by Laird Barron
“At this ’ere door, naturally! Bring chairs over, if you likes. And a candle too, if ye wants to take it all down.”
“What if he hears us or notices the door is open a crack?” Setlock asked.
A self-satisfied smirk crossed her face. “You needn’t worry about that, I reckon. There’s only th’ one lamp lit in there, so it’d be hard for him to make you out in the dark.”
“Madame, tell us one more thing. Since you knew where to find the Ripper, you must be acquainted with his movements. How has he managed to elude us so completely?”
“This ain’t just an ’ouse he hides in, mind yer, Sir Charles. He owns and runs th’ company what’s doin’ all the tearing down around ’ere. He uses this place like an office and a home-away-from-home, as you might say. This place’ll remain standing amid th’ general ruin only so long as he needs it as a base to see to ’is killin’s. Once that’s done, it’ll come down like the rest. An’ ’e’s got keys to every sewer tunnel below Whitechapel and Spitalfields. That’s how ’e goes wherever he wants as quick as a flash wivout bein’ seen.” She stopped long enough to chuckle softly, relishing her next revelation.
“They’s always odd gases and fumes to contend with down in them tunnels, but ’e’s rarely affected as he sprints through ’em wivout stoppin’ long enough to breave in much o’ th’ awful stuff. Trouble is, after ’e spent three hours carvin’ Mary to bits this mornin’, ’e wuz worn down to the bone, so to speak. He wad’n ’alf way ’ere before ’e passed out from suckin’ in some foul gas or other with each breaf. He laid on ’is back in th’ muck for hours before ’e managed to pull himself together and crawl back ’ere. It’s a wonder ’e didn’t die down there; ’e wouldn’t be th’ first!”
Fascinated, her audience remained silent, unsure how to respond, or whether indeed any response was required. So their hostess continued. “Once ’e made it safely back, he ’opped inter bed an’ ’as been sleepin’ there ever since. Can ye smell a touch of sewer stench in th’ air? Well, once we has yer in place, we’ll wake ’im and begin our questions, just like they do at Scotland Yard.” She leaned back in her chair with a look of satisfaction on her face. “Well, it’s time we gets to work. You blokes still with us?”
Sir Charles would have preferred to discuss the illogical situation in which they found themselves a bit more before agreeing to her terms, but she had made it very clear that it was now or never. Setlock reluctantly nodded his agreement, still however a bit unclear as to the men’s role. When she said “we,” did she mean to include him and Uncle Charles? Or were they to settle for a more passive role as observers?
“We agree to listen, observe and take notes, just as you suggest, without interfering with your interrogation of this man, assuming you keep your word that, er, none of you physically assaults him in any way and, of course, that he convincingly confesses to being the criminal known to us as Jack the Ripper,” Sir Charles summarized.
She seemed pleased as she rose from her seat. “That’ll do just fine.” She grinned as she extended her right hand toward Sir Charles to seal the matter with a handshake. He made to respond in kind but felt foolish when he somehow missed her hand. It was, he supposed, the gesture that mattered. Serious doubts arose in his mind concerning his nephew’s belief that this woman was indeed a ghost, although he was unable to explain her emergence through the front door.
They proceeded to arrange themselves as previously discussed. Once the men were set and in place, she entered the bed chamber, leaving the door slightly open behind her. Something subtle in her backward glance suggested she was opening the door for their benefit, not her own. They looked at one another in puzzlement, unsure of what they had seen, then shrugged.
She approached the bed and called out to the still-sleeping man lying therein. Receiving no immediate response, she repeated herself several times, increasing the volume each time. There was a plaintive note beneath her reproving sharpness.
The bed clothes shifted as the man began to stir. He sat up slowly, still fully dressed, and peered about the half-lit room in response to the summons. Gathering his wits, a still groggy Arthur Belmont stared in disbelief as he recognized the figure poised at the foot of the bed. He squinted his eyes as he struggled to convince himself he was fully awake.
