“Wait here, I’ll get the money,” he said, before inching open the door, and slipping inside.
The room was dark, the overcast daylight struggling to breach the heavy sheet over the single window. Edward taking a moment to let his eyes adjust to the gloom, watching as specks of dust swirled and danced lazily in the air. He moved quietly and was nimble as he skirted around the edge of the room towards the kitchen. He intended to go in and get the money he knew his mother kept in a tin in one of the cupboards, but instead froze and held his breath, his young brain trying to register what he was seeing.
At first, he thought she was being attacked and was about to yell out when he realised that his mother was encouraging the man who was on top of her.
“Go on, that’s it darlin’” she said as the man writhed and grunted on top of her. Edward was frozen, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. The naked man’s hips moved back and forth in a furious piston-like motion. “You like that don’t you love?” he panted in her ear as he groped at her pendulous breasts.
“come on then, let’s be avin’ ya,” she said, willing him on.
Edward crept closer, ducking into the shadowy recess of the corner between the old bookcase and the wall, affording him an uninterrupted view of the horrific scene in front of him. He felt sick, but could not take his eyes from the tangle of flesh which writhed and twisted on the floor of the kitchen. He thought of the group of men outside, and how one by one Edward’s father was letting them into the house. He now knew why. He knew what these men were doing. Worse, he knew his father not only knew but was allowing it to happen.
A sudden flush of anger welled up within Edward as he watched the man who was still thrusting with great enthusiasm on his mother grow increasingly noisy.
“Nnh, I’m close now love. Are you ready for this? Here it comes,” he panted at her, his hands now gripping her shoulders as he increased the ferocity of his motion.
Edward could not move, his feet rooted to the spot. His vision of their family unit, of a father who worked as a foreman and was an important man his mother the homemaker who would tend to them both, was shattered. Although they lived in a poor area he never considered them to be in a position where this was something they would have to resort to. He watched as the man let out a great moan, and froze, clenching his hairy buttocks together, before flopping down on Edward’s mother, breath wheezing, and rasping.
“Fuckin’ lovely that was my love. Just what the doctor ordered,”
Edward watched as his mother took a cloth and wiped herself the edges of her thighs were red and looked sore. “All part of the service love. You be sure to come again,” she said with a cackle which startled Edward. This was not the mother he knew, the caring woman who would be in the kitchen preparing food or cleaning. This woman was a stranger.
The man stood and picked up his trousers from the floor, and pulled them on, then adjusted his shirt. “Worth every penny that was love. You’ve got a lovely cunt.” He said to her as he pulled on his cap.
“And a big fella like you deserves somewhere warm to put it. Now do me a favour and tell that husband of mine to send in the next one will ya, love?” She asked, now propped up on her elbows.
“Will do poppet. I’ll see you next week,” The man said before putting a few pennies in a jar beside the sink. He straightened his clothes, opened the back door and slipped outside, closing it behind him.
Edward waited in the shadows, still hidden from view. His face felt hot and tears stung his eyes. He wanted to ask his mother why she would do such a thing. Before he could do anything, someone else opened the door, a large, flabby man who Edward recognised. He worked as a butcher at the docks. Mr. McGuffey. Edward’s mother smiled as he entered, unconscious of her naked body.
“Ello love, what have we here then?” she said, looking Mcguffrey up and down. He was already sweating, as he unfastened his trousers and took them off, revealing his flaccid and tiny penis.
“Mr. McGuffey has some meat for that hole of yours,” he sneered at her, licking his plump lips.
“Come on then butcher man, let’s be avin’ ya,” she said, beckoning him to her.
Edward watched in horror. It was worse than the first. The man sweated and grunted at her, calling her things which Edward had never heard before. His tears were now dry on his cheeks, replaced with a revulsion and sheer disgust at this creature he used to refer to as his mother, the mechanics of the whole ordeal making him feel nauseous. He could bear no more, and quietly slipped away back the way he had come. He was grateful for the fresh air that greeted him. He inhaled in great gasps and the horrors he had just witnessed replayed themselves over and over in his mind.
