My dead diary – Sunday 7th February
A dull, grey day after the rain. Sheltered most of the night in the Brompton catacombs, passing the time with a crypt-wraith who had stories to tell about the Victorian dissenters there. Apparently they still congregate from time to time, but disapprove of the new arrivals in the cemetery and are telling anyone who cares to listen that the neighbourhood is not what it was. The wraith moves on to some old gossip about our mutual friend Mrs X being seen in company with a Wardour Street spectre, but then two zombies from the south plots arrive with a jar of home-brew and I don’t remember much more.
I drift down to the river at Hammersmith this afternoon because someone says you’ve been spotted there. I guess it’s worth a try, although over a century has passed since our last meeting. I don’t know what I could say to explain what happened; perhaps the whole thing’s hopeless but I won’t let it go. Anyway, the pubs are full of Knightsbridge vampires and there’s no sign of you so I beat a hasty retreat. It’s pouring again now and I can feel the floodwaters rising – time to head for higher ground.