The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

MR. ENFIELD: Do you see that shabby-looking door over there? Any idea who lives there?

MR. UTTERSON: I see it, but I don’t know the man.

MR. ENFIELD: I once saw him run over a child at three in the morning. Just trampled over her like an elephant.

MR. UTTERSON: My God! What did you do?

MR. ENFIELD: Me and the other fellows on the street held him down until he agreed to give her parents money. But you know, it was the funniest thing: There was something about the man’s face that we all positively disliked.

I mean we just really did not take to him! I couldn’t tell you what it was, but there was just this indefinable sort of quality that made us all really take against him

MR. UTTERSON: Did he have the money?

MR. ENFIELD: Well, it was three in the morning and just about everything was closed, of course. So we had a sort of forced sleepover at my place until the banks opened in the morning. Now I have a new rule: No matter what happens, no matter where I am or what I see, I no longer ask questions. I don’t want to learn things anymore.

MR. UTTERSON: I have the same rule!

MR. ENFIELD: It’s a very good rule.

MR. UTTERSON: All the same, I do wish I knew the name of that man.

MR. ENFIELD: The one who crushes children? I can’t see any harm in asking about him. His name is Mr. Hyde. This is his personal address.

MR. UTTERSON: Hm. Come to think of it, do you know I wish I hadn’t asked his name after all?

MR. ENFIELD: Yes, I should have said, there’s a great deal of harm in asking about him, and a horrible sense of the mounting dread that accompanies certain knowledge. I don’t know why I suggested we walk down this street in the first place.

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Mr. Utterson returns home and pulls out the will of one Henry Jekyll, a well-respected local doctor. The will reads:

“In the event of my death — or merely even an unexplained absence of say two or three months — then I want all my earthly possessions transferred to my horrible friend Mr. Hyde, whom everyone hates. Moreover I want him to move into my apartment, wear my jammies, open my letters, and I think all of my other friends should have to call him Darling Mister Princess. And every Thursday will be his birthday, and no one can ask him any questions, no matter how mysteriously I may have vanished.

Also if he is ever accused of murder or trampling please DO NOT go to the police but contact me directly and I will see to it that he leaves town.”