James Ward put down the bottle after pouring himself a half full glass of whiskey. It was early, not many people. The few patrons that there were looked with suspicions at his black eye and bloody lip but the looks didn’t bother Ward none. He was used to people staring at him from his time as a sheriff in the Wild West. Finishing his drink he took the bottle and began making his way upstairs to the small room.

“Wake me up when it gets dark.” He said in an American accent to the bar keep.

The man just gave him a look and returned to polishing the stein.

James dropped down on the bed and took a sip straight from the bottle. Sleep wouldn’t come. A ship was coming in later in the night and he signed up to help with unloading the cargo. The work paid little but he could at least afford a roof.

“There’s gotta be some real work somewhere in this town” he thought to himself.

Putting the bottle down by the bed her rolled over on his side and tried to fall asleep.

On the other side of town Emily was waking up. It was already well into the morning. The house was quiet. She listened for a little bit. Gertrude soon knocks on her door.

“ Are you up, dear?”

“Good morning.”

“I’ll make you breakfast. Don’t worry he isn’t home so you can have it downstairs.”

“Thank you.”

Dressing in a dark grey dress and doing her hair up the woman made her way down stairs. Gertrude placed a tray with coffee, a small bowl of fruit, fresh baked bread slices with a jar of jam. Emily smiled smelling the air.

“I do love the smell of bread Alfonse makes.”

“He’s made a lot of it, eat up and let me know if you need anything else.”

“I will.” She smiles softly

She sat down on the sofa in the living room. So rare to be all by herself, to have the space and the peace to enjoy it. Spreading some jam on the bread she takes a bite. Usually she had breakfast in her room or in the basement kitchen with the servants. Small rays of sunlight come in thought the window, hitting the paper on the table. Emily picks it up. Nothing in it about a murder, at least not yet. Perhaps not yet discovered or perhaps not yer occurred. She puts the paper down and reaches into the pocket of her dress, small and hidden. In her hand is a deck of cards. Eyes closed, one hand hovers above the deck. Image of the dream in her mind. She takes one from the top and places it faced down. Then another and another until five cards make a cross pattern. With her eyes still closed she begins to flip them open. A feeling comes over her, like a tremor in the air when she flips the last one and comes face to face with the devil. She glances over the cards briefly. The moon at the top, death on the left, devil on the right. There is a feeling growing stronger, something is there, something is close. In the middle -the strength, below it the hermit. Emily holds her hand out above the cards and stands eyes closing again, head leaning back as if she’s about fall.

The front door opens and a bell on it rings. The woman startles and quickly gathers the cards hiding them back in her pocket. Albert walks past the arch of the entrance giving the room and Emily a short glance.

“Has anything else happened.” he asks.

“No.” She takes a small sip of her coffee.

“I’ve spoken to the police. So far there haven’t been any murders. We’ll need to be on the lookout. Let me know if you get anything else. I’ll be in my office. Tell Gertrude to bring me my tea”

The sound of his steps going up to the second floor disappears leaving only silence once more. Gertrude emerges from the kitchen.

“I thought I heard voices. Is he back?”

“Yes. Mr. Dalton said he will have his tea in his office.”

“Would you like anything else?”

“No. I think I’ll go to my room.”

“You’ve hardly eaten anything. Are you unwell?”

“I am feeling a bit under the weather today. I think I’ll go lay down.”

The door to the tiny room shuts behind her, the key turns in the lock. Emily undoes her hair, letting it fall loose in dark brown curls. She takes the cards again, the same five as before but the feeling is gone. The woman sighs leaving the cards laid you on the floor. It’s been a year since she came to this place. Albert while making it his disapproval of her clear never cast her out. Emily often wondered if perhaps it was out of guilt because it was most certainly not out of the kindness of his heart.

Gertrude carried the tray with tea up to Dalton’s office. The man was seated at his desk with book and papers piled around a map.

“Your tea, sir.” She said knocking.

“Come in.”

