The Unknown
Dark Shadows Fan Fiction
By Scarlett Burns

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Dan Curtis Productions and
no copyright infringement is intended. No money is being made and I promise to return
them when I'm through, a little less for wear but OK.

The main idea of this fan fic is based on an excellent book I read a few years ago titled
"Superstition" by David Ambrose.


The year was 1905 and Quentin Collins was alone, depressed and completely bored. That was probably why he had agreed to such an idiotic idea in the first place. After all he'd been through, why did he want to be someone's guinea pig?

"More Brandy darlin'?"

Quentin looked up at the waitress, a small smile on his lips. The lady's accent was reminiscent of Charity when Pansy Faye had possessed her. The waitress was pretty in a London trollop sort of way, but even she couldn't lift his spirits today. He sighed, sliding the glass towards her.

"Sure… why not."

As she refilled his glass for the third time that night, his thoughts wandered back to yesterday evening. Why did he always insist on making decisions while drunk? It always led to trouble. Although he was loath to admit it, he suspected that he should know better by now.

Taking a sip of his newly refreshed brandy he wondered if he'd ever learn.

'Imagine! Agreeing to be part of a researchers' experiment into the supernatural. This fool was actually trying to prove that ghosts were only a part of the human mind!'

The man obviously hadn't been to Collinwood.

Smirking, Quentin gazed into the dregs of his brandy. Obviously, the good doctor didn't know who and what he'd been talking to, either.

A the time, it had struck Quentin funny - in an ironic sort of way - when Mr. Feld had approached his liquor-induced self the previous night. What would that man think if he'd known that he was talking to an ex-ghost at that very moment? A man who'd spent a brief time as a zombie and currently a werewolf in remission?

The mere thought of it made the mischief-maker in him chuckle.

At least it would give him something to do. He'd been bored out of his mind the last few months. Perhaps, he'd even have some fun tormenting the man.

"It's all mind over matter" the scientist had told him, with complete confidence in his theory.

He'd grinned at the pure folly of the statement. "Oh, really? No ghosts haunt you, Doctor?"

Feld then removed a piece of paper from his pocket and scribbled on it quickly, handing the paper to Quentin.

"Come to that address if you are game," he'd said, gesturing to the paper. "I think you'll find it… quite interesting."

The burn of the brandy down his throat brought Quentin out of his reverie. He rolled his eyes. 'Such a fool.'

Hearing the sound of rainfall, Quentin looked out the window and watched the rain drops cascade down the glass; the drops of water glistened in the light from the pub.

Typical London weather.

It reminded him very much of home, a place his thoughts often wandered these days.

He wondered why. He'd hated it there, and he hardly had what one would call fond memories of the place… so why in hell did he miss it?


The house forever seemed to beckon him, and no matter how far he traveled Collinwood always seemed to be at the end of every road.

At that moment he was reminded of Beth's words…

"Collinwood casts a long shadow."

How right you were Beth, how right you were.

1897. That fateful year seemed like so long ago; a lifetime. Yet it had been a mere eight years.

Paying for his drinks he left the small pub, named The Ship and Shovel. It was part of the pub-crawl that followed London's underground circle line.

Deep in thought, Quentin stepped out onto the stony London streets and let the raindrops sober him up as they ran down his face. As he walked the darkened and deserted sidewalk his long coat was quickly drenched, as was the rest of him.

He thought of Lenore, his beautiful baby daughter, who would no longer be a baby. She would be nine years old soon – her birthday in a few weeks.

Did she still look like Jenny?

And Jamison… he'd be all grown up now, turning twenty this year. Would he be like Edward now?

Quentin smiled to himself at the thought; he had spent so much time with Jamison when he was young. Jamison had adored Quentin's stories, and enjoyed the adventurous hikes they'd take on the Collinwood estate. They'd had a lot of fun together, unlike Edward's cold approach to fatherhood. He'd never recalled Edward taking Jamison anywhere, or doing anything with him.

Edward didn't know the meaning of the word 'fun'. No… Jamison was nothing like Edward.

'Jamison was always more like myself…'

Quentin shivered, partly from the cold and partly from the idea that came from that last thought. It had always popped up here and there, relentlessly reminding him of a time he would do best to forget - forever.

No, he would not think about that now. The thought was terrifying to him.

Reaching the Inn that he was staying at, he made his way to his room. Best to be getting at least a little sleep tonight. After all, Dr. Feld wanted to start his experiment with ghosts tomorrow, and he had a feeling that it was going to be a long, long day.