Shadowridge Press titles in detail...

Peter Atkins, Kelly Dunn and Stephen Woodworth
ONE NIGHT AT THE VILLA DIODATI
Trade paperback / 7 x 7 / 74 pages / Publication date / March 2017
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On a dark and stormy night in June of 1816, four of the leading literati of the Romantic era challenged each other to write ghost stories, a competition that inspired both Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein and the modern vampire story. Two hundred years later, Peter Atkins (author of Morningstar and Big Thunder and screenwriter of Hellbound: Hellraiser II and Wishmaster), Kelly Dunn (Beloved of the Fallen, writing as Savannah Kline), and Stephen Woodworth (New York Times bestsellers Through Violet Eyes and With Red Hands) recreated this celebrated contest by composing brand new stories in the style of Lord Byron, Percy and Mary Shelley, and John Polidori. So dim the lights, stoke the fire, and enjoy these shivery tales from One Night at the Villa Diodati!

 

The Stories- The Orbs of Erato by Percy Bysshe Shelley as channeled by Stephen Woodworth, My Dearest Adiela by Mary Shelley as channeled by Kelly Dunn, The Vamp-pyr by John William Polidori as channeled by Stephen Woodworth, and The Novel of the Fragments by Lord Byron as channeled by Peter Atkins

HERE'S A PREVIEW FROM ONE NIGHT AT THE VILLA DIODATI

 

MY DEAREST ADIELA 

by Mary Shelley as channeled by Kelly Dunn

 

You may open your eyes now," my husband said.

I looked at the figure before me in amazement. "Why, it's my very likeness!" I cried. It really was startling to see a machine that resembled me in so many respects. It sat in a chair at my worktable, leaning slightly forward as if eager to communicate with me.

Glimpsing it for the first time in the dim morning light caused me a momentary shock, for I thought I'd got caught in a dream and could see myself sitting in front of me. I confess I jumped a little, much to my husband's amusement.

Dominik kissed my hand, his eyes sparkling with the success of his surprise. "Merely a plaything, dearest," he said. "Its beauty but a pale imitation of your own."

"But—how on earth—?"

"I constructed it, sweetest heart," he told me. He went on to say that, as his family's manse was so isolated, that he thought it would be amusing for me to have a sort of companion. Dominik had often lamented—more than I had—that my father's objection to our marriage had painfully separated me from my small, proud clan. I chose never to speak of my loneliness, but it seemed Dominik had divined it.

"You ought to have someone about who is not a servant or a menial," Dominik went on. "One who is like unto yourself, who can be a bosom friend, even a teacher for you, if you like."

I looked more closely at the automaton's finely modeled features, the hair that matched the chestnut shade of my own. I could easily see why my father had so valued Dominik's skills as watchmaker and artist, for these were united in the automaton I saw before me. I pointed to it. "So you made it—for me?"

He smiled. "For you. And her name is Adiela, the same as yours, my love." Seeing me hesitate, he added, "She cannot harm you. She is here for your improvement, your peace of mind."

I moved closer to my namesake, examining the lace on its dress, its faintly blushing cheeks, its smooth tapered fingers. It almost looked as if it could breathe. A work of art, truly. No one had ever given me so precious a gift.

"Well, go on," he encouraged. "Bid her good morning."

I ignored my husband's command, looking instead into his handsome face. "It's very beautiful, but why should I need another companion when I have you?"

He didn't answer, and I knew I had done what I'd tried so hard not to do—said the very thing to vex him.

"You will find her a useful friend when business calls me away, dearest. And you know that time is at hand." He gestured in the direction of the front door, where a long box had already been strapped to the waiting carriage.

I did not want to appear ungrateful, had no wish to provoke his frown. "Is it—she, I mean—really so accomplished?" I asked.

"Of course! Try her and see." He showed me how to activate the motions of the automaton, and how to command it to perform. Filled with the pride of creation, he seemed to find it easy to brush away my tears as he got into the carriage that morning to deliver a custom-made "marvelous machine," as Dominik called his automatons, to a far-off princely patron, and to receive his further orders.

