Part 4 (2/2)

For a bit there, I tried to believe I hadn't woken up at all and this was just a horrid nightmare. It was too awful to be happening for real. But I couldn't convince myself. I knew it was real.

Mary'd found a fellow and brought him back to the room while I was dozing, and now he was busy killing her.

Couldn't be anyone else but Jack the Ripper himself.

He was butchering her right on top of me.

I wanted to scream, but kept my teeth gritted tight and lay there s.h.i.+vering, the scaredest I'd ever been.

From all I'd heard about the Ripper, he didn't seem like a man at all. More like a creeping phantom or a raging demon out of the pits of h.e.l.l.

I commenced to pray in my head that he'd finish up quick with Mary and go away.

Pretty soon, he climbed off the bed.

I figured the Lord had answered my prayers.

Wrong.

The Ripper wasn't near ready to leave yet.

What he did was stand in front of the fire. It was burning low, giving off just a murky glow and not much heat. All I could see were his shoes and the legs of his dark trousers. Then he tossed in a waistcoat and s.h.i.+rt. His own, I reckoned. They flamed up. He stood there for a bit as if warming himself, then walked over to the chair where those other clothes were heaped up. He returned to the fire. He added in the bonnet and petticoat. With a good blaze going, he came back to the bed. But he wasn't done adding fuel. He stepped up to the fire again and stuffed in a big blanket.

When that caught, the room fairly lit up and heat came rolling against me.

He got out of his shoes and trousers. He had to bend down to take off the pants, but didn't get low enough for me to see his face.

Or for him to see mine.

He didn't add his shoes or trousers to the fire.

He came to the bed again, and climbed aboard.

Mary was probably already dead, by then. But he wasn't done with her.

He went to work all over again.

Every now and then, he'd say something. ”Oh, yes” and ”Quite nice, really” and ”Come on out of there, you tasty morsel.” He didn't talk like the East Enders. He talked like a gent. ”I do believe I'll have this this,” he said. And ”Off you come, my charming tidbit.”

Sometimes, he chuckled softly.

Sometimes, he seemed to get worked up and breathless.

Throughout it all, there came the most awful wet tearing sounds and lots of slos.h.i.+ng. I even heard him eat something. There were chewy noises, smacking lips, sighs.

It's a wonder I didn't fetch up my supper.

I tried not to listen. I tried not to think about what he was doing to Mary. I tried to keep my mind busy figuring a way to save my own hide.

The knife in my pocket was pressed between my leg and the floor. I could get to it. But even with the weapon in hand, what chance would I have against such a monster? He'd get me for sure if I tried to scamper out from under the bed.

The only thing to do was wait and pray and hope he'd leave without finding me.

I spent a lot of time staring out at the room. There wasn't much to see. If he had a hat and coat, they were somewhere out of sight. His shoes and pants were in front of the blazing fire. The wooden handle of a tea kettle on the grate was burning. Mary's clothes were hanging off the seat of the chair. Her dress draped the tops of her muddy shoes.

I was gazing out at these things, wondering about my chances of making a dash for the window and maybe taking a dive right through it to the courtyard, when a gob of flesh dropped to the floor. It hit with a slos.h.i.+ng splash right before my eyes. It was a dripping red mound with a nipple on top.

When I realized what it was, my head fogged up. My mouth filled with spit, the way it does if you're about ready to toss. I heard a ringing in my ears. Each time I blinked, sharp blue lights flashed around everything. So I shut my eyes, swallowed and tried to pretend I was somewhere else.

I started off pretending I was safe at home, comfortable in my chair and reading Huckleberry Finn. Huckleberry Finn. By and by, I turned into Huck himself. I was on the raft with Jim, floating along the Mississippi at night, sprawled on the deck and gazing up at a sky full of stars. It was all silent and peaceful, and I felt just grand. I wanted to drift down the river forever and ever. By and by, I turned into Huck himself. I was on the raft with Jim, floating along the Mississippi at night, sprawled on the deck and gazing up at a sky full of stars. It was all silent and peaceful, and I felt just grand. I wanted to drift down the river forever and ever.

I must've been pa.s.sed out cold.

But then I came to just in time to see the Ripper's feet right beside the bed. He bent down. My heart almost gave out. I figured he was onto me, and any second he'd be yanking me out from under the bed and slitting me open. But what he did was clamp a b.l.o.o.d.y hand over the breast and pick it up. He didn't have a good enough grip on it, though. It slipped out of his fingers and fell again. This time, it landed on its side and sort of caved in a bit. He used both hands to scoop it up.

He took a couple of steps to the table.

Then he went over toward the fire. He got into his trousers and shoes. When they were on, he walked off to the side where I couldn't see him because my shoulder was in the way. I heard some rustling of clothes, and hoped it meant he was putting on his coat.

There came a sound like creaking leather. It put me in mind of stories that the Ripper was thought to carry a valise like maybe a doctor's bag, that he toted his knife or scalpel in it, and used the satchel to carry off innards from his victims.

Well, he came back to the bed and stood there, near enough for me to reach out and touch his shoes. From the goppy sounds that came next, I figured he was putting something from Mary into his case.

My mouth filled up again. My ears rang. I saw those old blue flashes. But I hung on.

And finally he went to the door. It opened, letting in a breeze that chilled my bare back and made the fire blaze even brighter than before.

The door shut.

I stayed put.

It was a puzzle, what came next.

He locked the door. He didn't reach through the window and slide the bolt, he used a key from the outside. I heard that key sc.r.a.pe its way into the lock, heard a loud clack, and then the key pulling out.

I wondered if he'd found the key on Mary. But if she'd had it, how come she didn't use it instead of reaching through the window for the bolt?

I wondered why I was even bothering my head with such a mystery.

The main thing was, the Ripper was gone.

He might've locked me into the room. That was fine, though. I could get out by the window.

I thought about waiting a while to make sure he wasn't coming back. But what I wanted more than anything was to get shut of this room and all that had happened here.

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