“Did you get the money?” George asked, oblivious to what had just transpired.
Edward said nothing, instead walking past George and heading down the cobbled street towards the dock area.
“Eddie?” George said, trotting to keep up “Are we going or not?
Edward wiped his eyes and turned to George.
“Go back to school, George. Just leave me alone.”
“But you said we were going to the-”
“I’ve changed my mind. Just go, leave me alone.” He started to walk, leaving his friend behind. Nothing seemed real anymore, nothing mattered.
“Eddie come on, this was your idea,” George shouted after him. “Eddie!”
Edward didn’t turn around and soon became lost in the crowd. George stood for a few seconds, contemplating how much trouble he was going to get into, then started on the long walk home, preparing for the caning he knew was to come.
Edward walked in silence, hands in pockets and head down against the steady rainfall. He was cold but did not care. His mind still was filled with the images of the horrific things he had witnessed. He wept silently, the rain masking his tears as he moved amid the scores of people on the overcrowded, stinking streets. The rain intensified, and an ominous rumble of thunder sounded somewhere in the distance. Edward wasn’t sure where he was, he knew he was somewhere close to the London hospital, he could see the spires of its three towers in the distance. Soaked to the bone, he ducked into a filthy side alley. Rotten food and waste were piled high against the walls, making him gag. He moved deeper into the alley, and ducked into a recessed doorway and sat down on legs which were still shaking, resting his back against the filthy brickwork. It offered him some protection from the elements, and more importantly, solitude to try and process what he had witnessed. The tears came again, great sobs of frustration and anger that felt as if they would have no end. The storm was now close, the rain no longer falling but being driven into the streets with an overwhelming ferocity, making the smell worse, mingling the putrid stenches together into a disgusting soup. As he sat amongst the filth, an inquisitive rat, large and black scurried alongside him and began to rummage amid a pile of rotten fruit, Oblivious of Edward and his troubles as it sniffed and pulled at the stinking black mound. Edward stopped crying and watched the rat as it explored the rotten mound of waste, pausing occasionally to stand on its haunches and sniff the air. It looked at Edward with its black, lifeless eyes, whiskers twitching as the two stared at each other. Deciding that Edward was no threat, the rat returned to the rubbish and started to eat a slab of grey, rancid meat. Edward watched, mesmerised by the way the rat's sides moved as it breathed, the way it nibbled at the decaying flesh. He leaned close, reaching towards the animal, as unaware it continued to eat. He lunged at it, grabbing it around the neck. The rat squealed and squirmed trying to claw and scratch at Edward, who despite almost losing it, somehow managed to retain his grip around the creature’s neck. The rat was still squealing, a sound which Edward did not like. It reminded him of the noise the butcher, McGuffey was making when he was on top of his mother. Overcome by a wave of frustration and anger, Edward squeezed the rat's neck, feeling the soft tissues compress under his grip. The rat’s movements began to slow, its legs kicking. Edward held it close, looking into its black eyes as he
increased the pressure. There was a wet crunch, and the rat went limp in his hands. His heart raced with excitement, and he felt a strange stiffness in his groin, something which was new to him, but not unpleasant. He turned the dead animal over in his hands, running his fingers over its wet fur, feeling the ridges of its bones, the softness of its skin. He was aware of what he had done, that it was considered wrong, and yet felt nothing. No emotion, no sadness, no sorrow. He felt as cold and empty as the rat’s dead stare. The storm raged overhead, but he ignored it. He turned the rat over onto its back, gripping with both hands and running his thumbs down its underside, before stopping at the flabby stomach. He pushed his thumbs into the flesh, tearing the skin until it gave way, spilling thick, gloopy innards squirting out of the hole and over his hands. Still, he felt nothing, and continued to pull, tearing the rat’s stomach open. He looked at the blood on his hands, then at the gaping hole where the rat’s stomach once was. He smiled, pushing at the wet entrails with his index finger, assessing the texture, the way everything was put together.