For my part, I would far rather have had my husband with me than any machine, no matter how intricate. Even my pet canary seemed a preferable companion, being a living thing with feelings, even if of the avian variety. But after days upon days of communing with the little bird, and giving unnecessary orders to my husband's well-trained servants, and looking out the windows to the barren icy fields and dark woods beyond, I found myself drawn to her—the new Adiela.

I went into the day parlour, where the automaton still sat poised at my worktable, and gave the command. She straightened her posture and looked at me. "Good morning, Adiela," she pronounced in sweet accents. "What shall we do today?"

The moment I heard that dulcet voice, my fears vanished away. What harm would it do to pretend, to play best-of-friends with the machine my husband had crafted with such care? I smiled at her, a gracious hostess. "Shall we begin with our embroidery?" I placed a threaded needle and hoop into her hands, and to my amazement, the new Adiela began to sew.

That evening I discovered she could sing, and play the pianoforte, and soon I began to repeat the words and memorize the music made by her mechanical hands. At first, I considered the new Adiela a pastime to beguile the hours until hearth or husband should require me. But with each visit, another of her talents came to light. From her I learned the rudiments of French, German, Italian, and Latin—all languages my father had not deigned to teach me. From her mechanical gait I learned the walk and gestures of the demimonde, for I had always secretly longed to be a woman of fashion. Adiela's smiles of beaming approval would reward me for each task I mastered. Many and many a time I thought, ah, how pleased Dominik would be, if only he could see me thus! And yet, with each new morning, I found myself eager to gain the approbation of the new Adiela.

As my husband's absence extended from weeks to months, I found myself on many occasions looking deeply into Adiela's artificial eyes, taking her cold hand, telling her the secrets of my girlhood and newly married life. To my amazement, the new Adiela seemed to understand! She would nod, her eyes reflecting mine, as I confided some childish peccadillo, or revealed to her my thoughts from the most noble to the deeply uncharitable. Whatever the case, she would reply with gentle words of advice, quoting the ancients and the wits of the day. I told her, too, of my increasing loneliness, how I had begun to feel quite weak as darkness came on each night—"Not on account of you, dear Adiela, but because Dominik has been away so long"—and her cold hand would squeeze mine in seeming sympathy.

I felt sure my bodily weakness would pass when I received word of Dominik's return, but his letters said he could not tell when he would be home again. With each additional day of his abandonment my weakness spread, turning my limbs to lead and my resolve to fog.

One morning I found even leaving my bed difficult. I shook my head at my maid's indifferent "Shall I call the doctor then?" No, a doctor could not help me. I dressed and slowly made my way downstairs. Only one countenance could cheer me; only one companion could re-energize my enervated frame. I directed my halting footsteps to the beloved figure sitting in her usual place at my worktable. "Oh, what shall I do, my dearest Adiela?" I cried, throwing my arms around her neck. "If only you could help me!"

As I clasped the automaton in my arms, I experienced the strangest sensation. A shock like electricity ran through me. I saw the gears and levers of the new Adiela all at once, experienced a feeling of melting, dissolving away, and then I found myself looking out through her eyes—a pinhole camera of near-blindness. But I could see well enough to observe my body falling like a heavy cloak and crumpling on the floor.

I do not know how much time passed. It seemed an eternity, but at last I perceived my husband, my Dominik, approaching me. Ah, how I wanted to run to him, but I could do nothing unless he chose to activate my mechanism.

"So it has happened," he said. "Can you hear me, sweetest heart? Your essence has been absorbed into the automaton. Your body is quite used up, as you see—" and here he actually kicked my body which still lay insensible on the carpet—"and your spirit could not sustain it. Therefore you shall animate this machine, dependent on your lord's commands."

I could comprehend his words, but my false lips could form no protest to counter them.

.