Mad Bride of the Ripper

by Lucas Thorn

  The silence stretched between them.

  Broken only by a few coughs Harker was forced to let loose as the fog’s frigid smoke glided into his lungs. Van Helsing, however, didn’t seem to notice. The old man had once told him he’d been born in the mountains of Austria.

  Perhaps he’d gotten used to the cold.

  There was, Harker thought, an inscrutable toughness about the other man. As if you could shoot him through the heart and he’d just keep going.

  Uncaring of Harker’s cursory study of his stance, Van Helsing watched and waited. Moved once only to pull a small pocketwatch and open it to view the time.

  Harker caught a glimpse of a woman’s face carefully inserted on the inside lid.

  She looked young. Very young.

  He cleared his throat. “Your wife, Abraham?”

  The pocketwatch snapped shut and Van Helsing said curtly; “Yes.”

  “I didn’t know you were married.”

  “It is not something I wish to talk about,” he said.

  “Was it vampires?”

  The old man’s face was tight. “Please, Jonathan. I shall not speak of it, and I would prefer you never asked me about it again.”

  “Of course,” he said. A stab of disappointment slid into his heart. Didn’t Van Helsing trust him? Added to the insults piled on him by Salisbury’s men, he found himself wishing he could just punch a wall and walk away.

  Vampires didn’t seem so dangerous anyway.

  What did they really do?

  Feed on the odd villager or two. And who cared about peasants? The world was full of them anyway.

  In his time in Whitechapel, he’d begun to think it would be better if a few vampires were let loose in the slums for a few weeks. Cut the population down a bit.

  Couldn’t be a bad thing.

  He sighed, not knowing why he remained tied to the old man’s cause.

  Was it truly just for revenge on Dracula?

  Or was it because he honestly had no idea what to do with his life?

  Following his father’s business dreams had always bored him. He wanted adventure. Van Helsing had offered that. A life of stupendous freedom and the excitement of a covert journey into a vampire’s lair.

  Thinking back to when he’d crawled into Dracula’s tomb, he couldn’t remember another time in his life when his adrenaline had been so potent.

  Why hadn’t he killed the vampire then?

  He’d had the chance.

  Had the stake in one hand. Mallet in the other. The vampire’s cold pale face gleaming in front of him. All he’d had to do was give it one good hit and he could have ended Dracula’s miserable path once and for all. He wouldn’t have lost Mina.

  He could be all wrapped up in bed with her right now.

  Or with Lucy.

  At thought of her, he could hear the ghost of her words rise out of memory. Her coy smile draped with shyness. An offer he’d never be able to refuse. His heart felt like a growing fist inside his chest. Clenching and unclenching.

  Lifted his gaze and Van Helsing might as well have been a statue.

  A shell of a man, he thought suddenly. Empty of passion. All Van Helsing had was a frigid kind of hatred which seemed to hold him singularly focussed on his singular goal.

  To destroy all vampires.

  “Something is happening,” Van Helsing breathed. “Be ready, Jonathan. Be ready.”

  Harker squeezed the grip of his revolver and nodded. “I’m ready.”

  “I know. I trust you, Jonathan. Even if you feel mocked, know that I trust you.”

  “Why?” He blurted without thinking.

  “Because you’re very much like me.”

  And, as the Westenra house exploded with shot and screams, Harker was stock still in shock. A single thought burning in his brain.

  I bloody hope not.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Doctor Seward had seen war.

  Both Africa and Afghanistan. A little time spent in India. Then a few more tiny islands in the Pacific which he saw no reason to bleed on. Africa again. And again.

  He’d seen bodies shredded and torn by cannonfire and shot. Seen men tortured and citizens brutalised. He’d seen the horrors men would inflict on their fellow man which went far beyond the limits of human atrocity.

  Had even participated more than once to his shame.

  It was, he reasoned with his analytical mind, for this reason that he followed the four men into what he knew was a trap.

  Knew it with every fibre of his being.

