A woman in a white nightgown kneels on the floor praying in a tiny room.  One single candle lit below the cross. Words in Latin pouring from her lips in something like a panicked rush. Eyes closed tightly. The candle flickers without any wind. Drip, drop. The sound of something wet dripping to the floor boards. The sound repeats. The woman slowly opens her eyes. A puddle of something dark red on the floor. Eyes looking up at the cross, as the prayers die on her lips replaced by a scream. Blood pours from the cross, down the wall  with a dripping  wet sound.  She shuts her eyes, tries to pray it away but it’s too late.

Dripping blood, the wet sounds, flesh tearing. Darkness. Smell of blood. A full moon in the window.  It is not the room upstairs, but someplace else. Long dark hallway. There is a squelch from under  her feet. Something glistening in the moonlight- blood and something else. Torn bodies, flesh and guts thrown about.  She feels sick, doesn’t want to be here. Something moves –a shadow passing over the  moon in the window. The woman directs her eyes to the hallway. Standing there is a little girl, holding a rag doll, can’t be much older than seven.

“Will you help me? I can’t find my mummy. Please help me.”

With a thud her body falls to the floor, back in the small room. No blood, just the wooden cross on the wall and a burned out candle. 

Albert Dalton was a rich man, being one of the main importers from India. Luxury goods such as tea, spices, fabrics and the occasional contraband of Opium from further east. Many shops in London sold the item he brought in. In his younger days he had made many trips to India himself to secure these good and inspect their quality. Having traveled to far and dangerous parts of the country in his youth, clashed with pirates and seen many things foreign to London of 1864 during these trips he was not man that scared easily. Now aged 44, he no longer took trips to India. However the lust for adventure of his younger days did not quite fade. Only now he enjoyed himself in a much deferent way.

Stolen story; please report.

The map of London lay open on the table, marked with various handwritten notes and newspaper clippings, lines connecting dots. He leans over it, carefully inspecting it. Removing a clipping and tossing the rest into the fire. It was an article about a body found in the river. He ponders over the map. Thoughts interrupted by a sudden knock on his office door.

“Come in”

The door opens without a sound and the lights in the room seem to flicker all at once. He turns, now seeing the young woman standing there. His expression changes from serious to concerned but only briefly before turning stern.

“Emily?”

The woman does not answer. He walks forward.

“Emily?”

She looks at him, face wet with tears.

“It happened again.” Her voice is just a whisper.

“What did you see?”

“I don’t know. There was blood. So much of it … and a little girl. She couldn’t find her mother.”

“Was there anything else?”

“No. Yes. The moon was full.”

“Did you see anything else? Any details”

“It was dark.”

She sits down facing away from him arms wrapped around herself.

“Think back. Was there anything else?” His voice is strict.

The woman closes her eyes, Tears still falling, and takes a deep breath.

“There is a window.” Her eyes move under her eyelids” the moon is full. It’s a hallway on the second floor. There is a circular yard and an old tree. Grass beyond the hedges –nothing but fields.”

“Doesn’t sound like London.”

“No.” she opens her eyes.

He writes down her description.

“How many victims do you think?”

“I don’t know.”

“We’ll wait for the morning. There might be something in the papers.  Depends on how far it was. Now go to bed and get some sleep. You look dreadful.”

The woman leaves not giving him another look wiping the tears with her hands. Gertrude, the maid of the house, walks from around the corner, oil lamp in hand. Emily startles.

“Miss Watson, you gave me a fright”

“I’m sorry.” She tries to keep her head down so her hair covers her face.

“ Did something happen?”

“No. I’m quite fine.”

The maid just shakes head.

“ Did he say something mean to you again?”

“No. Good night ,Gertrude.”

“You pay him no mind, dear.” The maid says after her.

Emily shuts the door of the small room. Complete darkness sets in.  She doesn’t light the candle, kneels on the floor and starts to pray again.