Chapter 29
29. Life, in its brevity, yet contrasts the enduring length of art.
After a fleeting period, I was once more master of my faculties.
In spite of the enigmatic event that had transpired, the campus was steeped in an eerily serene aura. A duo of owls perched atop a street lamp, hooting comfortably, whilst students, in all their youthful vibrancy, trod across the grass with their vivacious chatter.
I found myself standing in stark contrast, sauntering about as an uneasy elder, my neck drawn in and a suspicious glare fixed in my eyes.
Bizarrely, this tranquil atmosphere felt grotesque, looming over the mysterious occurrence I had just experienced. It differed vastly from the past incidents at Jacob's Island or the West Norwood Cemetery, where threats from monstrous entities, frantic in their ability to bring death upon mankind, gushed from the unseen corners, unbeknownst to the denizens of London.
Yet, Oldcourt was nestled squarely within the confines of London, a university teeming with hundreds of students, who casually attended their lectures. They bore no animosity towards me, nor did they worship any blasphemous deity and mutter in an unintelligible language.
It was akin to wandering in a fog-laden field, a common occurrence in London, yet one that perpetually stirred a sense of discomfort.
"Ah, Professor Herbert."
A familiar voice echoed from behind me. Prepared to strike with my cane, I wheeled around.