Tomas Mortlake
All ten truths have been recovered. The reconstruction of Tomas Mortlake is complete.
Containment dossier
CONTAINMENT DOSSIER: SUBJECT MORTLAKE, TOMAS. TYPE: GALVANIC. ORIGIN: It was the 1890s. The letter stayed unsent then., PORTLAND DISTRICT.
Subject was active in life as Photographer. I captured faces while I missed my own son's.. The entity remains bound by a singular directive: Stay? To hear my name. Kindly. Once.. During final days, subject was observed performing compulsive rituals involving wood and varnish; specifically, I polished the banister until it shone, daily, furiously. occurred repeatedly until the structure gleamed with unnatural intensity. This behavior culminated when No. Nineteen-nineties. The harvest moon hung low when I died, not a thousand years later., at which point the scene was discovered. The manner of termination remains ambiguous to outsiders; records indicate Thirty-one. The number burns. I was found at the desk, pen in hand. Do not count me again.. Physical artifacts recovered include a personal device: A flash-pan. Scorched black. I guard it like a starving thing., now fused to the floorboards by residual heat and sorrow.
The narrative core of this haunting revolves around an unsent communication. In the final timeline, subject failed to dispatch Yes. The letter stayed in my hand. Unsent., a document that would have altered the trajectory of the entire family line. This regret is compounded by the absence of one specific individual: I missed Peter. The letter stayed in my hand, and the banister still shines.. The young boy was removed from the household and never returned. Subject currently exists in a state of suspended animation, obsessed with minor domestic details while mourning the loss of his only child. Historical records suggest subject reached adulthood at age Thomas? No. Mortlake. Thirty-one, dead. Do not say it like that.. At that specific age, he died found at his writing desk, pen in hand, letter unfinished. No further interaction is permitted without prior authorization from the Field Office.
[End of Dossier]
Recovered truths
- HOW THEY DIED: Thirty-one. The number burns. I was found at the desk, pen in hand. Do not count me again.
- THE DECADE IT HAPPENED: It was the 1890s. The letter stayed unsent then.
- THEIR TRADE IN LIFE: Photographer. I captured faces while I missed my own son's.
- THE KEEPSAKE THEY GUARD: A flash-pan. Scorched black. I guard it like a starving thing.
- WHY THEY STAY: Stay? To hear my name. Kindly. Once.
- THE SECRET THEY KEPT: Yes. The letter stayed in my hand. Unsent.
- THE HABIT THAT REMAINS: I polished the banister until it shone, daily, furiously.
- THE ONE THEY MISS: I missed Peter. The letter stayed in my hand, and the banister still shines.
- THE SEASON IT HAPPENED: No. Nineteen-nineties. The harvest moon hung low when I died, not a thousand years later.
- HOW OLD THEY WERE: Thomas? No. Mortlake. Thirty-one, dead. Do not say it like that.
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