by Steve Hester
CHAPTER 2
LONDON 1886
The clank of the neighbouring cell door woke James up from his sleep. Blurry eyed he blinked and rolled over, listening to the sound of the jailer tossing the prisons latest inmate into his new home. A minute later there was tap on the door of his cell.
“Wake up Connery! Today's your day, don't want you to sleep in and miss it!”
James stared blankly at the ceiling. “Thank you Mr. McGregor.”
Today was the day, the last one he would ever see. In just over two hours’ time he was going to be taken out into the prison yard, hung and then... Well, that would be that. His life would end. I wonder if I should get philosophical, he thought as he watched a spider scuttle above him.
It got to its web where a gnat had become entangled in its sticky fibres and sank its fangs into the insect. A few moments passed as the gnat tried to fight against its fate, its spindly legs writhing and tugging on the web before its movements slowed and finally stopped. The spider started to wrap it in its silk ready to add it to the other desiccated carcasses it had in its collection.
James couldn't help but chuckle to himself as he watched the gnats struggle. It was pointless. Every move the gnat had made since it landed in the web only trapped it further and its fate was never in doubt. He wondered if the gnat knew what was happening to it, if it got philosophical. James's mind wondered back to his own fate and looked about his own web.
Apart from a bucket in the corner of the room, the bed was the only item of furniture; a steel creaking frame covered by a mattress that was so thin it could have been mistaken for a bed sheet when he lay on it. He could feel the metallic netting digging into his back as he moved. He stood up on the bed and stretched to see out of the high window.
A couple of men in dark thick clothing were working over a gallows. One, a large man with a bushy beard, had looped the rope over the beam and was pulling down with all his weight to test that it wouldn't break. James noted sadly that both the beam and the rope looked very sturdy.
Sitting back down on the bed he resumed thinking about the events that got him in this cell in the first place. The face of his wife floated up in his memory, so beautiful. He screwed his eyes up tight. Why her? Why? He thought about their last conversation. It had been an argument about... nothing. So pointless now that he almost laughed to himself despite it all. And then he went for a drink. Why? He could have gone any night of the week so why had he left that night?
He remembered the shouting but not the words. They lived in a two-room slum in a row of terraced houses that had seen better days and whenever they had fought it had been about money. James was barely out of his teens with Sarah only a few months younger. They had no children to worry about so they tried to make the best out of the situation but it had been far harder than they'd thought.
She had started to take in clothes for darning and repair. It wasn't much but they could barely afford to keep their heads above water, as James hadn't been able to keep a steady job for the first year of their marriage. Instead he had to make do with flittering from one place to another, picking up day labour wherever he could find it.
Two months previously, the family next door had been thrown out onto the street by their landlord and they had begged, pleaded with him for more time to pay back what was due. He'd made it very clear not only to them but the others that lived on his street that if you couldn't pay then you'd be following them. It had been a wakeup call for Sarah. She started to work even harder, looking for more clothes to repair and what little money she got in she hoarded.
James admired her for that. She was a strong willed woman and that was what had attracted him to her in the first place. She had a fire in her belly and a determination about her that he adored. He looked to her in the beginning like an equal and they had treated their lives together as such. Then James started to work on the docks.
The docks were dark, dangerous and bread a tough kind of man that was strong in body but weak in mind. Many of his co-workers were married, some even lived close by and Sarah frequently saw many of the wives going to and from the markets. They talked and gossiped and griped about their husbands. Their husbands who left them to go out drinking of an evening, to go out whoring and the things one or two of them did when they got back home.
Sarah had said that James wasn't and would never be like that but the other women just looked at her with pity in their eyes. He would be a rare type of man indeed if it were so they had told her. He hadn't even noticed the change himself. The long days were exhausting and initially after the strain of the day he would come home, eat the simple dinner Sarah had made and then fall asleep in the rickety armchair in front of the stove fire. As time went on though his fellow workers calls to join them in the pub sounded better and better.
As he started to enjoy their company out of work the frequency of these nights out grew more and more just as the money they now had got less and less. The arguments had increased with good reason and by now Sarah had started to grow panicked with every sound outside in case it was a debt collector asking for money they didn't have.
That night she'd brought it up after supper. He needed to stay in more or allow her to take more control over the money he was bringing in. She'd tried to tell him how she felt and he had just laughed at her. Why had he done that? Why couldn't he see the worry in her face? The house had exploded into arguments! It was his money earned by the sweat on his back, why shouldn't he use it how he wanted? The other men he worked with didn't let their women treat them like this! They were the men and the women should obey them! She had lashed back with her contributions, the cooking, the housework, and her work as a seamstress.
