a strange dream

by anonymous

illustrated by konrad kraus

last night i had the strangest dream i dreamed i was forging balzac's signature on a letter to franz kafka i didn't have much time dupin was waiting in the next room with sherlock holmes i needed a quill not a ball point pen i found a fountain pen in the drawer of the old wooden desk it would have to do dupin just glanced at it when i gave it to him he and holmes were deep in discussion, muttering about something i could not understand them overcome with relief i walked down the dark street under the lamps in the fog the lights of a tavern beckoned i entered i settled in to a booth and ordered a foamy glass of dark ale from a rosy cheeked barmaid i thought my troubles were behind me but they had only begun four people were seated at a table behind mine. i could not help overhearing their conversation i looked behind me and recognized them as the distinguished novelist george meredith mister gladstone prince von bismarck, chancellor of the german empire and our beloved queen victoria to my horror i realized they were plotting a series of dreadful murders of unfortunate women who were reduced to walking the streets and selling that portion of themselves which no longer had any value their plan of attack was carefully coordinated each was to provide alibis for the others and the murders themselves were to be executed with a minute and unimaginable savagery i froze in my shadows would they realize i was overhearing them? with infinite care i rose from my seat leaving my glass of ale untouched not daring to look behind me i made for the door an eternity passed i could only make headway by swimming through the darkness at last i reached the door at last! as i entered the street a tall figure brushed past me on his way into the tavern it was sir edward burne-jones! i fairly flew through the streets when i reached my lodgings i saw a strange yellow light in in my third story window i opened the front door and careless of waking mrs foster the landlady i raced up the stairs the light beneath my door was a ghastly pink! i flung open the door and there hanging from the rafters casting a dark and swirling shadow over my overturned paint pots and scattered brushes was a dead man!