When finally able to speak, he expressed profound confusion. “Good Lord! Mum, is that you? How can this be? You must be a hallucination from that ripe gutter gas!”
“I do reckon it’s a bit of a surprise, a happy one, I ’ope, to see me again after all these years. Tell me, me boy, ’ave you missed yer sweet mum?” Her sarcasm was palpable if the rest of her wasn’t.
Terrified, a wide-eyed Arthur demanded to know why she had come to him and what she wanted.
“Now, now, don’t get yer knickers in a twist, dearie. I just got one thing I need to know before I can move on, and it seems yer the only one what knows it. So ’ow’s about it, son, won’t you tell your ol’ mum who it was that run the knife across her throat, killing her dead? Were it that fella I brought home or did I do it meself during the tussle without even knowing it? You’re the only one what knows. So who really did me in?”
He stared at her with a blank expression on his face.
“Come on, out with it!” she demanded. “There’s others waitin’ to pay you visits, so answer me and be quick about it!”
A wheezing sound gradually escaped Arthur’s lips. He grinned and began to chuckle. “By God, without a doubt it is you, Mum! After all these years, too. Well, I’ll be damned!” His laughter rose nearly to the point of hysteria as he spat out, “And you’re damned as well, if there’s any justice, either in this world or the next one!” Catching his breath, he challenged her, “So you want to know who cut your sweet little throat, do you? Well, I’m more than happy to fill you in as to the culprit’s identity, luv. It was me. I did it, and I can honestly say I’ve never regretted it, not one jot. Now I ask you, are you pleased now that you know?”
She was taken aback by his words, only able to mumble, “But ’ow? And why’d a boy want to harm ’is own mum?”
With a smirk, he told her, “That’s easy enough to answer as well. If you recall, I was on the bed when you and your client were fighting over the knife, flailing about right next to me.” He surged with a mix of delight and fury as he continued. Recounting it and gloating was like killing her all over again. “You both forgot about me. If you recall, the two of you were conveniently located between me and the window. Just enough moonlight penetrated the curtain for me to not only see you both clearly, but to see the gleam of the knife as well. When I saw he had you by the wrist, I reached up and grabbed his cuff, jerking his arm down, across, and just under your chin. And I’d gladly do it again! But by your own words, you’re dead, so there’s no need. No need to thank me. With that issue settled, tell me, are you happy now? I hope so, as I’m more than ready to see the back of you.”
Obviously enjoying her shocked expression, he proceeded to taunt her. “Oh, I beg your pardon. You asked what reason I might possibly have for killing you. Well, let’s ponder that for a moment. Allow me a moment to look down the list. I’ll try to narrow it down a bit. Let’s call it even with all those men you so graciously encouraged to rape me.”
His crestfallen mother screamed, again and again. Catching her breath, she prepared to refute her son’s words, but when she attempted to speak, she could only emit guttural rasps and incomprehensible gibberish. Her own terrible guilt, so long suppressed, was getting the better of her now. She should have known it was better to let sleeping dogs, er, sons, lie.
Arthur greeted his mother’s demonstration of inarticulate ire with mild amusement and an incomparable sense of complete vindication. He was enjoying himself intensely. Applauding her performance, he caustically reacted with, “Now that we’re finished, you have my permission to go to Hell where you obviously belong.”
Seething, she shouted, “Oh, yer not done. There’s more to come, and a
right lot of it, too!” As she began to fade into the dark shadows of the room, she called out, “Come forward, me lovelies, ’ere’s your chance to confront th’ bastard what butchered you all!”
From the dark recesses they came forth, those whose flesh had so woefully endured the savage surgery of Jack’s blade. Each appeared as he had seen her last, pale and cold, slashed and torn, no longer denizens of this living world.
He puffed himself up as if pleased to see the shuffling corpses. He seemed to be thrilled to have the opportunity to greet them by name as they approached the bed.
