The Bill Poster

What do you mean this one looks different? It's just a dumb bill.

Bill posters are legions in the city. There is always something to be advertised in London, a new shop opening, a traveling circus, an announcement from the Parliament and whatnot. The common point between all those bill posters is that they only stick their posters during the day. Except for an elusive one, active only at night.

The chosen one

Nobody has ever managed to get a glimpse of them. They act in the shadows, in the blind spot of the world. They may be a talented mage, a resourceful ghost or a completely unique entity of the Abyss. I personally tend to the latter, but opinions differ. They never stick the same poster twice, to make them easier to blend in the cityscape. A solitary advertisement, the seventh poster of a circus that only stuck six, or a half-torn and drenched bill.

They are innocent papers, at first glance. Hundreds of people may pass by the wall it's on, maybe look a bit into it, curious as to why they cannot read the text written in what looks like english, then forget and go on their way. In effect, the bill is fated for only one person. One individual, among all the londoners, who is able to read the cryptic transcript. To this person, the bill will enact an otherworldly fascination. They will be drawn to it, deciphering the ever-shrinking text, getting closer and closer and closer until they blend with the paper, lost forever in their quest of meaning.

Late night guest

I don't know how they did this. I was in my shop all night, always with an eye on the entrance, as I always do. I'm not one to be distracted, especially when it deals with my safety. And yet they managed to stick it without me knowing. A poster. Still dripping with glue, stuck face against the glass, right in front of my counter.

The scribbles were unreadable, but the detailed face of a crazed man wearing a top hat was enough. I looked into its red glowing eyes and understood the message. Frustratingly, as I reached outside to seize the paper, a gust of wind detached it from my window and it vanished into the streets. Was I really drawn to the bill? I had a furious desire to examine the markings, so I suppose I was. I also surmise they don't wish me arm, and that the providential blow was their doing. I don't think any angel would guard me.

They want to meet me. Whatever they are, I managed to get their attention. I didn't feel any ill intent, though I can never be too sure when dealing with entities of the abyss. I cannot word the address, but I know how to get there. In two days time, I will honour this rendezvous. It doesn't seem to be avoidable anyway, so I better go of my own will.