Cora Frost: The Fasting Spider

by Matthew Smith

  Chapter 1

  1886, East End London

  The door knocked loudly awakening a stiffening silence throughout Eerie East End's Occult Specialty Shop. Dust fluttered up like a veil of moth dust as Cora glided across to the door. The now waning summer had been uneventful. Only a few knickknacks had lightened her shelves, venturing to the homes of the curious and sometimes odd customer. Her summer slump was only enough to keep the bankers at bay. Within what could only have been a breath of time she placed a bouquet size full of tightly curled ebony hair up into a bun. With a deep breath she opened the door with her head bowed low.

  “Welcome to Eerie East End's how may I serve you in the strange and macabre this fine morning?”

  “Are you Cora Frost?” The woman asked.

  Cora shivered. This wouldn't be the first time that the bank had sent a woman to lull her into a false sense of security. She looked up to see that the girl in front of her was barely 17. The young woman's form shook like that of weary mouse. This apparent anguish allowed Cora to shrug off the torturous thoughts of the persistent bankers. The bankers she interacted with had hunger in their eyes. It was times like these she wished she was still engaged in a life of crime.

  The new visitor seemed a little too high society for her usual clientèle. Most of her usual customers couldn't afford the pearls adorning the girl's emerald brooch. Cora thanked a multiple of names in her head for the divine intervention she was hoping was about to fall upon her.

  “I am,” she said. “Why don't you come in and we can discuss what it is that I can help you with. Perhaps you'd be in the market for a fertility statue from ancient Greece. Are you unmarried? Perhaps I have something...”

  “It's nothing like that Ms. Frost,” she said as she entered with her cheeks blazed with a plethora of embarrassment.

  The girl jumped as a spider web wisped around her palm. Cora patted it gently off as she removed a lace shawl from around the girl's shoulders. Cora tried to figure a place to keep it safe from the clutter and the sea of musky air enveloping throughout the small shop and apartment. With a quiet snap of her fingers, she moved for a small parcel she had kept from a delivery of amulets she had received yesterday. Making quick work she placed it inside where she hoped it would be safe as she sprinted back to the wealthy teen.

  “Sorry. Funds have been a little tight so I haven't been able to have the cleaning girl come,” she lied. She never had the funds, nor had she ever had a cleaning girl.

  “I can see that,” the girl said truthfully before stuttering. “W-what I mean is it must be hard having such a... peculiar occupation.”

  Cora sighed in deeply. “You are not here because you are looking for an artifact or require any of the services I perform. Let me guess you’re here because a friend has put you up to it. Some kind of dare or prank?”

  “No, no it's nothing like that at all,” she rushed out with a genuine apology in her eyes. “You see I fear I may have had a run in with something of a supernatural disposition.”

  Pushing aside her silken wheat hair, she revealed the center of her despair. Three scratches strewn across her neck. The girl's long hair seemed well equipped with concealing the affliction that was also covered in blisters and burns that ran parallel to the scratches. A single tear ran from her charcoal eyes as Cora came to inspect the wound.

  “Very strange,” Cora said, pulling back almost wincing in sympathetic pain. “Do you know what caused such a dreadful thing?”

  “Everyone knows,” she said with a deeper pain than the physical one she had to bare. “It was in the paper.”

  “You’re not Nichole Kelly, are you?” she asked. “The one the paper said believes Spring-Heeled Jack attacked her.”

  If Cora hadn't seen the wounds she may be inclined to laugh off the folk character as other's did. A man dressed in a black cape and tight bodysuit able to bound walls like he was jumping rope. Numerous stories had been told throughout the last century or so of the phantomesque apparition attacking men and assaulting girls. Each time the lecherous figure outran the police by catapulting himself away with his unnatural abilities.

  “I am Nichole Kelly. The paper was the one that linked the attack to Spring-Heeled Jack,” she said as Cora motioned her to a peeling, almost onyx, wood table. “I find those stories to be nothing but children's fancies.”

  “Well, why don't you tell me about the attack,” Cora said with a bright smile that seemed to hide the doubt bubbling from deep inside her. “If you don't believe that Jack is the culprit, maybe I can help you find the answer to who is.”

  “That's the problem,” she whispered. “My memory has been slightly shaky. I was walking alone at night. I was going to retrieve my cat from the top of our roof. Tenessa always likes to roam at night.”

  Cora placed her finger to her bottom lip. Cora dabbled with what some people would call arcane arts. One specialty was somewhat of a telepathy or past sight she had learned from a native man in the Americas. It was still a fleeting gift. This remarkable gift wasn't one that could be called forth for everyday use. But the scent of magic was thick around Nichole and Cora couldn't help but venture deep within the terrifying memory.

  Cora fixated her eyes on Nichole's who mistook it as asserting concern. As Cora ventured into her mind reality peeled back. Everything vanished save for Nichole's form as she continued her story. The darkness that was once Eerie East End's was now a canvass painting to match Nichole's memory. It was dark and Cora could see the manor she was sure belonged to the Kelly's. Sand shaded brick gave shape to the estate that stood out like a beacon compared to the all-encompassing darkness that surrounded it. The darkness itself was compelling to Cora. She couldn't be certain if it was genuinely that overpowering or if it was just Nichole's brain recalling it that way.

