. “This label’s not much help. There must be dozens of places that end ‘nton Hall’ and we can’t be sure if it’s supposed to be in ‘Buckinghamshire’ or ‘Nottinghamshire’.” After a moment of shared bother Paul then gave his roommate a patronising smile and remarked.
“You’re the one who bought it, so it’s only fair that you should do your homework on it.” This earned him a look of betrayal. “Hey, Sandra brought me some homework of my own. We’re trying to track down one of our uncles, since my mother had frequently talked about growing up with her brother but there’s been no reference to his adult life that we’ve found.” And with that he picked up a portfolio and made his exit towards the town hall.
Throughout the day Jason tried to dig up any indication as to where the house in his acquisition was located, and what its full name might be, but all reference material anticipated that the reader would have the beginning of the names rather than the ending. He returned to the lodgings in the evening, with the shadows drawing long where he found Paul now sitting hunched forward in an armchair with the mezzotint laid out on the coffee table. How he was so riveted by it, Jason couldn’t fathom and he only got an acknowledgement of his presence when he cleared his throat.
“Call me crazy,” Paul remarked in an uncharacteristically subdued tone of voice, “But it seems like the rabbit, or hare, has moved since this morning.” Jason made a face, indicating his willingness to dismiss the suggestion as absurd, when Paul gave a slow gesture that he should look at it himself. Indeed, the shading seemed to have shifted somewhat, like some cloud cover was passing over the face of a moon that was out of shot, and there was quite clearly an intensely black lagomorph on the lawn.
“Is that really a pigment?” Jason muttered. “It looks like it was made by tearing out the canvas.”
“That’s what I thought.” Paul recollected. “And I gingerly made to probe around the form, but just as I was within millimetres of touching it, I got this sudden intense feeling that…” Jason looked at him expectantly. “Well, it was like the image would turn and bite me.” There was a pause before Jason suggested that Paul should call his sister up and ask her to provide a definitive statement on exactly how the picture looked when she was there and that Paul himself should also write one on the image as he could see it right now.
It took them until nearly eleven o’clock to receive a fax of Sandra’s recollection of the picture as she saw it, and there were some notable differences between her statement and Paul’s, who had taken a fair number of brandy shots and had retired to his bed by now, leaving Jason to switch off the lights. When he moved to turn off the last of the living room lamps his gaze fell on the face-up mezzotint, and he started so badly that he felt obliged to turn on the main light before switching the lamp off. He would always readily attest afterwards that the shading had changed again and that the rabbit/hare was now halfway down the driveway, and wherever a portion of it came between the viewer and the scenery it was like there was nothing at all past its body, for it was so black that light seemed not to escape. Whatever anyone else would’ve done, Jason’s course of action was to ensure that he was never left in the dark before he was in bed after sticking the picture inside a cabinet face-down, and wherever he could he bolted the door as he made his way to his room.
On the following morning Jason was in a poor state, evidently from having a bad night, and he found that Paul had already set off for the day. This was a slight disappointment for him as he had scrawled down a note on what he had seen of the picture before he’d gone to bed, though this clearly had provided no help in relieving the deep dread the sight of that pitch-black lagomorph inspired. As to the name of the house portrayed, he figured that they’d have to call upon an acquaintance of academia who must surely be something of a specialist, but the only person he could think of was a member of the college by the name of Collins, and he was away at this time. As he went about his day Jason found himself feeling most apprehensive every time he had cause to pass within sight of the cabinet in which the mezzotint now sat, leading him to almost run through the living room.
When he returned, Jason found Paul standing in the living room with a camera in his hands, looking rather lost. Once they’d exchanged greetings Paul then spoke somewhat sharply.
“Where’s it gone?!?” Jason had a dread feeling of what Paul was talking about and responded with a question of his own.
“Have you your statement on how it appeared yesterday?” Paul responded with a curt nod and Jason continued. “I saw it again last night. Wait while I get my own.” It was a couple of minutes that passed as he did so. “It’s in the cabinet.” He gestured uneasily. “Perhaps we must try and avoid seeing it too soon.” With that he took the camera off Paul as his roommate went about retrieving the picture, setting it up on the sideboard before they dared look, Paul taking the camera back when it became apparent that Jason wasn’t going to take the photo he’d been hoping for. This time they saw that most of the house was bathed in moonlight, and a sliver of the Moon was visible in the upper right hand side of the picture, but there seemed to be no sign of the animal that had been progressing across the lawn and driveway, until Paul made one remark after taking his photo.
