MicroHorror

Summer was ending in Whitechapel, but that meant no difference to me as I prowled the night. By the few flickering lights that fended off the darkness, I stared at every person I passed. Some returned my look, but most ignored me while possessed by their own needful demons of drink or hunger. Yet each tired, dirty face shared a shimmer of fear that I could smile at taking credit for.

I kicked at the debris which littered the filthy, narrow streets that I roamed. An abandoned newspaper’s headline screamed of my murderous activities and offered a reward for my capture. That about gave me fits of the jollies. I knew this neglected, grime-soaked section of the city far better than any of the coppers who wouldn’t even dare travel some of its darkest streets alone. They gave me no reason for alarm or even to hurry at my work. And my work must be done, for I am a man of honor who always pays his debts.

I knew she would be the one at first sight. She stood swaying at an intersection illuminated by a storefront’s gas lamp, a night’s drinking already affecting her. Her dull colored clothes were shabby, especially worn at the fur collar and cuffs. The straw hat balanced artfully on her head was decorated with black beads. Its brim cast a shadow over her blue eyes and worn face.

Glancing about I saw no one save an old sailor shuffling away at the end of the street. I reached into my pocket and gripped the cool handle of my knife. Swiftly I approached her and smiled reassuringly as I said hello.

She stepped back, eyeing me oddly. Perhaps her instincts overcame her drunkenness and she realized she was but prey. I released my knife and took hold of the coins in my pocket.

“I’m in need of friendly company,” I said softly as I offered her the money. Her distrust of me vanished. With one hand she took the coins as the other grasped my arm. Her fingers stroked my shoulder as she commented how lovely the material of my coat felt. Then she grasped my hand and led me into the alley.

“Let’s have a bit of privacy in the dark, dearie,” she muttered, the alcohol apparent on her breath. As we walked in the filthy alley, I reached back into my pocket and fondled my knife. My heart beat quickened in anticipation of the kill and plunder.

My heart stopped as I saw Lord Mantly’s cards. No matter how good my hand, his was always better. I sank back in my chair and finished the last drop of whiskey in my glass.

“Barsons!” Lord Mantly called. “We can’t allow our guest an empty glass.”

As the aged manservant attended to my glass, I gazed at the stuffed animal heads that adorned Lord Mantly’s game room. He had taken these trophies while in India. But the lion’s head had come at a cost: Lord Mantly’s left leg. Yet he still had a hunger for trophies, and the trophies that I brought him he kept hidden in his private den.

“Another game?” Lord Mantly asked.

“I’ve no money left to wager.”

“Then let’s play for other stakes. What did you bring me last time… a uterus?”

I nodded.

“Well, this time the stakes for your wager will be… a uterus and kidney for me if you lose. Agreed?”

I nodded.

One day I would win and then I would do some traveling.

Lord Mantly began to deal the cards as I reached into my pocket to touch my knife for luck.