Cecilia de Noël

In a warm, lamplit drawing‑room on an early spring night, a small gathering listens to Sir George Atherley’s fervent sermon on “the gospel of fact.” He argues that science, with its precision and reliability, should replace the comforts of faith and charity, comparing clear daylight through glass to the colorful, but misleading, stained‑glass of old churches. The conversation is punctuated by the soft ticking of a fire and the quiet knitting of Lady Atherley, creating a domestic backdrop for his stark, rationalist worldview.

The evening’s calm is shattered by an unsettling howl that seems to emanate from within the house itself. As Atherley summons a footman to investigate, the guests exchange uneasy glances, hinting that the rational order he champions may soon be challenged by something far more mysterious. Listeners are drawn into a world where intellectual certainty collides with hidden, perhaps supernatural, disturbances, promising a compelling exploration of belief, doubt, and the unseen forces that linger in a seemingly ordinary household.