She placed the tea next to him and turned to leave but lingered.

“If I may ask, sir. Why did you let her stay here?”

He looks up at the woman, brows furrowed.

“Who I allow into my home and why is my own business.”

“Yes, of course, sir.”

Bowing in apology she quickly left. He couldn’t blame her for asking as he had asked himself this many times. Dark brown eyes wander over the picture of a woman with light hair and a little girl. Anna had been the love of his life. They have met through a mutual friend. After his first successful trip to India he proposed and soon the two had been married. Albert was often away on business so they had their first and only child fairly late. Annabel was beautiful just like her mother. She was three years old. One late night he came back home only to find that door was open. Assuming somebody had broken in he drew the blade he kept in his cane. Anna screamed upstairs. He rushed over and saw them both being held by a dark figure that looked more like a shadow than a human. He could remember the red glow of its eyes and the cold wind coming in through the open window. One moment they stood there before him and the next they simply vanished before his eyes as if they were never there.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

The police came and searched the house but turned up nothing. Albert knew he had many who were jealous of him, enough to do something like this. And then there were the scum that walked the streets of this city looking for empty homes to break into, looking to take other peoples possessions or their loved ones. In the past four years had turned the underbelly of London inside out looking for them but nothing came of it. Until a year ago. It was cold and rainy September night. There was a sudden knock on the front door. Outside, drenched from head to town stood a young woman and demanded to speak to Albert Dalton.

“If you’re looking for charity you’re at the wrong door.” He was about to shut it.

“I know you’ve been looking into the murders. I want to help.”

The idea almost made him laugh out loud.

“What help could you possibly have to offer?”

“I can see things and know things that others cannot.”

He began closing the door- the girl was clearly delusional.

“I know what’s been taken from you.”

Her words made him pause.

“Who sent you?”

“Annie Chapman. She came to me about a week ago.”

“I’m sorry to say Annie Chapman has been dead for more than a week. Whoever it was, it was most certainly not her.”

“It was her and yes she was dead.”

“I have no interest in cheap parlor tricks ,girl. Whatever delusions you have about talking to the dead interest me not.”

“You’ll never catch him. Not if you keep doing it like this.”

He was so tempted to turn her away. Her insistence that she was some kind of psychic was ludicrous. Letting this young woman into his home seemed like an impossible thought, dangerous even. Yet there she stood, wet and shivering and unrelenting.

“If it is proof you require.” She reached out a hand.” I can tell you things nobody else knows.”

He took her hand, that was surprisingly hot despite the rain and the cold. He could feel something in the back of his neck. A cold spot that seemed to be spreading, like ice water tricking down his back. He was still very much inside but it felt like he was caught in the rain. Memories surfaced almost as if being pulled out forcibly.

“You killed a man when you were 22. He did nothing wrong. You didn’t understand what he said. You thought he had offended you. You thought he wanted to rob you. You thought he was taking you to the wrong place. You killed him because you didn’t trust him. But then you don’t trust anyone.”

Letting go of her hand he takes a step back. The feeling of being submerged in ice cold water was slowly going away. He looked at her again and moved side, opening the door wider.

“Somebody could have told you that. Now let me make this clear. I will allow you to spend the night and I want you gone in the morning. And I will have you searched before you leave.”

She took a step inside seeming completely unafraid.

“Do you have a name?”

“Emily. Emily Wattson.”

He knocks on the door to Gertrude’s room. The woman soon emerging with a candle in her hand.

“Yes, Mr. Dalton? “

“I need you to prepare a room.” He gestures to Emily.

The maid look horrified at the sight the wet girl and hurries to do as she was told.

“I drew you a hot bath, dear.” She says taking Emily up to the room.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll see if I can find you some clothes. How long will you be staying?”

“Just the night, but thank you.”

“Are you a relative of Mr. Dalton’s?”

“No, I don’t think so. We haven’t met before tonight.”