“Ah, there you are! Good evening to you, sweet Mary Ann! And how delightful to see you, old Annie, standing there with Elizabeth close beside. Oh, and we mustn’t forget you, Catherine, you old slag! Draw closer to the light, my dear, so I might get a better view of your wretched self.”
He tilted his head slightly, searching deeper into the pitch surrounding him. He gently beckoned, “Mary? Mary Kelly? Come now, don’t be shy! Hurry along and join the others!”
From the furthest corner of the room came a muffled, sloshing sound. In the adjoining room, Sir Charles and Setlock, still faithfully maintaining their vigil, leaned away from the forbidding noise and accompanying odor. That very morning, they both had viewed the remains of Mary Kelly, all laid out on a slab in the morgue. Little beyond the general body framework and bones testified to the fact that only the night before, this had been a vital human, an attractive woman who loved to drink, sing and dance. The attendant mortician had claimed he had never witnessed a more “brutal job” in his decades-long career. There was no mistaking either the identities or the condition of these once-women. The bizarre dialogue between their informant and her supposed son might be dismissed as shared delusion, but—this! Uncle and nephew alike fought to retain consciousness as their minds sought to shut down in a faint, unable to accept the truth of what clearly confronted them.
Arthur openly relished the opportunity to revisit his most diligent handiwork. He smiled warmly as the carcass hobbled closer, balancing on the sole leg Arthur had left semi-intact, her face and torso all but denuded of any actual features and flesh. “There you are,” he cried, “how kind of you to drop by for a visit!”
When they had all gathered near, Arthur’s mother insisted on returning to intrude on the reunion. “Ye’ve answered me fair enough, but these ladies can’t rest till they knows what they done to you to make yer treat ’em so ’orrid. They can’t speak their own peace; you saw to that. Now don’t be shy. We’re all anxious to hear your reasons!”
Arthur rose to the occasion. “I must say, I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you’ve all come here together just to visit me. Much easier than trying to explain my actions to each of you, one at a time. It’s all rather simple, actually. I’m sure you overheard the exchange I just had with my mother. If you think back, all of you were well acquainted with her, except for Miss Kelly, of course. The rest of you may not recognize me now, but you knew me when I was just a wee nipper. I had the privilege of knowing some of your darling little brats as well. One day, I overcame my shame and told the others what my loving mother had done to me. One by one, all the others had similar tales to tell. Your sons and daughters, damn you all! That’s why I chose you specially for my carve-ups. No one who treats children like that deserves to live.
“As for the unfortunate Miss Kelly here, she looked uncannily like you, Mum. So much like you that I couldn’t help wanting to know more about her. And it proved quite interesting. Not only was I gob smacked to discover she occupied the very same room I’d once shared with you, but I learned she’d subjected her own little ones to the same treatment I endured.
“I’ve never fully recovered from all that I suffered, nor have hundreds of others who’ve been forced to tolerate the same. When I grew to manhood and my own desires began to appear, I could only greet them with horror. Every arousal immediately sickened me. Marriage was quite out of the question. Finally I reached the bitter conclusion that the only way to divorce myself from sexual desire was to castrate myself. I paid a failed medical student desperate for money to assist me. I was well aware I should bleed to death should I undertake the procedure on my own. In this way I survived, freed forever from all revolting temptations.
“Some time after, it came to me that there just might be a way for me to bring about change for the better, not only for the offspring of cold-hearted whores like yourselves, but also for those poor souls forced to live in filth on the streets, starving. I knew I’d have to do something the country could not ignore, something to shed light on all of these problems. A light so bright the world would be outraged to learn of the horrors not only permitted but regularly encouraged in the very capital city of the British Empire. I soon saw the best way to do it was to commit crimes so appalling that fear and scandal would spread far and wide. I harbored no desire to inflict pain upon innocent people, so I turned to those already deserving punishment. You ladies were the first to come to mind. I’d already killed my mother, so I sought out any of her old cohorts who might still live in Whitechapel or Spitalfields. I sought you out and ended your lives, one by one, thrilled to see the excitement grow with each death. I didn’t especially want to make you suffer, so I didn’t take the knife to any of you until you were dead and beyond all pain.”
