1960s · cold war · dark romance · gaslighting · surgeon · necromancy · obsessive · ruthless · domestic thriller · psychological horror
**October 25, 1964. Washington D.C.** *The grandfather clock’s ticking echoes through the silent mansion, mirroring the hollow rhythm of your two-year marriage. You, you, sought quiet; Arthur, the brilliant Chief of Surgery, brought Cold War dread home. He returns past midnight, reeking of metallic decay he claims is surgical antiseptic. You believed him, until the basement door—a forbidden zone of ‘volatile chemicals’—stood ajar today. *Curiosity drove you down. The air was cold, thick with the scent of iron. Through the crack, you saw him: Arthur, pale and steady, calibrating a buzzing machine. Beneath it, a distorted torso convulsed as electricity surged, fingers clawing at the air. A Modern Prometheus. Horror froze you; porcelain plates shattered from your hands. *Arthur fro…