It was still warm as he dug his fingers into the hole, and scooped out the contents. He held them, rubbing them between thumb and forefinger, squeezing them in his fist. He dipped his index finger into the cavity of the rat’s stomach, and wrote his name on the wall, then lined the individual letters of his name with the entrails, which were sticky enough to hold in place on the soot covered brick as he completed his macabre work. He was fascinated. He held the empty carcass up to his face, and put his nose close to the stomach cavity, inhaling deeply. The copper and filth smell did not repulse him. It felt good. It felt right. He touched the cavity of the stomach, probing, wishing he had savoured it more, taken his time. Already he wanted to do it again. He looked at his name, smeared on the wall in blood and entrails and grinned. He could do it again. Would do it again. It made him feel good and would be his secret, just as his mother and father had theirs. He had decided that he would keep his parents secret. He cared less about what he had seen back at the house. All he could think about was ripping open the rat, and wondering when he might get an opportunity to do so again. He hoped it would be soon.
TWO
Hapgood stopped writing and looked at Miller.
“That was where it began? With a rat in an alleyway?” he asked, setting down the pen and stretching his fingers.
Miller shrugged his shoulders. “Yes, I suppose it was.”
“It must have been a terrible discovery for you. Your mother I mean.”
Miller glanced at Hapgood then exhaled. “I was just a boy. Children should not be subject to such shocking imagery.”
Not just children Hapgood thought as the crime scene photographs of Mary Kelly danced into his mind. “What happened next? He asked as he picked up his pen, deciding it was unwise to think about such things as the later crimes so soon.
“For a while, nothing. I continued to live within the lie created by my mother and father and indulging in my own new found hobby at the same time. It was a perverse existence. Often I would stay away from school and sneak into the house to watch the perversions taking place before heading out to do more of my own. Three months passed and I had added three more rats, a cat and two dogs in the pursuit of my new hobby. My father, who had lost his job at the docks for drunkenness, had found his moods becoming increasingly black, and combined with his addiction to alcohol had become unpredictable. It was this inherent mean streak, this bitterness which next manifested itself in spectacular fashion. You ask if it was the rat which started by own dark path, and in a sense, it was, but not as much as my father and my whore mother. They were the true creators, they were the ones who shaped who I was to become. If there is blame to attribute then it is to them.’
‘What happened?’
‘Like the rest, I can recall it with almost perfect clarity, complete and it every detail. It was an evening late in December. My mother and I were sitting down to eat when my father arrived home drunk and angry which had become his habit. I wonder if perhaps his increased need for alcohol was his own way of dealing with the horrors of the actions of his wife. If there ever were a pivotal moment for what was to come later, Mr. Hapgood, this was it.”
BROKEN
He arrived, stumbling as he fell through the door.
Edward and his mother looked up from the kitchen where they sat at the table, the stew his mother had prepared still steaming in the pan. Edward looked at his father, his shirt filthy and untucked, his face dark with stubble. He was a large, broad-shouldered man, with a round, flabby stomach brought on by his drinking which seemed somewhat out of place on his body.
“What the fuckin’ ell are you two staring at?” he grunted as he sat at the head of the table and glared at them both, his eyes bright and hateful. Edward had seen this before and knew the slightest provocation would result in a violent attack.
“What’s wrong with you two cunts, then?” he said, chuckling to himself as he took a great ladle of the stew, and slurped at it, not bothering with a bowl.
He winced, spilling some of the hot liquid down his front and on the table top. “Too fuckin hot you stupid bitch!” he roared, tossing the ladle on the table.
“I’m sorry James, I didn’t realise I...”
He leaned across the table and punched her in the face, knocking her off her chair to the ground. Edward sat and stared, unsure what to do as his father looked at him
“you keep that fuckin’ ole’ of yours shut lad, or you’ll get the same.” He said as he staggered to his feet, knocking his chair over. Edward’s mother lay on the floor, a great welt appearing under her eye, her nose and mouth bleeding.