In the next room, Setlock and his uncle listened in stunned silence, struggling to keep up with what they were hearing, all thoughts of note-taking forgotten in the moment.
“Newspapers across the world eagerly published sketches of the crime scenes and even of your corpses, enhancing every gruesome detail. I intentionally increased the mutilation with each murder, adding volatile fuel to the flame. But I limited myself to five murders, lest I should come to enjoy it. The newspapers portrayed me as a demented sexual pervert desperately seeking more intense thrills with each additional death, but such was very far from the truth. I swear to you I didn’t enjoy what I did in the least.”
It was plain to the policemen that Belmont had long rehearsed this diatribe, as if bursting to tell someone his astonishing secrets. And now he was taking full advantage of the opportunity.
“It seemed I was well on the way to achieving my goals as I exposed fair England’s darkest shame to the eyes of the world. I needed only one more victim, one final killing that would be far more scandalous and unpalatable than its predecessors. Well, as impossible as it sounds, it’s already begun to work, so my work is done. As long as Jack the Ripper is never found, the fear and the shame will force Her Nibs up there in Buckingham Palace to make this a decent place to live, where the laws are enforced and prostitution is illegal. If there were no prostitutes on the street, there would be no need for the police to waste their time trying to protect them.
“So there you have it, my dears. My wind is long indeed, but I want you to know that you didn’t die in vain. And, for what it’s worth, I will kill no more. I plan to sell all of my business interests and donate the proceeds to charity before leaving the country. Don’t know where I’ll go; it makes no difference really. I deserve to die for what I’ve done, I know, no matter my motives, but I haven’t the courage to do myself in. So I’ll go away. No one will ever know whether I’m still out there lurking in the night, set to kill again. If they know I’m gone, there would be no further improvement as the fear and shame would soon subside.”
The women, the ghosts, were fading from sight, their features blurring as if, having heard all, they could move on to wherever their tortured souls were destined to go.
A sudden sound of breaking glass caused the two men nearly to jump out of their seats. They kicked the door wide open, scanning the room.
Arthur, they realized, had knocked the hurricane lamp from the night stand by the bed. It appeared he had done it purposely. The resulting splatter of oil and flame set the bed clothes and rug afire instantly.
The pair burst in to the room, determined to drag the murderer away from the surge of flames already co
nsuming much of the room.
“You!” Arthur screamed. “You, whoever you are, if you’ve been listening, then you know who I am and what I’ve done. Get out! Leave me to the fate I deserve! Whatever the truth, the world must believe Jack the Ripper has never been captured or killed. Save yourselves and save my soul by allowing my plan to bear fruit! For the love of God, I beg you! This house is isolated; there is no danger the fire will spread. When they find bones in the charred ruins, they will deem them to be those of a simple businessman, no one of real note. Now go,” he ordered, “that the legend may live on!”
Setlock looked to Sir Charles.
“He’s right,” Sir Charles told him. “By God, he’s right. We need to turn around and leave all this behind, putting it out of our minds as completely as possible.” They hurried out of the growing inferno, making sure they were not seen by anyone. Nor, for that matter, did they actually see what may have become of Arthur Belmont.
For Joe and Kat Pulver, the Beast and his Beauty
A Pretty for Polly
Mercedes M. Yardley
“Dear Boss,” he wrote in his careful, exquisite hand. “I keep on hearing the police have caught me…”
Time. Care. Dipping the pen in the ink pot again and again. Making love to the paper with his words. Handwriting perfect. Everything, perfect.
“I am down on whores and shan’t quit ripping them…”
He was a man of precision. A man of great attention. Spectacles always clean, shirt always tucked neatly. It was all about appearances, wasn’t it? To show your esteem? To show your respect?
Even a prudent man has demons. Even a quiet man has something sinister inside. He never would have believed this, but then, that was before.
“Daddy?”
“What, Polly?”
“Mama said I should run in and tell you goodnight.”