“The shadow of the house doesn’t seem to be setting right. It’s all folded in over the innermost of the left-hand windows.” Indeed, this portion of the house looked almost as though there was a thick smoke flowing from one of the windows, but it didn’t seem to have the spread expected for the actions of smoke from a fire. “Come to think of it, were any of the windows open before?” At this Jason started and did a double take before answering.
“Why, yes! That first-floor window wasn’t open before. Good heavens! Do you think…?!?”
“I’d hate to say it, but you may be right. It could’ve got in, but what’s this dark smoky cloud?” There was a long pause after Jason gave a nervous swallow.
“Whatever’s going on,” He finally stated. “I can only conclude that we’re meant to bear witness to some tragic event that had happened.”
“Or is going to happen.” Paul suggested. “But it’s clear that we must see everything, otherwise that creature would’ve been taking its swell time.” Jason nodded, once again having a terrible foreboding rising at the back of his mind.
“When is Mr. Collins supposed to be back?”
“Oh, not for another couple of days.”
With that the two graduates opted to keep the picture in a steady position where it would be easy to observe but only if one intended to remain in the room, and they concluded that the external door would have to be kept locked to prevent any busybody from triggering the next part of the story before they could subsequently assess the depiction. They agreed that it would be best to keep this turn of events on the quiet, otherwise every ghost hunter and parapsychologist in the county would be badgering them for a chance to examine this phenomenon.
Throughout the day both Paul and Jason tried to uncover some details about the prospective location of the house portrayed while carrying on with their own livelihoods, and on each front they came up empty. When they returned that evening they were dismayed to find that the door was resting ajar, wondering who it was that could’ve gained access and what sort of mischief might’ve been undertaken. Upon entry they were surprised to find that it was Sandra, sitting hunched up with a transfixed expression as her eyes were riveted on the mezzotint; Paul gave a cough to snap her out of it, which led to her acknowledging them in an almost frantic state.
“Oh! Sorry for just barging in, but I finally found something about Uncle Frank and I assumed one of you was in but immersed in research, so I asked one of the fellows of the college if he could let me in. Still, I can understand locking the door if you’ve left this out.” The look in her eyes was one of abject horror.
“Really?” Paul checked.
“I’ve seen some of the works of Hieronymus Bosch,” She answered, “And even the surreal horrors he came up with aren’t a patch on this! It’s almost like seeing a black hole morph into a rabbit-like shape, certainly not something I’d want any of the kids to see.” At that she got up and turned to the sideboard where she left the portfolio she’d assembled; while she was doing this Jason and Paul looked again at the picture.
There was the house, just as before, but with the full moon now clearly beaming down its silvery light upon the grounds as some dark clouds drifted by. The window that had been open was now shut and the smoke-like cloud was gone, but now the lagomorph was in a posture of running towards the viewer and it was definitely swallowing up every gleam of light that fell upon it, except that now they could see clearly a pair of squinty eyes glowing a disturbingly cold tone of red, like distant stars. But most disturbingly of all was the sight of two human infants dangling from its mouth, showing no sign of injury but also seeming to be void of life. If they took the human figures as a denotation of scale, then this creature must’ve been the size of a bus!
Eventually Paul wrenched himself away to discuss the papers Sandra had brought along, which indicated that their uncle was last seen heading to his home in Buckinghamshire on an evening when the Moon was in its waxing gibbous phase, witnesses having described his look as ‘dead man walking’. The last person he’d been speaking to mentioned that he was troubled by a few bible verses that had kept popping into his mind, ones that he said could be recalled from a session of bibliomancy he’d performed when he’d lost his two children: 1 And Er, the firstborn of Judah, was evil in the sight of the Lord, and he slew him. 2 Thus saith the Lord, Write ye this man childless, a man that shall not prosper in his days: for no man of his seed shall prosper, 3 And the seven years of dearth began to come, according to Joseph had said:. One piece that was most curious to Paul was a newspaper clipping of his uncle’s obituary, where it mentioned that he’d gone missing the day after these witness reports indicated, with only a Bible that lay open at his bedside with a mark like a rabbit’s pawprint in black ink beside Jeremiah 50:13 Because of the wrath of the Lord it shall not be inhabited, but it shall be wholly desolate: And there was a slip of paper protruding from a page of Jeremiah 22, which was from a Berkshire newspaper in the late ‘60s announcing the establishment of a new housing estate South of Newbury.
