Around the same time a new Imp was commissioned, and subsequently installed the following year, but the dark charisma of the Old prevented its ready disposal and a niche was constructed in the darkest and most abyssal parts of Deep Hall to contain and constrain its brooding form.
Lincoln Imp - Mike White, IT Manager
When, as a younger and, dare I say it, more idealistic individual I first came to Lincoln in the 1990s my regard was immediately drawn to the crumbling, decayed form of the Old Imp, ensconced in the corner of Front Quad. Carved in 1899 by T. G. Jackson as a gift from certain, unnamed, Old Members it perched above the entrance to Hall, always watching but never sharing its secrets, for over a century before its aspect became so frightful, so repellent, that it was taken down at the closing of the Millennium and banished underground.
Around the same time a new Imp was commissioned and subsequently installed the following year. Alas, the dark charisma of the Old prevented its ready disposal but thanks to a donation from Old Member Dennis Woodfield, a member of the infamous class of '57, a niche was constructed in the darkest and most abyssal parts of Deep Hall to contain and constrain its brooding form. Roosting uncomfortably on a stairway to nowhere, starkly lit and savagely austere in its decor, the Imp had found a demesne well suited to its nature. And there it squats to this very day: part ichthyic, part batrachian; wholly abhorrent. Venture alone to its niche on some dark night and meet its repellent gaze; feel the malice, the sheer malevolence of its stare and dare to defy the chill you feel in your very blood.
There are those who dismiss my views as the feverish ramblings of one who has delved too deeply into unwholesome code; they claim that no simple stonework could be imbued with such a sinister aura, such chthonic presence. To them I can only put one simple question: why then is the Imp imprisoned behind a sturdy grid of iron bars?