Edward ‘Teddy’ Stooles - 1887
Edward 'Teddy' Stooles. Now there's a character for you. A curious soul, he was. Back then, folks had many names for him. Some saw him as the town fool, while others whispered of thievery in his wake. But to those who found fascination in his peculiar ways, he was nothing short of a necromancer, weaving tales that danced on the edge of the supernatural. Yet, for all his enigmatic aura, Teddy remained a mystery to most. You didn't really know him; you just knew of him.
However, there was one universal truth about Teddy Stooles – offer him even the faintest kindness, a mere smile, and he'd latch onto you like burrs to a wool coat. He'd chatter endlessly about every mundane detail of his existence, blissfully unaware of his listener's disinterest. Indeed, the only surefire way to rid yourself of his incessant prattling was to pay him off, like a toll to cross a bridge into silence.
But you couldn’t deny him of his efforts.
His command over the dark arts, often showcased beneath the looming shadow of Millpond Town Hall, served as his lure for fortune. And by fortune, I ain't speakin' of the pitiful coins tossed to beggars. I speak of the silent thievery that danced in his fingers. He'd entice unwitting participants, weaving his charm and deceit in a pantomime display. Yet, as eyes fixated on his performances, his hands, slick and sly, would dart into unsuspecting pockets, liberating whatever treasures they held.
Awestruck by his spectacles, many would extend invitations to their gatherings, adorned with wealth and opulence. There, amidst the lavish excess, he'd dazzle them with juggling, sword balancing, and the fiery exhale of a practised trickster. Oh, Teddy was indeed a cunning entrepreneur.
Offering his services cheap, knowing his takings would be grand.
As the highborn revellers succumbed to the intoxication of merriment, he'd seize his opportunity, pilfering possessions with ease. Pearl earrings, diamond necklaces, gold bracelets—no trinket was safe from his grasp. Attributing it to a debt unpaid by fate's hand for denying him the privilege of aristocracy or wealth.
Now, when it came to thievin', Teddy had a knack, sure. But he had to balance it with his other craft—the craft of magic. Sometimes, he'd get carried away. His illusions were so darn peculiar, they bordered on the impossible. Only real magic could conjure up the things he did.
In Millpond, folks ain't too keen on the notion of witchery or sorcery, what with our savage history of dealing with such matters. So, Teddy, he'd always make sure to sprinkle a dash of truth into his milder tricks, just enough to pass 'em off as mere sleight of hand. But them grander illusions, the ones that stretched believability to its limits, well, he had to cloak 'em in another way. Yet, try as he might, not everyone bought into his charade. Which is why, after all, there was curious whispers of ole Teddy Stooles having an affinity for the darker arts.
One of Teddy's stunts was the bullet catch. Nowadays, you might find some folks pullin' it off with a fair bit of professionalism, but back then, it was a whole different kettle of fish. None of your smoke and mirrors nonsense—no sir. It took meticulous planning and a careful arrangement of actors and props. With the right angles and a touch of misdirection, you could have the whole crowd gawkin' in amazement. But it weren't a trick to be attempted at dinner parties, especially not with a bunch of rowdy drunks about.
Come Christmas Eve 1887, there was quite the shindig happenin' over at the Mayor's grand abode on Clifton Drive, nestled snug against the West side of Millpond, right next door to the Archingold estate. And who should be among the invited guests but Teddy himself, ready to dazzle 'em all with his bag of tricks. Dressed in his brightest motley costume adorned with polished, lead buttons stolen from previous endeavours, he looked the part. Afterall it was another year, another opportunity for that peculiar Teddy to fleece the well-to-do while playin' the fool for the entirety of the evening. Easy pickings, indeed!
Things were goin' smooth enough until one fella, deep in his booze and deeper still in his sorrows, decided to take his frustrations out on poor Teddy. Seemed he couldn't bear the embarrassment of a few measly card tricks and aimed to take it out on our magician friend. Now, this fella, mind you, was none other than a descendant of General Ulysses S. Grant himself, a war hero who'd lost his arm in the Civil War just a few years prior. He demanded Teddy spill the beans on his trickery, but when Teddy stood firm, the fella's temper flared. And Teddy, well, he couldn't resist a bit of goading, not unlike a mischievous schoolboy pokin' a hornet's nest.
It didn’t last long. The drunkard challenged Teddy to catch a bullet from his revolver. Like he’d seem him do a few drunken parties before this one.
Midnight chimed from the old grandfather clock, casting silence over the ballroom as all eyes turned to Teddy. It was as if the spotlight had zeroed in on their little drama, with a crowd of onlookers eagerly awaiting the next act as if it were halftime entertainment. Whether Teddy had a final trick tucked away or if he truly put his faith in the mystic arts to save him, we may never know. Before he could utter a word, a gunshot shattered the silence!
BANG!
A collective gasp from those around, as smoke wisped from the barrel of the drunkard's gun, his figure swaying unsteadily in the dim light. A smirk creeped across his lips, convinced he'd silenced the poor jester once and for all. But as his gaze drifted downward, his expression twisted in horror. For there, in the midst of his own chest, lay a smoking cavity where the bullet had found its mark.
He collapsed dead, smashing through a table on his way down. When a guest inspected closer, they noticed the bullet had indeed hit Teddy in the chest, but it did something that it couldn’t do given a one in a million chance, it ricocheted off one them lead buttons, back into the drunkard. In that moment, Teddy’s fate was sealed.
Whispers of sorcery echoed through the room as they seized Teddy, pinning him down for the Mayor's investigation. How else could he have survived such a close-range shot, if not for some genuine magic at play?
As the guests restrained Teddy, one of them ventured to explore his attire more closely. Lo and behold, nestled within a secret breast pocket of his costume, lay a solid gold pocket watch bearing the Mayor's name. But the revelations didn't end there. Astonishingly, they uncovered an array of pilfered possessions hidden in secret compartments on Teddy's possession—trinkets and treasures that belonged to others in that very room. The discovery left them dumbfounded and, very, very angry.
“THIEF!” “FRAUD!” “COWARD!” they shouted, instantly branding him a criminal.
Not taking kindly to being made fools of, they decided to enact their own kind of punishment on poor ole Teddy Stooles. I mean, who in the world would miss a street performer if he were to suddenly disappear?
They hauled Teddy out into the night, binding his legs to a sturdy horse and securing his arms to the front posts of the porch. With a sharp crack of the whip, the horse bolted, tearing Teddy's body apart in a brutal display of force. Cruel? Yes. But what’s worse was the pain Teddy endured for another agonising eleven minutes before someone delivered the final mercy of a bullet to his head.
His remains were hastily concealed within a wooden box and stashed away in the depths of the Mayor's basement, a grim secret hidden from the light of day.
Now when any kind of expensive jewellery or prized possession goes missin’ in Millpond they have a peculiar habit of ending up on the porch of the now current Mayor’s stately home, which has been rebuilt over time.
So many wonder whether the cheeky ole Edward ‘Teddy’ Stooles still lives beneath the mansion and roams the streets of Millpond on Christmas Eve still collecting those shiny and expensive items for his own, lost soul. But no one’s ever seen him. Just the jewels layin’ there.
