The Hollows: A Midnight Gunn Novel

by C. L. Monaghan

  The memory faded in Midnight’s mind and another came into view. There was no speech and he could see nothing except for two red glowing orbs surrounded by a black void. Sal’s body jerked under his touch, her eyes flew open and her mouth opened in a silent scream. Midnight withdrew from her, her lids closed and she stilled.

  “It’s the same as before- red eyes and then nothing. She’s very sick too, her liver is damaged. I can’t do much for her.”

  Arthur reached out and patted his colleagues shoulder.

  “Well, it’s not much to go on but it confirms my suspicions that we’re looking at a serial attacker.”

  Pensive and momentarily lost in his own thoughts, Midnight moved to the next bed. Here lay a man of around the same age as himself- early to mid-twenties at a guess, although a hard life had aged him somewhat. He was skinny and malnourished with patches of hair missing on his scalp.

  “We know this one. His name is Charlie Fenwick, works as a Costermonger round the Docks area. He’s pretty well known on account of his unusual selling technique,” Arthur said.

  “Which is what?” Midnight asked.

  “He has quite a profound stutter apparently. I can imagine that’s not much cop for a street seller which is why he sings his wares. The Singing Seller they call him. His sister found him dumped behind some empty barrels dockside. He'd been missing for a week. All we know from his sister is that he told her he had an appointment with someone who was going to help him and it would change their fortunes. She went looking for him when he didn’t come home after two days.”

  “Let me see what I can find.” Midnight reached for the man and after a brief moment he turned to Arthur. “Same. I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to give you much more than I already have.”

  Arthur shrugged. “No matter, it’s more than we had before and enough to give us a few leads to chase up. At least we have names for them all now. Someone’s bound to know something. You did me a big favour.”

  “You’d better let the Matron in. I suspect she’s chomping at the bit to find out what we’ve been doing to her patients.”

  Arthur scoffed, “I doubt it, she’ll be too busy filling in the discharge forms.”

  “What? Why are they being discharged?”

  “Nobody to pay their fees. St. Thomas’s isn’t a charitable hospital, Midnight. They’ve been here for weeks whilst under police investigation but their time’s up. A couple have families they can go back to and the rest will be transferred to the asylum. The hospital only cares for the sick and wounded not for the mentally afflicted- which is what these poor buggers have been assessed to be.”

  “What about the girl? Where will they send her?”

  Arthur pursed his lips. “I think there’s a place for sick orphans over the river somewhere. Don’t recall the name.”

  “I’ll pay.”

  “Eh?”

  “Their fees. I’ll pay them until something can be worked out, something better than…this.” Midnight looked around the crowded, filthy ward room in disgust. Arthur shook his head.

  “Well, it’s your money I suppose. Although I’m not sure where you think you’re going to send them that’s better than this. It’s a warm bed and regular food, probably more than they’re used to.”

  “I’ll find something.” Midnight’s jaw clenched. He was determined to find a solution for these sorry souls. Arthur was right- it was his money and he had lots of it.

  Midnight kept no other staff than his butler, Giles Morgan and his housekeeper Clementine Phillips. He liked privacy and efficiency and his two employees offered both. He paid them well and Mrs. Phillips, being an excellent cook, didn’t mind the extra duties that would normally fall to cooks and housemaids. The same could be said of Mr. Morgan, he often helped with the hanging out of washing and the dusting of lamps. It was a tad unusual in normal polite society but then again Midnight Gunn went to great lengths not to socialise. He never had visitors or overnight guests, no parties, dinners or poker nights. So, it was relatively easy to look after him and his household.

  The heavy front door to the mansion groaned loudly as it opened. Midnight kept it that way on purpose- it was easier to hear any unwelcome visitors in the dead of night. Entering the wide hallway, he turned and closed the door behind him, thankful to be home. The entrance hall was lit by a single gas wall lamp, ensconced in decorative glass and lead-work by the grand staircase. Giles must’ve left it on in readiness for his homecoming.