  “I had heard Tanessa crying. I assumed it was because she chased a bird up the roof again and was too afraid to come down on her own.”

  Looking up she saw that the cat was nowhere on the edge of the roof. Echoes could be heard of the cat's desperate cry that varied between whimpering and bone chilling wails. The scenery moved as Nichole maneuvered through the memory of the night searching for the feline. The Kelly manor was an impervious fortress. Iron gating encircled the manor like a castle's curtain wall. Tall willow trees and rose bushes ran parallel to the surrounding gate.

  “I had never felt afraid in my own home before,” she explained with a break in her voice that nearly brought both of them to tears. “The gate was always locked at night and wasn't easy to scale or slip through. Even with Tanessa meowing as she did I still felt fairly safe. That is until I heard such a strange sound.”

  Nichole remembered the metallic sound scorching through the sky like a javelin. Something landed with a thud somewhere behind her. The psychic trance had its disadvantages and Cora could feel the panic in Nichole's heartbeat. Each rustling in the brush sent a rush of blood gearing Cora up for a useless fight or flight response. Cora took concerted effort in order to not reveal their shared fear and anxiety.

  “That's when he came out,” she said as a blur rushed in front of them in the vision Cora was procuring. “A man cloaked in black. Dark blue flames were escaping from his mouth and nose. The smoke was so thick it crafted a coal like helmet around his head.”

  The young woman had described the creature true to detail. Candle flame like red eyes peered through the mantle of smoke around his face. No, not eyes. Beneath the glaring orbs hid a set of human eyelids closed in a fit of nightmarish slumber. With inhuman speed, he forced himself on her.

  “I fear that his intent was that of a sexual nature,” Nichole continued as she lowered her head a bit. “Thankfully it never got that far.”

  The creature's hands were covered in a metallic ice like substance. Before Nichole could move, the blade like claws racked against her neck. It took Cora every effort not to scream as she felt the same searing pain as Nichole had that moment. If it hadn't been for an elderly gentlemen coming ou
t the door at that moment death or worse would have been pressed on Nichole for sure. The same unearthly blur allowed the abomination to vault himself clear across the yard and over the iron gate.

  “Our caretaker scared him away after the abomination cut me. The creature jumped over the fence and escaped as fast as he came,” Nichole said as Cora disconnected from her.

  Cora placed a hand on Nichole's shoulder. “You must have been so afraid. I know how it is to have the comfort of normalcy ripped away to make way only for the unknown and terror. You are showing bravery that I could not have mustered after such a traumatic event.”

  “You don't think me mad, do you?” Nichole said, tears streaming down choking her words. “I mean, what happened to me sounds so much like those legends. I thought the legend of Spring-Heeled Jack were just stories people told to get a great laugh.”

  “All stories, myths, legends, all start from some glimmer of truth. But I will have to delve deeper. At first, I thought Jack a rumor.”

  “I will aid you in any way I can. I have been saving my allowance for an imported dress from Paris but it will not work with these scars.”

  “About that,” Cora said with a smile as she got up and ventured to a cabinet near the back of the shop. “I have an oil made with cinnamon, sandalwood and rosewater. Oh and a Roc feather that should do nicely. Try putting a bit in a bath and it should help you heal.”

  She handed Nichole a small vial that to the naysayer or non-believer looked like a substance similar to olive oil. Nichole accepted it with a doubting smile. Upon touching the vial all doubt seemed to vanish as a surge of energy waved through her. She touched the scars on her neck with a sense of wonder. It was still raw, like a vat of boiling water, but the wound seemed to recoil.

  “I feel that my mother may have been wrong about you,” Nichole said with a warm and grateful smile.

  “What? Did she call me a heretic bound for Satan's black pot?”

  “No, she just said that a woman of your kind of occupation would find more prestige selling her body to the night,” Nichole responded, sheepishly.

  “Oh,” Cora said, stunned for the briefest of moments. “Out of all the thing's women of your stature have said about me..... that would have to be the sweetest I've heard yet. Tell your mother she is a very kind woman.”

  “I shall,” Nichole said with a small laugh as she brought out a small clutch bag. “Here let me give you something for the medicine.”

  Cora placed her hand to stop her from bringing the money out. “Your generosity speaks highly about your character but you can pay me for the medicine when your wounds heal. The same goes for this mystery.”

  “I know that I may never be able to vindicate myself to the community,” she said with a renewed sadness. “But I must vindicate myself in my own eyes.”

  “I understand what you mean,” Cora offered with a smile. “I feel you grasp a wisdom I only wish I had at your age.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Frost,” Nichole said as she rose to her feet. “I'm sorry but I cannot stay for long. My mother thinks I am at Ester Stevens house previewing her ballet recital.”

  “You are very welcome,” Cora said as she retrieved Nichole's shawl for her from the parcel box. “I understand a young lady of your standing must keep a very busy schedule.”

  Nichole quickly made her way to the door. Cora could tell that Nichole was still uncomfortable with Eerie East End's. Cora had time to fully embrace the strange. To accept both its brighter and darker shades. People like Nichole didn't embrace this world with wonder. Most usually out of desperation and fear. A starting point for everyone who walks down the same road. A road Cora had ventured down so many years ago.