Mad Bride of the Ripper

by Lucas Thorn

  “Ridiculous, is it? Have you seen inside his bag, Harker? Has he trusted you that much, yet? He used to trust me enough to pack it. Always a good servant was little William Sloper.” Swallowed a quick mouthful of beer. “Long time ago. Now, he’s got himself some little rich boys to touch his things. Keeps the filthy hands of poor lads like myself off his fine leather.”

  “God, Sloper. Listen to what you’re saying. Are you sure you’re alright?”

  “I told you, didn’t I?” Slapped a hand on the table which was enough to make a few in the quiet room jump. Scowl at him. But he didn’t notice. Sighed. “It doesn’t matter. I do my job. And I do it for better reasons than you. You joined us because it was a club you wanted to belong to. A notch in your gentleman’s belt. You prance about like you’ve discovered some new purpose. But you’re like a general in an army. Hiding up the back. And if you do make it to the front by accident, you piss your pants and come running as fast as you can to send little William Sloper out to clean up the fucking mess. That what happened to you in Transylvania, Harker? Got too close to the real thing? Scare the shit out of you, did it? You met him and he terrified you, didn’t he? Made it so you couldn’t even bring yourself to enter his crypt? That it? Or did you try getting a good suck on his Brides? I hear they’ve got some ripe rumps, too. That how you put it, right? Ripe rumps?”

  “That’s enough,” Harker said. Thrust out his chin, but his eyes still slid away. “Really, Sloper. It’s uncalled for.”

  “They refused you.” William’s eyes widened. Mouth curled into a grin. “They did, didn’t they? Didn’t fall for your greasy little charm, did they? Of course not. You thought they’d be simpleminded whores. Slaves under his power who’d be grateful for a bit of your mouthy heroics. I bet you promised them freedom and they laughed right in your face. Gave you a bit of a shock, I bet.”

  “Enough!” Harker’s hiss made William jerk back. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, you blasted fool.”

  “You’re wrong. I do. I’ve been hunting vampires a long time. I’ve staked more than a dozen of them. Some of them women. Had to get close to more than a few of them, too. Talk to them. I know their tricks. I know their ways. They’re all different, Harker. All strange. But one thing they’ve got in common is they’re evil to the core. Monsters. You forgot that. You took one look at them and all you saw was tits and arse. Weren’t me who’s the fool. It’s you. Jackass.”

  “Jackass?” Harker’s eyes filled with rage and he grabbed the edge of the table. For a moment looked like he was going to tip it over. William felt a rush as violence trembled on the edge of explosion. But then Harker’s rage leaked away and the other man’s eyes dropped to his beer. When he spoke, he sounded hushed. “Yes. Yes, Sloper, I suppose you’re right. Maybe they got to me. Maybe I did look at them as something to be conquered. And I was wrong. That’s what you want from me, isn’t it? I was wrong. I’m not like you.”

  “Nor him, Harker. You’re no Van Helsing.”

  “And you are?”

  “No.” Firm. “Ain’t no one as cold as him. He’s spent his life trying to be like those he hunts. Thinks the more like them he is, the easier it is to hunt them.”

  “You disagree with his methods?”

  “Don’t you? Just look at us, Harker. These vampires, they’re cruel and savage beasts. They hunt and kill to sate their terrible lust for blood. They torment their victims for fun. And, for that, we hunt them. We track them back to their lair, and we kill them. Tell ourselves it’s our way of saving their souls so we don’t think of it as outright bloody murder. Or, we used to. Now, we bring them with us. Hide them in basements. Pick their bodies apart while they howl in agony. We tear their limbs away to watch them heal. Listen to their screams. Their fucking awful screams. For what?”

  “Science.” But he couldn’t meet William’s gaze.

  “Science. Right. Do you know how to kill a vampire, Harker? You use a cross or silver to put him down. Then you stick a fucking stake right through his fucking heart. That’s all the science we need. Why do we need to know how fast they heal? Why do we need to torture them? A part of me is afraid, you know. Afraid he’s trying to harness their power. Use it himself. I thought it a crazy idea, once. But now I’m not so sure. I think he’s looking for a way to get all their powers but without the curse of drinking blood.”