He'd laughed, mostly because the whores that stalked the waterfront after dark called themselves seamstress and she'd slapped him. It shocked him still. She'd never slapped him before. Blindly he had slapped her back and sent her onto the stone floor with a glowing cheek and the look she gave him chilled James to his heart. She was scared of him now. In Sarah's head the words of the other women suddenly coalesced and she could see the man he was could become.
He had no idea what to do! He could just keep hearing the voices of his colleagues in his head saying be the man of your house; show her who the boss was. He should have picked her up, said he was sorry. He already knew in his gut if not his head that she was right and he'd just done something he would never have dreamed of and wouldn't ever happen again. He should have stayed but he didn't. With no real plan he grabbed his hat and coat from beside the door and walked out.
Within ten minutes he was sat in the local pub. There were the usual faces in there and they all jeered and cheered as he walked in. Being the youngest the ribbing had started almost right away and when he'd told them he wasn't in the mood it only got worse. It was a short time later that they coaxed out why he was worked up and the men were almost unanimous. He'd done the right thing, showed her who was wearing the trousers and they all gave a drunken toast in his honour before laughing into the foam on their ale.
He hadn't felt honourable quite the opposite he felt terrible. It wasn't right what he'd done, he knew that and he couldn't work out why he'd done it. He wanted to go back home but they dragged him back into his seat for another drink and another until his head was swimming.
The more he'd drunk the more his friends were making sense. It wasn't his fault, it was hers! She had provoked him! She had done it on purpose and she'd driven him to lash out at her! He had done right! One of the men, a big guy called Bren waved two of the remaining fingers on his right hand at James and told him to tell her that when he got home. If he let her talk to him like that once then she would do again. Better to let her know what she'd get if she did.
The alcohol clouded his mind. Part of him was sat there agreeing with Bren, as everything he said seemed to make sense! The small part of him that was still reasoning was screaming from the back of his mind to ignore them but the drink was drowning it out. When he stood up again and annou
nced his intentions to go back and lay down the law he was met with more cheers before he staggered out into the cold London streets.
The night air was like a slow slap in the face as he made his unsteady way home. He was muttering to himself, replaying the argument from earlier this way and that, looking for how he should have handled himself differently. He was angry with her just as much as he was angry with himself and her words and his friends fought with each other.
He was so lost in thought that he didn't notice the broken gutter until he had slipped on the cobbles that had been soaked by the overspill. Suddenly he lay on the cold street staring up at the sky wondering which of the stars he was seeing were real and which were just dancing in his eyes. The back of his head was suddenly throbbing and as he reached behind him he could feel a lump forming already.
Slowly he pulled himself up and sat under the flickering gas from the nearby street light. The combination of the drink and the impact of the fall had shaken him up. He blearily looked at the other houses and saw his own just a hundred yards away. As he tried to stand up he saw movement and momentarily dismissed it as a shadow. A second look though confirmed that there was something there.
The shape wasn't right though. It looked like a man but the proportions were wrong and it seemed to be darker than the shadows that surrounded it. It glanced about before its eyes rested on James. They were icy pinpoints of black that glistened like free flowing tar and there was no mistaking the evil behind the eyes. It let out a hiss that to James's ears sounded like laughter before it slipped into the darkness.
A sudden wave of sobriety washed over him. Something was badly wrong and James could feel it in his gut. The thing or whatever it was looked like it had come from the direction of James's house. Suddenly Sarah was the only thing on his mind and he lurched himself forwards his head pounding with each step.
As he got closer the knot in his stomach tightened. The front door was open. He wasn't expecting the lights to be on at this time of night but he was hoping and praying there was a simple explanation. He started to pray she'd left him for her mothers or one of the neighbours. He prayed that she'd run away and there'd be a note on the small table near the fire. He didn't want to think of the horrible things that were now floating up inside his mind.
As he pushed the door open the light from the waning moon spilled into the front room and illuminated the carnage. The table had been smashed in two and there was no sign of a letter. There was dent in the stove and the crockery they had was scattered across the floor mixing in with the remains of that night’s dinner. There was something else though which caught his attention: a strong iron smell. He looked towards the bedroom and saw something glisten on the floor under the door.
His heart was racing now as he slowly walked towards the bedroom. As he got closer he could make out a faint red tint to the floor. He swallowed and pushed the door open before falling to his knees.
She was there but there was no chance she could be alive. He body had been torn in half like she'd been attacked by a wild animal. Her torso lay on the bed, her entrails lay on the floor in a pile by her legs which were covered in deep claw marks and her eyes were wide open.
For minutes James couldn't move. It wasn't possible, how could it be possible? This is a trick it has to be! Nothing could do this! She was going to sit up in a moment and scold him, joke over and he'd learnt his lesson. The air was as still as the body on the bed.