  It was past 11pm. He’d finished at Saint Thomas’s by the late afternoon but he’d not gone home afterwards. Needing to clear his mind and shed the remnants of the shadows from his bones, he’d taken a cab and walked around Hyde Park until dark. Then visited a few local pubs and made some polite enquires as to the whereabouts of a missing barmaid named Sal. The locals had been wary of him as usual and his enquiries hadn’t turned up much. In truth, he hadn’t expected them to, it was just a distraction from thinking about what he’d seen at the hospital.

  Now he was home alone and standing in the dim light, the image of the little girl, Polly, came to the forefront of his mind. Her wretched, mutilated body, her pale skin, poisoned blood and her tiny beating heart. Despite this he had felt a strength in her that was different from the other victims. He’d been able to give her more healing than the rest of them. There’d still been a blockage but he’d felt Polly’s shift a little when he had pushed at it. Midnight had thought about that during his time in Hyde Park. Maybe she could be saved, if he paid another visit and pushed a little harder.

  Dropping his door key into the ceramic bowl on the hall table, Midnight shrugged off his long black coat, brushing the rain from the shoulders before he hung it on the coat stand.

  “Good evening Sir, I hope you’ve had a fruitful day? Might I offer you a hot beverage or a plate of food before you retire?” Giles had appeared through the wooden panelled door to the left of the staircase that lead to his quarters. He was dressed in blue stripped pyjamas and a heavy, monogrammed velvet dressing gown- a Christmas gift from his employer.

  “Good evening Giles, shouldn’t you be in bed? I hope you haven’t been waiting up for me?” Midnight enquired. The butler replied with a short placatory nod to indicate that he had indeed waited up for his return. “Oh, I am sorry. You really didn’t need to, I’m quite capable of fetching myself a drink and a snack of an evening.”

  “Yes, Sir but I am the butler in this household and I do have certain duties I must abide by.”

  “Please go to bed and get some rest. I can manage. I’ll just grab myself a brandy in the parlour before I retire.” Giles didn’t move. Midnight sighed, “Fine, I will take a brandy, in the parlour if you please.” The butler nodded and padded off in his nightwear and slippers to fetch his master a drink. Walking wearily through the hallway towards the parlour, the glow from the dying fire served a warm welcome from the cold, wet October evening he’d just come from.

  He turned on the gas lights, needing to fill the darkness and chase away the shadows that were always lurking. Today was the first time he’d used his powers on so many people in one day and he felt drained. Kicking off his shoes he flopped down into the leather high-backed chair that faced the fire and warmed his feet. Giles appeared carrying a crystal glass and decanter of brandy on a silver tray. He poured a good inch of the amber liquid into the tumbler and handed it to his Master.

  “Thank you Giles. Care to join me for one or are you off to bed?” Mr. Morgan inclined his head and seemed to consider him for a moment before he answered.

  “Thank you Sir, perhaps I might have a small nightcap.” He pottered off to fetch another glass and returned shortly with a glass and a bucket of coal.

  “Let me do that.” Midnight stood and reached for the bucket and was surprised when the butler passed it over. “Pour yourself a brandy and take a seat, I’ll soon have us warmed up. It’s colder than a witch’s wart outside.”

  “Thank you Sir, you are too kind.”

 
“Nonsense. Tonight, we are just two ordinary men sharing a brandy by the fire and touting our woes.” Midnight raised his glass towards Giles and the butler reciprocated. He took a large swig then banked up the fire before settling himself back down in the chair. “Ahh that’s better!”

  “I take it your lordship had a troubling day?”

  “You could say that, yes.” Midnight paused for moment and gazed into the fire, running the edge of the brandy glass over his bottom lip. “I’m rich Giles.”

  “Indeed Sir.”

  “Well what is the use of being rich if you’re not going to use it for anything… useful?”

  “Does his lordship have something in mind?”

  “Yes. I think I may need your help though.”

  “I will be happy to assist wherever I may Sir. What is it you require?”

  “I need a house Giles. As you know I’m not well acquainted with the city socialites but you and Mrs. Phillips know the staff from the other houses in London, am I correct?”