  “That’s foolish,” Harker said. Keeping voice low. “You know bloody well Abraham’s not like that. And besides, it’s not torture, William. You know it’s not. You said yourself it’s a demon wearing their skin like clothes. It’s different.”

  “They feel pain. Like it or not. They feel it. And we’re inflicting it. It’s not execution anymore, Harker. And it’s gone too far beyond revenge. I should know. I know what it’s like more than anyone to want vengeance. I won’t ever be satisfied. But, just look at what’s happening around you. We’re becoming more like them every day. We’re killing to sate our lust for pain. Suffering.” He finished his drink. Spat sourly on the floor. “Tell yourself anything you like. But that’s what it is. We’re becoming worse than them. Much worse. How long before we turn on each other?”

  “Have you told Van Helsing how you feel?”

  “What’s the point? Will he listen? Besides, I don’t need to tell him. You’ll trot off right after and tell him everything anyway. Won’t you? You’re a good boy, Harker. Real good boy. Just like a fucking dog.”

  “I don’t know what I did to upset you, William. But I’m sorry. I really am.”

  “It ain’t you, Harker.” Pushed himself to his feet. The pain in his forehead was heavier. Thicker. His legs felt unsteady. Frowned. “It’s just I’ve got a lot on my mind. A lot.”

  “Here,” Harker jumped up and tucked an arm under him. “Let’s help you out.”

  “Stop it,” William groaned. Slurred? His mouth felt numb. “What the Hell?”

  “You just had too much to drink, Sloper. On an empty stomach, too. Come on. Let’s get you home. You need rest. You said you weren’t sleeping.”

  “No. No time for sleep. Got to go with Abraham. He needs me. Got to go…”

  “We’ll talk to him. Come on. Maybe give you an hour or something. Just an hour to rest?”

  “Hour?” He couldn’t stop himself being led. His legs hardly seemed to touch the ground as Harker led him quickly out into the bright sunlight. Then up the street.

  “I stayed with him for almost two weeks,” Harker was saying. “With Dracula. He was an interesting creature, in a way. Even though I knew what he was, I still couldn’t believe it. I thought there was a chance Abraham was just superstitious. Folklore is a strange basis for scientific assumption, I thought. And I didn’t want to kill an innocent man. But then Senka came to me. To my room. She came through the locked door. She pushed me against a wall. And, God. I wanted her. Wanted her in my arms. I wanted to fuck her, Sloper. Fuck her forever. In that moment, I’d have done anything for her. Anything. But then Dracula kicked the door in and sent her away. Do you know what he gave her to get her off me? Want to know what he bribed her with?”

  Sloper tried to push himself out of Harker’s grip.

  Blue lips moved, but the sound which emerged was a slurry of sound.

  “It was a baby,” Harker said. “A little baby. So small. Fragile. Innocent. He gave it to her and her eyes lit up. Like he’d just given her a peach. I heard the poor thing squeal as she took it away. I still hear it, sometimes. In my head. He left two nights later. Left me in my room. Paralysed with fear. Left me for them to find. His Brides. And they would have had me, too, but I escaped. Why didn’t I destroy them? Fear? Oh, yes. Definitely. I was afraid, Sloper. Terrified to my soul. But more than anything, I was desperate. Dracula had left the castle. He’d already got a head start. I had to get to London. Get here before he could. You see, I knew what he was coming for. I wanted to get here to save her. Save Mina. He was coming for her. But he moved faster than I could. How he got here so fast, I don’t know.
However he did it, he got here first. And he Turned her, Sloper. She was mine. And he took her from me. You’re ashamed of torturing them, are you? You’ve grown weak. Weak, Sloper. But all your kind are. No matter how we try to educate you, you’ll never be anything more than raw clay. Don’t believe me? Go to Whitechapel. Spend a few days watching children just like you used to be. Watch them pick through fucking trash. Garbage! Eating it. They eat rotten food plucked from the gutters. What human could do such a thing? Only a weak one. But I’m not weak. I’ll rip the skin off any vampire in a second. Slice it from their fucking body and feed it to them. Damn them all, Sloper. They deserve it. For what they did to Mina. What they did to Lucy. And for what they did to you.”

