The madness of the eyes is the lure of the abyss.

Sirens lurk in the dark depths of pupils as they lurk the bottom of the sea.

That I know for sure.

Jean Lorraine, Monsieur de Foux.

Hidden along the glooming northwest coast of England, where the churning gray waters of the

Irish Sea crash and break endlessly upon the ancient British sandstone, there can be found

numerous isolated communities nestling in the lonely, cumbrian countryside.

Many of these hamlets are little more than decaying farming communities maintained by clannish families,

who bear names that were still ancient when the first drops of ink were

spilled onto the pages of the Domesday Book.

One of the more prominent towns in Seascale, a former Victorian resort that has stubbornly

dragged its feet towards modernity over the last century.

Just 90 years ago, Seascale was little more than a collection of farms, but the Furnace Railway Company had come along in 1879 and connected Seascale to the larger port towns of Whitehaven in the north and the borough and furnace to the south. The natural beauty that surrounded Seascale was ripe for development, and the railway company

put plans in motion to convert the sleepy hamlets and farms into a bustling seaside resort.

The huge crowds never came, however, and only a few large buildings, one being the impressive

Schofel Hotel that still stands today, had been constructed, though it sees fewer

and fewer visitors each year. Most who come to sea scale were simply stopping by on their way

to explore the beautiful valleys on their way to the Lake District, rather than the town itself.

It was a little more than a convenience for travelers making their way to a more exciting

part of the country. The Furnace Railway Company had dissolved in the 20s, after which a few

more rail firms then took over the lines, but these two dissolved, until nationalization

brought them under the purview of the newly minted British railways.

...