  Because he knew war as intimately as some men knew lovers.

  He could smell the burning fuse which was about to blow London apart. Could taste the acrid gunsmoke even before it filled the air. And feel the chill of terror ripple down the back of his neck.

  Policemen still worked to move the wagon’s sprayed contents. One young officer was rolling a shattered wheel up onto the curb.

  Someone laughed.

  They were talking merrily to each other, their heightened sense of fear and awareness giving way to the contented safety of repetitive tasks.

  A smart move by Lord Salisbury’s men, he thought.

  Just enough damage to look innocent. But enough to keep them busy and pull the uneasy alertness from their minds. Enough to not look staged.

  He made out Everett climbing a fence. Did the man look back?

  He didn’t think so.

  Still, Doctor Seward waited. Waited until he was sure the other men had jumped to the next yard before he hauled himself over.

  Realised as he landed with a dull crash among crushed flowers, that Salisbury’s men were right.

  He wasn’t capable of sneaking anymore.

  And climbing fences wasn’t quiet work. Not at his age.

  Still, no one turned on a light. And no policemen came running.

  His heart, however, raced and champed at its well-worn bit. He didn’t want Salisburys men to hear him. If they heard, they might consider stopping him from following. And he couldn’t allow that.

  He had to see Lucy.

  Had to talk to her.

  If only he could spend some more time with her, he knew he could break through the vampire’s control and reach the woman trapped by the monstrous curse inflicted on her.

  Talk.

  That’s all he needed to do. There was no need to destroy her. He could convince her to return with him to the Sanitorium. With or without Van Helsing, he’d find a cure. He had his own books on the subject and some offered tantalising clues to loosening the Devil’s control.

  He had some practical medical training.

  A few friends who might help.

  All he had to do was talk to Lucy. Talk to her. That’s all it would take.

  And then she’d see reason. She’d have to. Everything would be quickly sorted with the police. He could take her back to Whitby.

  Protect her.

  Cure her.

  Then they could be married and spend the rest of their lives together.

  Everything would be perfect.

  He just had to make it to the house in time. He staggered across the narrow yard, keeping as low as he could. Fumbled his way through a hedge and made the next awkward climb. Peered over to see Everett taking the next fence.

  Followed.

  By the third yard, he was feeling more confident. When he next lifted his gaze, he could see the four men gathered around the back door of Lucy’s townhouse. Everett on his knee.

  Doctor Seward didn’t hear the click of the lock above his ragged breathing but saw the sliver of light crack through the door as it opened under the man’s deft touch.

  The four entered quickly.

  Silently.

  Four hunters scenting blood.

  His heart bumped his ribs and he felt a moment of panic. What if they found her first? What if they didn’t hesitate? They’d kill her!

  He couldn’t let them kill her.

  She deserved to be saved!

  He p
ulled himself up, grunting with the effort. Lungs felt dry and hot. Gums ached as his breaths came in staggered gulps. Dropped down and landed on his face in the wet ground. Smell of fresh grass and composted earth.

  Groaned and rolled.

  Looking up at the fog curling just over his face.

  And opened his mouth to cry out as a face appeared from the darkness. Grinning. Wicked. Alive with a terrible and violent lust.

  Then a hand slapped down across his mouth and pushed his head back hard into damp soil. A weight dropped on his chest. His eyes rolled frantically within their sockets and he saw a little girl on top of him. She began to bounce up and down.

  Ride him like a play horse.

  Her giggles soft and unpleasant.

  The face looming above her belonged to a policeman. Ugly and broad. A gash down his cheek and a cigarette butt between his teeth. Unlit.

  Uniform sodden with gore.

  The policeman shook his head. “Now, mate. What have we here? Burglar, is it? Come to pinch the Mistress’s silverware? Tsk tsk. Can’t have that. Can’t have that. Not at all. Can we, Flora?”

  A woman stepped into view. Oversized bustle ribbing showed through tattered dress like a skeleton stripped of flesh.