  Sloper’s soul thrashed against the cage his body had become.

  Could barely manage to moan. Was now entirely in Harker’s arms as the other man rapped on the door.

  Doctor Seward opened the door.

  Looked from Harker’s grim face to William’s lolling head.

  “There’s no doubt,” Harker said. “She’s corrupted him.”

  “Oh, William,” Doctor Seward lifted the man’s chin. “I pray to God she didn’t bite you.”

  “Where’s Abraham?”

  “He’s in the basement. Waiting.”

  “Come along, then, Sloper,” Harker said as Doctor Seward grabbed William’s other arm. “Let’s find out what tales you’ve been tattling, shall we?”

  William would have screamed.

  Wanted to.

  The lights were popping and exploding behind his eyes.

  Instead he shut his eyes and let darkness swallow him whole.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Her name was Olive.

  And she was confused.

  “Something’s happened,” she said. “Something bad.”

  Her back was bent with the burden of age. Shoulders slumped, one more than the other. Dress not too worn. Bonnet only a little frayed. She carried a small bundle under one arm.

  She’d been shopping.

  At least, she thought she’d been shopping.

  The more she walked, the more she began to wonder what she’d actually been doing and why there was a bundle under her arm.

  And what was inside the paper wrapping?

  Sometimes, it wriggled. Wriggled like a fish.

  Was it a fish?

  Or a lizard?

  No.

  A snake.

  It was a snake.

  Now she knew what it was, she could hear it. Speaking to her with venomous hiss.

  “Olive. Olive. Olive. You have to run, Olive. They’re getting close.”

  “Who? Dear Lord, who?”

  “Them. They’re close. Nearly close enough to touch you. If they touch you…”

  “What?” A whine coming from the back of her throat. “What will happen?”

  “Don’t let them touch you, Olive. Don’t let them. Look out!”

  Someone touched her arm. A brush of fingers. “Excuse me. Are you alright?”

  A soft voice.

  Caring.

  But she wasn’t fooled. The snake had spoken.

  She lashed out, nails raking the woman’s face. Who let out a shriek, but Olive was on her. She tore the wrapping off her package.

  It wasn’t a snake inside the paper. The snake was on the ground in front of her.

  Nor was it a fish.

  Or a lizard.

  It was her knife. Her best cook knife. She’d just had it sharpened.

  Olive lifted the blade. Screeched; “I won’t let you touch me, you bitch!”

  The knife came down with whistle and thud.

  “Get her,” a wretched-looking man with wonky hat growled. Rushed up to loom over her. Waved his fist. “Kill her. Kill her!”

  “Kill her,” a young couple whispered in awed tunes.

  “Hey!” A constable came rushing over. Truncheon hefted in hand. “Put that bloody knife down! Hear me? Put it down.”

  But Olive was beyond hearing. Arthritic fingers clenched tighter than ever before. Pulled the knife down again.

  Again.

  Tore great gushing holes in the woman’s throat and jaw.

  The knife’s tip splintered and snapped as it got caught between bone of the dead woman’s cheek.

  Olive kept stabbing.

  And the constable stood, eyes bulging. Truncheon high. Unsure what to do.

  Looked around, dazed. “What am I doing?”

  “Killing her,” the wretched man said. Filth stained face split into a wide nasty grin. “Look at her. She just killed that girl. You should kill her for it.”

  “Kill her,” someone whispered.

  And the gathering throng suddenly let out a cheer. “Kill her!”

  Olive looked up. Revealed gums full of missing teeth behind a smile as bent as her back. Blood-spattered face. Showed the broken knife in trembling hands. Held it like an artefact of a bygone day.

  Presented it to him. Yearning for him to take it.

  “Please,” she whimpered. “Kill me. I deserve it. I do. I knew it was wrong.”

  The constable’s body shook. “I don’t know…”

  “Do it!” A big man with a face like an ape put his meaty fist around the constable’s hand. “You won’t do it, lad? Then give it to me. I’ll do it for you.”

  “No! She’s mine!” He ripped free of the big man’s grip and wheeled on the old woman. The truncheon blurred. Slammed into the side of her head. He straddled her falling body. One hand grabbed the collar of her dress and he yanked her head off the ground.