His brain started to slowly take in the scene in front of him and he started to weep. He tried to stand and found his legs weren't working so he grabbed hold of the doorframe and pulled himself upright. He walked over to the bed with each step feeling like an eternity until he could see into her eyes.
They were wide and still full of fear. Her mouth was open and her face was covered in blood. He knelt beside her, gently whispering her name as if the mention of it could wake them both up from this nightmare. Gently he touched her face and could feel the smallest trace of heat still in her cheeks. He touched his head to hers as the tears started to flood down his face and he held her until, with animal ferocity, he reared back his head and howled into the night. He cursed himself, the people he worked with, the world and everything in it! He begged and pleaded to God for it all to be a lie or a dream, just anything so it wasn't real.
There was a gasp from the doorway and he looked up and saw the face of one of his neighbours standing there illuminated by the moonlight. He saw the shock and horror on her face before she vomited and ran outside. He quickly followed.
Outside a number of his neighbours had gathered, woken by the noise of his screams. They stood round trying to listen to the now hysterical woman who'd he'd seen in the door way and then saw the blood on James's clothes. He started to talk but the words wouldn't come out and before he knew it two men had grabbed him and thrown him to the floor. The police arrived and carted him off within the hour.
The trial had been a farce from start to finish. No one seemed to be interested in justice, least of all the newspapers. They were thrilled to print gory details of the murder and the court case, stating how it had been the most gruesome case ever brought before the Assizes and mocking his story of a shadowy creature in the night. It dragged on almost for the look of things but James knew from the very first moment he stood in the dock that he would be found guilty. His neighbours had come forward and they'd spoke about an argument they'd heard early on in the night, his co-workers had spoken about how he was going to put her in her place when he got home conveniently missing out their part in things.
The defence had done a lacklustre job at best as he was under no illusions how the trial would end. He'd miss-argued points, failed to properly cross-examine witnesses. The prosecution had brought up how James being a dock worker could have given him the strength to do the act with his bare hands and the defence just sat there, content to leave a bold faced lie hanging in the air. Pretty soon the judge had spoken to pass his sentence but by this time James had all but stopped listening and he barely looked up when the judge put the black cap on his head condemning him to the gallows.
He was taken to the cells and that had been little under a week ago. He had heard the footsteps outside his door and each time he was readying himself to hear the chain of the jailer’s keys and the call to follow him out into the yard to the noose. He had barely slept because of it and had spent nearly three straight nights starting at the ceiling wide-awake before sheer exhaustion had knocked him out. At each new noise he would twitch awake again and the memories of that night came flooding back mixing with his own dread.
Today would be the day though. Part of him was actually relieved as the nightmare that had become his day to day life would at least be over but the most part of him was angry only he wasn't sure who at most. He was angry with himself for everything he had done and mostly everything he hadn't. He was angry at the court for the mockery of a trial, angry at the people who had been his friends at the speed with which they had turned on him but most of all he was angry with the stone walls that surrounded him. He wanted to tear through them and go back onto the streets to find the creature or person or whoever was really responsible and hurt them. He wanted to hunt it down and make it suffer, to make it hurt and to stare into its eyes as it begged in the same way Sarah must have.
An hour later the hatch in the cell door opened and a tray of food was shoved through with a tin mug of tea. So this is my last meal he though as he spooned the watery gravy and watched it splash over the mashed potatoes and dubious sausages. He had no appetite and after a few bites he rested the tray on the floor and held his head in his hands.
Ten AM came round and there were foot steps down the corridor. He heard the chain rattle and the door swung inwards with a dull creak. The jailer walked into the room carrying a set of shackles followed by a clergyman. All James could think of was his wife as he was lead out down the cold echoing corridor, the clergy dully reciting from the leather bound bible he carried in his hand
s. As they made their way past the other cells the other prisoners jeered and hollered and one or two tried to spit at him as he walked by. A few even cheered for him.
The air in the yard was biting cold as he was led over to the gallows. In the time that he made the long walk up onto the platform he felt almost serene. It was all over and a poor end to a poor life somehow seemed fitting. The noose was placed over his head and tightened before the executioner took his place by the handle to the trapdoor. The clergy finished his payers for James's soul and then the clerk stepped forward to ask if he had any last words. With a sigh James looked up at the sky. He almost was expecting the clouds to part or the sun to shine on him warmly but the grey skies and the wind mocked him. He sighed and looked down at the ground his eyes resting on nothing particular.
“I'm sorry Sarah.” he whispered.
The nod was given and the executioner pulled the handle. James felt the world fall out below him and as the noose tore at his neck he wished for just one more chance. But for him there was no last chance, only blackness.