For a few days afterwards Jason and Paul took furtive glances at the mezzotint whenever they came into the living room, but always there was the same depiction of a dreadfully black lagomorph with disproportionately small infants dangling from where they figured its mouth would be, those narrow red eyes seeming to glare directly out of the picture, like they were being judged. Eventually they called upon Mr Collins to give it a look, who was evidently disturbed by the event portrayed but finally gave them an affirmation as to where it was: Brenton Hall. He then directed Paul to one particular directory as he recognised that his mother’s family’s name had an association with it. Once he found the work in question he read something that made his blood run cold.
‘Brenton Hall is an old squire’s residence that was last upgraded in the mid-to-late 19th century that was bequeathed to the National Trust after the disappearance of the last squire, Franklin Barrett, who had never been the same since the inexplicable loss of his son and daughter in 1972. Squire Barrett had made his name in the housing industry, having established various housing projects around the country, and was known as an amateur etcher. The last known sighting of the honourable squire was just before the full moon in May 1979.’
Despite this Paul agreed with his sister that, now that they had this info, they should pay a visit to the hall and pay their respects as it were. Jason had asked about what he should do with the picture, as the glaring red eyes were giving him sleepless nights now, and was all but told that he might as well chuck it into the fireplace. While they visited, Paul asked a few of the volunteers present as to what they knew of one Frank Barrett, eventually getting one interesting titbit from an old lady who was monitoring the room that was set up as a study.
“Oh! The old squire ‘ad some curious newspaper clippings from those papers that ‘ad something to say about ‘is ‘ousing projects.” She recounted. “Bizarrely enough the Sandelford estate came up rather more often than any other; they were especially full o’ controversy and condemnation from preservation groups and environmentalists, considerin’ the rather brutal effort made to dig out the warren that were in the midst o’ the construction site.”
“A warren?” Paul asked, suddenly feeling a deep sense of foreboding and dread.
“Oh, yes. A small work group ‘ad gone down and stuck a shovelful’s worth o’ dirt into most o’ the ‘oles while they got one lad to keep watch on a couple left open and do in any o’ the little animals that sought to escape, then they got a ‘eavy-duty smoke bomb or such and stuffed it down another remainin’ ‘ole. When they then se’ about digging the whole thing up, there were some who say the rabbits ended up gorin’ each other in their panicked death ‘roes.” Sandra had recollections at this time that Paul seemed intent on hurrying things along after this, though she was surprised to find him standing over an open bible towards the end of the trip that revealed Job 7:21 for now I shall sleep in the dust; and thou shalt seek me in the morning, but I shall not be.
Upon returning to his quarters in Oxford, Paul met Jason heading out for the evening (it was after sunset) and asked what he’d done with the mezzotint.
“Like you said,” He answered, “I threw it on the fire. Truth is I was happy to, the thick smoke that came pouring out weren’t caused by any damp kindling.” At this they said their goodbyes and Paul went in.
When Jason returned he didn’t really notice anything off, but the following morning he found no sign of his roommate. What disturbed him most, though, was that a new picture of the same style was now sitting where Sandra had last seen it, now showing a view of the very building he resided in on a dark night, with another terribly black rabbit now seeming to be leaping up towards the clouds, and there was a figure hanging from its mouth that looked rather older than the infants seen in the one he’d burnt. After getting through their mourning, the Wrexham family agreed to present this work to the National Trust on the grounds that it would be kept in storage on the Brenton Hall estate. She affixed a note to the frame remarking on the last thing Jason said to her before they parted ways.
“Cuniculus Niger Domino Deo servit, et omnes vitas frustra ablatas odit.”
