—A fragment found amongst the papers of Charles Dexter Ward
It was amongst the curious inventory of the Ward estate, drawn up after the young man’s tragic end, that I came across the object: a squat, hand-turned wooden bowl, sealed with pitch. It bore no manufacturer’s mark, save for a faded brand stamped into the lid.
At first I thought it was a common personal hygiene relic. But the scent—it was no ordinary fragrance. Not floral, not musky, but pungent with notes of ash, brine and something curiously… alive. As I unscrewed the lid, a fine mist curled from the soap and I felt the room grow cold.
The pages of the journal accompanying the object, written in Ward’s increasingly erratic hand, revealed a history of unearthed formulas found in the writings of Joseph Curwen, his necromantic ancestor. Among them, one labelled ‘WARD: for the opening of the pores between worlds’. Ward had replicated it, not for hygiene, but to invoke.
He wrote of midnight shaves by candlelight, of hearing whispers rising from the lather, of seeing flashes in the mirror of a face that was not his own—lecherous, aged, with a powdered wig and a bloodstained smile.
In the third entry, Ward stated that the act of shaving had become a rite: a bloodless sacrifice, opening fissures that allowed him to speak with those who had passed beyond. He wrote down their secrets, their names. He even dared to speak with Curwen himself.
But the final note chilled me to the bone:
“The soap grows stronger. I need not sing now. It knows the blade. It knows the flesh. And soon... it will shave me clean of this feeble shell."
Since then, I have sealed the bowl once more. But sometimes, at night, from the cupboard, I hear a faint scraping sound... as if a razor were gliding across invisible skin.
INGREDIENTES
Alcohol Denat., Aqua, Aloe Barbadensis Leaf Juice, Tocoferol Acetate (Vitamin E), Isopropyl Myristate, and Parfum (Fragance)*.
*Natural essential oils, molecules and flower extracts.