  Glimpse of stockinged legs.

  Face smudged with grime. A touch of wrinkles here and there but still clinging to some of her youthful beauty. Inky dark lines down her cheek from running eyeliner.

  A ghoulish façade.

  “No,” she said. “It wouldn’t be right.”

  “Kill him,” the little girl said happily. “Slit his chicken neck and watch the blood flow.”

  “Now now,” the policeman said. “He must be judged first. That’s the law.”

  “But I want to see him bleed.”

  The policeman stared into Doctor Seward’s eyes. It seemed as if the policeman’s pupils widened and narrowed in time with his breathing. “I’m going to take my hand off your gob, mate. I’m going to let you speak for yourself. Then, I’m going to take you to the Mistress. You know who I mean, right?”

  Lucy!

  Doctor Seward nodded. Tried to say something, but words were muffled by the hand.

  “Shush,” the little girl said, pressing a stained knife to his throat. Tip teased skin.

  “You listen,” the policeman said. “We’re heading out back. You’ll be coming with us. Quiet. You talk, and I’ll figure that a sign from her. Sign she don’t want to see you no more. String you up by your intestines, we will.”

  “String him up,” the little girl giggled. “Can I have his liver?”

  “No,” one of the other men said. Lopsided grin and bushy whiskers. Battered old cap. “I want it. You had the last one.”

  “I told you all to leave the talking to me,” the policeman said. Then grabbed a handful of Doctor Seward’s coat and jerked hard. The girl rolled off his chest with a disappointed grunt. “Come on, you. And remember what I said. No talking. We’re to see the Mistress, so show some fucking respect.”

  Doctor Seward hesitated. Looked to the open door.

  If Lucy wasn’t here, then what were the other men walking into?

  He should warn them.

  A whistle? He pursed his lips.

  The policeman’s grip tightened. “Leave it out,” he said. “You try anything and you’ll be dead before you breathe.”

  “Dead before you breathe,” Flora echoed. “I like that.”

  The little girl prodded him in the back of his thigh. “Move!”

  “That’s right,” the policeman said. “Move.”

  The macabre group had removed part of the fence, so there was no need to climb. Two dead bodies were slumped either side of the opening. Policemen. Bellies and chests brutally slashed and every organ cast aside in a bloody heap.

  One of the dead men looked partially skinned. Several strips draped in flaps across his thighs.

  Doctor Seward shuddered.

  “Hello, Richard,” the little girl greeted one of the corpses as she passed. Giggled. Skipped ahead, long golden curls matted with a grungy mix of old and fresh blood. “Goodbye, Richard.”

  Without warning, a shot exploded from within the Westenra house.

  Then another.

  Then it was like war had erupted in the streets. Someone started screaming.

  Flora let out a holler and shriek. “For Queen and Country, lads!”

  The little girl laughed, cackling as she pushed herself up on tippy toes to try and get a look inside the house. “The Queen is coming. The Queen is coming!”

  The last man, sleeves rolled up, turned to the policeman. “Do you see anything? I can’t see a thing.”

  “No blood,” Flora laughed. “But there’ll be brains all over the place.”

  “And guts!” The little girl clapped hands and danced. “Blood and guts! Like piss and worms! See it run! See it run!”

  The two men clasped hands and did a small jig, turning in circles and laughing. “Kill them! Kill them all!”

  “All of them,” the policeman growled, watching the pair dance.

  “Monsters,” Doctor Seward breathed.

  The policeman slapped him across the jaw, as the last few shots took splinters out of the door. “That’s it. That’s your last warning. You don’t get another.”

  “Why give him even one?” The little girl fingered the notched edge of her knife. “Kill him.”

  “Kill him,” Flora agreed.

  “He’s next,” the two men echoed. Silence from the house. Silence from the streets.

  “Shut up!” The policeman hissed at them. “I’m the law round here. You got that? The Mistress summoned him. Hear me? Summoned. Ain’t no one’s going to refuse a lawful summons. And anyone who gets in the way is next. Are you in the way?”