Emily goes inside the bathroom leaving a stunned Gertrude outside. The water is warm and slowly washes away the coldness. She holds her breath, submerges under the water. The sound of rain becomes louder almost as if she can feel it again on her skin. She is in a street. It’s dark and cold and rainy. Quiet. A woman stands alone in a dark alley. Small sheltered area where the rain doesn’t reach. There is a sound of footsteps- she is no longer alone.

Albert came down to find his breakfast already prepared and left for. Sitting down he took the small cup of coffee and began scanning the room for the paper. He heard the step of the stairs creak in the hall.

“ Gertrude, did you get the paper yet?”

“I believe she has just left to get it.” Emily said.

He turned. She was wearing one of Anna’s old dresses. Light gray with white lace around the neck and sleeves.

“There’s been another one.” She said.” Her name was Elizabeth Stride, Berner Street. “

Gertrude comes in holding the paper. Seeing them both she bows her head.

“My apologies, I thought I could make it back before you came down.”

“That’s all right.” He takes the paper from her and looks at the front page.

The headline says “ Jack The Ripper strikes again.”

“Miss Watson, would you like some breakfast before you go?” the maid asks.

“Actually,” Albert said.” Emily is going to be staying with us for a while. “

It’s been a year since that rainy night. Emily continued to live in the Dalton estate. Throughout her time there she continued to be visited by those who sought aid in avenging their deaths. Albert had been a skeptic of the supernatural but over time he grew accustomed to it. He had made his wealth by having an eye for useful and profitable things and Emily certainly had her uses.

Night has fallen once again. Emily watches the streets empty and the full moon rise into its position in the sky. The tarot laid out on the floor, the cross hangs on the wall, the candles unlit. She walks over to the cards, eyes wandering over each one. The feeling is gone. Kneeling down before the cross she starts to pray. Full moon rising higher over the roof tops, its light pouring over the cards. The rhythmic sound of prayer interrupted by the sound of something animalistic. Growling and snarling, flesh tearing. It’s night and it’s dark out on the road. Tall trees on way side and blood soaking into the ground. Blood on the road sign and the body of man who was wandering home drunk. Her eyes snap open, getting to her feet she walks out of the room. Albert is just preparing to leave his office as Emily knocks on the door.

“I’ve had another one.”

“Was it the same one? “

“No. It was different. It was a man this time and it was outside. It was like he was attacked by some large animal. It was near Rochester. I saw the signpost.”

“That is most certainly close. But it might take some time before it makes it the local papers. You said it was an animal?”

“I don’t know. The man who was killed believed it was. I think.”

“You think?”

“It never happened before. I mean an animal killing. It doesn’t feel human but I don’t think it’s an animal.”

“What else would it be?”

“I don’t know.” She puts her arms around herself.

“Humans I know how to handle but with animals I’m no expert. I feel that we might need some extra protection for this one, preferably someone comfortable with fire arms.”

James Ward awoke to the knocking on his door. It had gotten dark. Still groggy from hangover and restless sleep he made his way to the docs. He is perhaps an hour into his work when somebody taps him on the shoulder. It is well dressed man with graying dark hair and beard. From his clothes and cane it’s obvious he comes from wealth.

“I’m looking for John Grant.”

“You’re looking at him.”

The man gave him a careful upraising look.

“Mr. Grant, do you have experience with fire arms.”

“Plenty.”

“I saw your add in the paper this morning. Are you still looking for work?”

“ Depends on the work.”

“I am preparing to go a little expedition and I would like to hire you as extra protection.”

“Expedition to where?”

“ Rochester.”

“Doesn’t sound very dangerous.”

“One can never be too careful. I’ll make it worth your time if you’re interested.”

“How much are talking?”

The man took out a pouch of coins and handed it to Grant. He looked inside and laughed in disbelief.

“Oh, I’m definitely interested.”

“Good. Then meet me tomorrow morning at this address.” The man took his money back and handed him a piece of paper with the address.