  Smashed nose with truncheon.

  Then forehead.

  Split it wide open and sent a chunk of bone and flesh flinging off.

  Brain.

  He could see her brain. Black veins and yellow fat.

  Yesterday, he’d have vomited.

  Today, he howled.

  Howled for more as he brought the truncheon down again and again until the old woman’s head was paste across the pavement.

  Then he looked around. Eyes squinted into mean slits. Her blood dribbled off his face. Off his fists as he let the corpse flop back onto the ground. Two corpses forming a cross.

  Wiped his mouth free of gore.

  Spread lips wide. Showed glint of teeth. Said; “Who’s next?”

  And a young man with perfect teeth scrambled to get through the crowd. “Me! Let me! I’ll be next!”

  “No,” the big man shoved the young one aside. “You wait your fucking turn! I’m next. Kill me. Kill me! I was here first.”

  The constable stood. Had the splintered knife in one hand and truncheon in the other.

  “Wait!” He shoved the big man with the truncheon. “What’s your fucking name?”

  “Name’s John.” The big man thrust his head close to the constable’s. Tears boiled in the edges of his eyes. “Kill me. I deserve it.”

  “Why?”

  “I just do.”

  “Not good enough. You didn’t commit a crime.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “What crime?” The constable shoved the truncheon up under the big man’s chin. “Tell me the truth. And don’t you dare fucking lie to me.”

  “I stole. More than once.”

  “Stole what?”

  “Food!”

  Gasps went round like a clatter of sighs

  “He stole food,” someone said.

  “Food?” Young woman clicked her tongue. “Monster.”

  “Thief!”

  “Kill him,” the wretched man said.

  All as one; “Kill him!”

  “Guilty,” the constable said. “I judge you guilty.”

  The big man nodded. Dropped to his knees. “I won’t deny it. I’m guilty as sin.”

  “The sentence,” the constable crowed. “Is death!”

  The truncheon broke the big man’s jaw. The splintered knife drilled into the crook of his neck.

  Crimson whipped out in a wide arc, washing everyone standin
g close.

  Those who caught a splash let loose a joyful cry. A young girl not yet in her teens began scooping blood from the ground and covering her face with it. Bright red streaks which slithered like red snakes down her chin and throat.

  Giggling.

  A few others moved to do the same.

  Then the young man jumped over the big man’s body. Grabbed the constable by the throat.

  “My turn, you bastard! It’s my turn now!”

  The knife buried itself into the young man’s belly. “Guilty,” the constable snarled. “Of touching an officer of Her Majesty.”

  “The Queen,” the wretched man cooed. “The Queen is coming.”

  “Hear that?” The little girl held out bloodsoaked hands to the crowd. “Hey, everybody! The Queen is coming!”

  “Feed her,” the wretched man said. “We’ve got to feed her.”

  “Next,” the constable said. “Who’s next?”

  A skinny woman in her forties pointed to a shop. “They sold me sour milk.”

  “Sour milk?” The constable’s slitted glare pinned the woman. Who paled under his gaze. “Did you pay for it?”

  “I did. And they refused to give me my money back. Said I must have left it out in the heat to spoil. But I didn’t, did I? They should give me my money back. It’s only right.”

  The constable pushed through the crowd. Heading for the shop. Rage made his spine quiver. “They think they can feed us scraps! Think they can piss in a bucket and call it beer! They get rich on our suffering. Fat on our starvation. That’s enough. No more. Guilty, I say. Guilty of profiteering!”

  “Guilty,” the woman cackled.

  “Kill them!” The crowd roared at his back. Followed the constable on a wave of searing energy.

  Energy he could feel like a thousand suns burning into his back.

  He kicked the door.

  It shattered beneath his boot.

  The shopkeeper screamed.

  But the constable’s mercy was silence.

  The truncheon blows held nothing back.

  Every crushing impact filled his soul with satisfaction.

  It felt right. Like this was what he’d been born to do. What he’d been born to be. The universe had finally rewarded his patience. It had taken note of the frustration he’d struggled to contain for so many years. The disgust. The bile of hate. The walls hiding it were stripped bare and his time had come.