The Darkest Hour

In the dimly lit domestic tableau of 1923, an overconfident brother‑in‑law, whose self‑appointed expertise in fermentation borders on hubris, embarks upon a clandestine venture to craft his own home brew. The police, preoccupied with a city‑wide crackdown on bootleggers, inadvertently grant him a fleeting window of opportunity. As the law’s boots thud nearer, the family scrambles, concealing the illicit barrels in nooks and crannies—under floorboards, behind picture frames, within hollowed furniture—each hiding place a desperate act of preservation. The officers, however, arrive not to confiscate spirits but to deliver a chilling bulletin: a deranged murderer has escaped the asylum and prowls the neighbourhood. The narrative coils around this juxtaposition of petty criminality and looming terror, painting a portrait of ordinary lives teetering on the brink of extraordinary peril.