  “A house, Sir? Are you not settled in your family home, or is it a country residence you require? Are we about to enter polite society and start entertaining the London Gentry? Because if that is the case then you’ll be needing to hire quite a few more staff.”

  “Staff yes. Entertaining, most certainly not. No Giles, I want to open a hospital for the poor. I need a very large house and lots of staff. It shall be a charitable hospital with myself as benefactor and good nurses. We’ll even employ proper surgeons with training. I hear there are some incredible advances in medicine these days, Giles. What say you? Will you help me?”

  Giles put down his brandy glass and rose from the chair, he straightened out his dressing gown and sniffed discretely before looking Midnight in the eye.

  “Your father would be very proud,” he held out is hand for his employer who promptly shook it, “as am I, Sir.”

  “Thank you, Giles. That means a lot to me. I take it that is a yes?”

  “It would be my honour. I shall send out word first thing in the morning. I must retire now, Sir. Thank you for the brandy.”

  Midnight nodded, smiled and patted Giles’ shoulder,

  “Goodnight, Giles. Sleep well.” As the butler retreated from the parlour Midnight called out, “We need a big house! Not too far out of the city but with clean air!”

  “Of course your lordship.” came a faint reply from the hallway.

  “And have Mrs. Phillips begin interviews for staff! We’ll need nurses and surgeons!”

  “Indeed, Sir. I shall inform Mrs. Phillips in the morning.” his reply barely audible now. Midnight grinned, he didn’t need his butler’s approval to spend his own money but he found he wanted it all the same. Giles had been the closest thing he’d had to a father figure since his own father, Josiah had died ten winters ago from a massive heart attack. Midnight flopped happily back in to his chair and took up the brandy glass once more, swigging the remaining liquid down in one gulp. He smiled and shook his head. He’d been invited to work on several cases in the past with Scotland Yard, he’d wandered the filth ridden streets of London many times, given alms to the poor and healed the needy, but had never felt inspired to embark on such a large and very public venture before. Midnight preferred to stay out of the public eye, never attending balls or dinners- despite sometimes being invited. He wondered what had changed in the last twenty-four hours. The pale and innocent face of little Polly appeared in his mind again. He blinked it away and ran a hand over his face. No, it wasn’t the girl, she was just another poor orphan on the street. One you could help, his conscience reminded him. That part at least was correct- he could help her. Midnight had felt it- he was convinced if he went to her again, he could fix her.

  He felt his weary eyes start to close as he gazed into the dancing flames in the hearth. Too exhausted to make his way up the long winding staircase to his bed, he slouched in the high-backed chair and allowed sleep to take him. Little Polly’s face followed him to his dreams.

  Perched atop a roof overlooking the narrow alley, he waited. Lit only by the muted glow from the tavern’s filthy window, the alley provided the perfect opportunity to locate his next target. The faint light below barely reached a few feet beyond the ale house entrance, ensuring his complete concealment. The incessant rain pounded down. Cold, wet rivulets trickled past the upturned collar of his black cloak but he didn’t care. The rain covered his presence as much as the darkness. It muffled his steps as he clambered across the slate tiled roof and shimmied down the drainpipe. His steel claws scraped along the metal during the descent but the sound was swallowed by shadows and the gushing water that poured from the gutter.

  A woman had exited the tavern, alone and clearly inebriated. It was her. His heart rate increased, beating a rapid rhythm in his ears which excited him. He allowed her a few moment’s head start; mostly to ensure nobody followed her from the pub. Then, he began the hunt.

  Rainwater sloshed along the gullies of the cobbled streets and over his leather boots. It seeped through the fabric of his heavy cloak but he didn’t feel it- the blood galloping through his veins kept out the cold. The woman ahead of him staggered suddenly. Throwing her arm sideways, she steadied herself on the brick wall. Upon rising, her head tilted slightly when the sharp clip of his heeled boots behind her caught a cobblestone and resonated loudly through the dimly lit alley. She’d heard him. He cursed inwardly. He did not want the hunt to end just yet- he needed to build the chase and accentuate her fear gradually otherwise it wouldn’t work.