  The little girl shook her head and put the knife behind her back. “No, sir! I’m not in the way.”

  He squinted suspiciously at her before looking to Flora. “What about you?”

  Flora wormed up beside the policeman and wrapped long arms around his neck. Buried her face up against his neck and whispered; “I’m only in the way if you want me to be.”

  “Yes. Well. Not in front of the prisoner.”

  Doctor Seward shuddered at the exchange.

  Mad, he wanted to scream. You’re all mad!

  Instead chewed the inside of his lip until he tasted blood.

  Then licked at the cut and waited.

  Waited for the policeman to unpick himself from the woman’s grip.

  “Oh,” the little girl sighed. “I thought I’d get to see more loving.”

  “Here,” the two men snapped as one. “Mind your language.”

  “Yeah,” Flora smirked. “You’re just a little girl.”

  “And you’re just a big fat sow!”

  “Fat?” Flora whirled, fingers curling into claws. From the other street, a shrill whistle cut through the fog as the police worked to begin scouring the streets. The group didn’t notice. “I’ll tear out your eyes. Rip out your little tongue. Grind your fucking face into the road!”

  “Wait!” The policeman shoving them apart. “All of you. Listen to me. Listen. The Mistress is waiting. You going to let her wait until morning? She won’t be pleased if she’s left waiting until morning. She’d have to wait until tomorrow night to speak to the figwit here.”

  “Figwit?” One of the other men scratched his chin. “Is that a word?”

  “It is now,” the policeman said. “And it’s law.”

  “Who says?”

  “I says.”

  “Fair enough.” Looked to the others. “Anyone object?”

  “No one objects,” the policeman snapped. “If they did, they’d be next. Now, move it. Move it, figwit!”

  This to Doctor Seward, who scuttled obligingly ahead.

  Checking over his shoulder as the little girl tucked the knife into her ribbon belt and began skipping along behind them.

  Singing in a nasty voice which didn’t
belong to a child; “Down in a dale diddle diddle, where flowers do grow and the trees do bud diddle diddle, all on a row. A brisk young man diddle diddle, met with a maid and laid her down in the shade. Where they did play diddle diddle, and kiss and court like lambs in may diddle diddle, making fine sport!”

  “Shut up,” Flora sighed. “I’m sick of your songs.”

  “He likes my songs.”

  “No, he doesn’t.”

  “Yes, he does. He told me. And he said I was pretty, too. If you don’t believe me, you should ask him.”

  “I’m not asking him.” Flora shivered. “No one speaks to the Renfield.”

  “I did. He said he’d sing Abide With Me to me.”

  “A hymn? What’s he want to sing you a hymn for? Especially that one. It’s rubbish.”

  The girl gave a resentful sniff. “Well, I like it. And so does he.”

  Renfield?

  Doctor Seward closed his eyes and felt the first real waves of horror rise inside like the Devil’s breath. Cold. Sharp.

  The only thing which stopped him from falling to his knees and vomiting the terror from his belly was the quick flash of movement he’d seen in the street behind them as Van Helsing and Jonathan Harker crept in the little group’s wake.

  Still didn’t feel safe.

  But he did feel less alone.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Max was thinking about Sloper.

  He was thinking about the time they’d tracked a vampire to her lair in Spain. A vampire protected by a dozen cultists. Mad cultists who’d filed their teeth into sharp points to emulate their goddess.

  Sloper had taken one keen look at them then cut his way through the lot with his hatchet. Had blown more than a few heads off with a revolver, too.

  Brutal efficiency.

  Then Max had used a mallet and stake to end the life of the vampire as she slept in her tomb. Her eyes had flashed open. Mouth opened in a horrifying silent scream. Blood gushed across his hands.

  Cold blood.

  That’s what had impressed him the most. How cold it was.

  Sloper stood beside him at the last moment, wiping streaks of blood from his chin. “There you go, Max. What’s that? Five?”