“You stupid, stupid cunt, Iris. You burned by mouth with this fuckin’ slop. You call this food, fuckin’ look at it,” he said, gesturing to the pot of stew.” I wouldn’t feed pigs with that shit.”
He looked at Edward for approval, saw none, then turned back to look at his wife where she sat on the floor. “Let’s see if you like it hot, Iris, let’s just see,” he said, as he picked up the pan of stew and poured it on her. She screamed and writhed on the floor as Edwards father looked on laughing.
“Not nice is it, Iris!! He bellowed, tottering on his feet. “You don’t seem to be enjoying it. I told you I wouldn’t even feed pigs with it.”
“Leave her alone!” Edward said. “I’ll tell the police about you and what you do here.”
“What did you say you little bastard?” he said as he staggered towards Edward who was trying to keep some distance from his father by backing away around the table.
“I’ll tell,” said Edward, his cheeks flushing with anger. “I know all about the things you do, the things you make mother do.”
Edwards father tossed the table aside and lunged for his son. Edward turned to run, but stumbled over his own feet and tumbled to the ground.
‘You little cunt!’ He said as he pulled Edward to his feet by his shirt. “Make her?” he said through clenched teeth. “I do what I have to. To bring fuckin’ money in so you and her can live here under my roof. Look at her.”
He dragged Edward over to where she lay, the skin of her face and hands pink and blistered from the stew.
“What other use is the stupid fat fuck?” he spat at Edward as he hit him hard in the face, sending him crashing into the sideboard, then onto the floor next to his mother. The pain was explosive, taking his breath away and causing him to see white flashes when he blinked.
“I’ll teach you, boy. A father and son lesson, how about that?” he said as he dragged her by the leg towards the centre of the kitchen floor, before tearing off her skirts and exposing her naked lower half. He turned to Edward, pulling him off the floor to his feet, and holding his face mere inches from his own.
“I know you know how to boy because I have seen those stained sheets of yours,” He said as he tossed Edward down on his mother. “Now fuck her.” He barked.
“James, don’t do this I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to be so hot,” Iris
moaned through her broken face.
“You shut that fuckin’ mouth of yours, cunt!” James screamed, before picking up a knife from the side of the sink, and showing it to his son. “You better start to fuck that mother of yours right now, or I swear to god I will cut her fuckin’ throat then yours.”
Edward looked into his father’s eyes and knew beyond doubt he intended to do it.
“Father, please, don’t make me do this,” Edward sobbed.
“Father?” he sneered. “I’m not your father you little bastard. We don’t know who your father is; he could have been any one of the men that have been on top of that fat bitch in the last ten years.”
Edward turned to his mother, who was looking at him through puffy eyes. “Just do as he says Eddie, it will be ok...I love you no matter what,” she sobbed holding his hands.
Edward closed his eyes and tried to think of something, anything but what he was about to do.
It was his hobby that helped him through it. Thinking of ripping and tearing them apart, figuring out how they worked inside. After it was done, Mother and Son lay on the floor, one crying in pain from her injuries, the other blank and devoid of any emotion, the man of the house standing above them, a wide grin on his face.
“See how easy it is, Boy? You and that bitch deserve each other, I’m leaving,” he slurred, as he tossed the knife on the floor.
Edward’s mother pushed her sobbing son away and climbed to her feet.
“James, please, don’t leave us!” she sobbed, following him to the door.
“You and that little bastard can fend for yourselves now Iris, I’m done with you both,” he said, staggered to the door.
“Please, James don’t leave us!!!” she was begging, clinging to his shirt sleeve as he opened the door. “I’ll get rid of him, I never wanted him either. He’s a parasite, please, Just stay, we can get rid of him then it will be just the two of us. Please,”
I was Jack The Ripper (Part One) Page 3