Late October and our scout leader had taken us into the deep dark woods for a camping trip. A slight wind stirred the air, crisp with the chill of a late autumn night as we huddled around a blazing camp fire. The smell of the fire mingled with the decaying aroma of leaves on the forest floor to create an eerie pallet for our impressionable minds. Beyond the brightly lit circle of our camp fire lay another world, a world of darkness and mystery, of horrors untold for wandering boys that dared to disobey their elders.
“Once a long time ago,” began our fearless leader, “in a place far away from here, nights of uneasy rest descended upon a city. Hysteria gripped the good citizens as a madman roamed the streets. Some knew him as a shadowy figure that dispatched his unsuspecting victims in truly gruesome fashion, lurking in the darkened alleys for his prey. Others thought of him as the Devil incarnate laying claim to lost souls. But to all in the East End he was known by one name, a name that struck fear into every able bodied person, male and female alike: Jack the Ripper.” As he spoke the name he jumped towards the fire, creating shadows that seemed to suddenly emerge from the depths of the dark forest, shadows ready to devour us. A collective shiver ran through the group as we nervously settled back into our places, the circle becoming a bit tighter than before.
Now most of us had already heard of Jack the notorious Ripper of the East End of London, mostly in stories told on television and read on the internet. We even doubted that such a person ever really existed. But of course we were young and very prone to not believing anything the adult world had to tell us. Yet on this night with a full moon illuminating the sky and the midnight hour upon us, we became susceptible to the ghost story put before us. Some of our parents would probably be very angry if they knew of the tale our adult supervisor was weaving to scare us but what was a camping trip without ghost stories around a fire? He spent a good amount of time spinning his tale of horror until finally he wrapped up his fiction.
“Good ol’ Jack… no one knew who he truly was, only what was left in his wake. Nobleman, peasant, or something else was the topic of many a discussion. The police were baffled and thousands of letters claiming to know who the Ripper was or some even purportedly being from the Ripper himself shed no light on the ghastly murders. Just as suddenly as the crimes started they stopped. No one knew then or now just how many deaths the Ripper caused and only the “canonical five” were considered linked and the work of a single person. Local legend had it that one man, a wealthy young aristocrat named Edward Collins, knew who the Ripper was and hunted him in revenge for one of the killings. But there was never any proof Edward actually existed or how he discovered the Ripper’s identity. To this day some claim the Ripper to be immortal, still living somewhere among an unsuspecting population. So take heed my good lads and beware of dark places and shadows that stir uneasily in the night. Or the Ripper might just get you!” He emphasized that last part loudly and with such a quick movement that we all jumped from our seats.
“Time for bed boys.” He couldn’t have timed that any better. We were all edgy as black cats on All Hallows Eve. We nervously looked every which way as we headed to our tents until finally we found safety enveloped in our cocoons. Or had we….
The leaves on the trees rustled softly as the breeze moaned through the branches and I swore I could hear footsteps crunching nearby. I nearly jumped out of my skin when an owl suddenly let out a screech, breaking the deathly silence. Call it an overactive imagination if you will but I knew he was out there waiting for some poor soul to wander into his domain. I snuggled further down into my sleeping bag, covering my eyes so I couldn’t see or be seen. I knew I was being foolish to be so afraid but emotions can easily fool us. Slowly I drifted off to an uneasy sleep, my tranquility displaced by nightmares.
Gas lamps lit the cobblestone streets as a man dodged in and out of the dark shadows they cast, trying to evade an angry mob incited by the latest find in Whitechapel. He slipped into an unlit alley, hidden by the blackness as he shed his cloak and weathered leather bag he carried, blending in with the crowd as they passed by. He calmly entered a nearby house as though nothing had happened, climbing the stairs to a mostly barren room. Once safe inside, he hurriedly scribbled a note, carefully placing it by a mirror as he vainly admired his reflection, smugly smiling to himself. Another good night’s work completed.
Without warning the door burst open, a darkened figure silhouetted against the dim light of the hall. Slowly he turned from the mirror, eyes glaring with malevolency…
I regained consciousness screaming, the memory of those eyes etched into my brain. I heard footsteps on wooden stairs, rushing upwards towards me. But how could that be? I was in a tent in the woods so… My eyes went wide in amazement. I was no longer where I had fallen asleep. I was standing in a simple room with not much more than a few scraps of furniture, moonlight streaming through murky window panes. A woman’s voice from the hall behind startled me.
“Begging your pardon Sir, but are you all right? I heard you screaming from the kitchen.” I whirled around to face the lady, whose speech I could barely understand, in whatever establishment I now found myself in.
“Yes… yes I’m fine.” I hesitatingly replied… except it was not me I heard answering. I definitely was not fine.
“Very good, Sir.” I watched as her footsteps retreated back down the stairs.
I stumbled to a nearby chair, still very much in a daze, a living nightmare as it were. An eternity passed as I sat lost in my thoughts. Nothing made sense, not where I was, not the strange lady at the door, and most assuredly not my own voice. Angry shouts below the window brought me out of my musing. Only then did I notice the tightness around my throat and the constriction of the clothes I now wore. I stood, this time realizing I was quite tall, toned muscles providing strength to my arms and legs as I made my way to the mirror in the room. A scrap of paper nearby caught my attention before I could look at myself. Bewilderment over the meaning of the words rushed upon me as I read:
9 Nov 1888
Alas poor Edward, I have eluded your grasp yet once again.
As ever,
Jack
Who were Edward and Jack?
1888… that year seemed familiar. Of course! Jack the Ripper. The last vivisection attributed to the Ripper had occurred in Nov of 1888.
My dream came flooding back into my mind as pieces of this strange puzzle began to fit together. I was in the very room where I had watched the man write the note, this note! That must have been the Ripper I had observed! Had he somehow swapped bodies with me, sending me back to his time while he took over my life to escape? What more perfect way to avoid capture than to become someone else? So was I now…? The very thought made my skin crawl.
I could barely bring myself to look in the mirror. I did not want to see that evil face staring back at me looking through his wicked eyes. But I had to know the truth. Plucking up my courage, I trembled with fear at what visage might greet my sight as I raised my gaze to the reflecting glass…
A sigh of relief escaped my lips. I was not Jack the Ripper. I appeared quite the proper Victorian gentleman but in place of my seventeen year old face was a handsome albeit older countenance staring back at me. Had the shadowy figure in the door been Edward and had I somehow become him?
The reality that I was alone in the room finally dawned on me. What had happened to Jack? History recorded that he had never been caught. Had he simply vanished to another time and place just as Edward was about to capture him? Had Edward managed to follow him by trading existences with me? I suspected the answers to these questions lay many years in the future beyond my reach. From my aristocratic appearance whoever I now was apparently could live comfortably enough to do as he pleased so I would not have to worry about how I would survive. First I had to confirm my identity then maybe over time I could adapt to my new life and learn to live here. There must be a clue somewhere. I made my way from the room, taking the note with me. Out there in this foreign land was an adventure waiting to happen…
Friday, October 31, 2014
Breaking news: Police were called to the scene of a homicide in Portland’s notorious “red light” district where a mutilated body was discovered earlier this morning. Police would only describe the victim, a purported “lady of the evening”, as a Caucasian female in her early 20s. Reportedly a young witness saw a dark shadowy figure running from the scene. Police will neither confirm nor deny the existence of any witnesses. Exact details are being withheld pending further investigation but the lead detective did issue a statement that the murder “appeared to be the stuff of urban legend” and “the modus operandi resembled the work of the notorious Jack the Ripper from centuries back”. ..
Cool story Bill.
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