  The woman quickened her step and he quietly followed. He needed everything to be perfect. The timing had to be just right. Pulling his collar tighter around his neck to hide his face, he focused on his sordid game of cat and mouse.

  It was working, the effects of the alcohol she’d consumed were being burned away by her increasing sense of imminent danger. His subtle noises, footfalls and soft humming had gradually alerted her to his presence and he could tell she had begun to panic. Her sense of self-preservation had kicked in but coupled with the alcohol, rain and darkness, she’d become confused and lost. Small whimpers escaped her, any moment now she would run. He readied himself, this was it- the final part of the hunt- the part he was most looking forward to.

  “Help me!” she screamed then set off running as fast as her skirts would allow. He didn’t panic but jogged along as a steady pace behind her. She’d run down a commercial back alley, there were no residents to call on for aid. She was trapped.

  “There, there pretty one,” he soothed. “No need to shout, no one to hear you. Just me and you my sweet.” The menacing undertones in his inflection excited him- he knew what was coming. She’d backed herself up against a wall, head switching frantically back and forth- looking for an escape. He slowed his advance- scraping his metal claws along the brick. The sound made her shrink further into herself, as if she was trying to fade into the wall behind her. Wanting the anticipation to build and feed her fear, he began a soft hum and lowered his collar.

  “Your eyes!” she cried as the red glow fell upon her face. “What are you?”

  “I am the devil come to claim your soul, pretty.” The phrase dripped salaciously from his tongue and her reaction thrilled him.

  “No! Please, please Sir. I’m begging you, don’t kill me! Help me! Somebody, help!”

  He reached her and pinned her mouth shut with his hand- the cold metal claws dug into her cheek and she went rigid. Eyes wide like a frightened rabbit, she breathed rapidly through her nostrils. He pressed himself against her, pinning her tight against the wall and stared directly into her eyes. She had nowhere to run, he had her under his complete control. He was surprised to find himself aroused. That hadn’t happened on the previous hunts, even the time with the well-to-do woman. Although her death had been an accident. He hadn’t meant to kill- merely to harvest. Perhaps that was what lay at the back of his mind now, he had no plans to kill but his physical reaction to this woman’s fear couldn’t be denied. The
thought of a kill aroused him. His hand slipped from her mouth during his moment of distraction.

  “Take me then, just don’t kill me please. I have a child. Please, I’ll do anything.”

  He didn’t understand at first what she was saying but when she moved her hips towards him, her upper thigh brushed his hardness. He almost laughed, she thought he wanted to rape her! He opened his mouth to tell her she was a disgusting whore for offering herself so easily but a thought occurred to him: maybe he could use this to his advantage.

  “Dirty little bitch! This is what you want isn’t it?” He leered, trailing a single cold claw down her cheek and neck towards her chest, piercing her breast. The woman cried out and blood began to trickle from the cut, staining the top of her chemise.

  “Don’t ‘urt me! Please?” She cried.

  He clamped her mouth shut again and with his other hand, slashed her chemise open to reveal a bare, blood covered breast. Her eyes bulged with fear as he bent his head, extended his blackened tongue and lapped greedily at the trickle of blood. When he reached her exposed nipple, he took it in his mouth and bit down hard. The woman screamed into his hand and struggled against him. He kept her in his mouth and moved his free hand to hitch up her skirts. Her muffled screams encouraged him when the sharp steeply points of his hand gouged raw, bloody trails into her thigh.

  It was working. He could sense it coming- that glorious moment was almost upon him. The time for capture was near.

  “Oi! You there!” Came a distant shout. “Who goes there?” A little closer this time and accompanied by footsteps. The sudden interruption caused him to jerk away from the woman and twist back to see who was advancing. He saw a figure striding quickly towards them, silhouetted against the light from the single glass lamp at the end of the street. He recognised the outline as a member of the constabulary. Damn! How frustrating! Just as he was at the moment of capture too.

  His distracted state had caused him to momentarily lose his concentration and then he felt a shove, followed by excruciating pain in his groin. He felt the pain spread to his abdomen and he struggled not to vomit. The woman had kicked him right between his legs!