Tales of Jack the Ripper

Critical Acclaim for Ross E. Lockhart’s The Book of Cthulhu I & II

Tales of Jack the Ripper

Other books by Ross E. Lockhart

Tales of Jack the Ripper

Copyright Page

Dedication

Introduction - Ross E. Lockhart

Whitechapel Autumn, 1888 - Ann K. Schwader

A Host of Shadows - Alan M. Clark and Gary A. Braunbeck

Jack's Little Friend - Ramsey Campbell

Abandon All Flesh - Silvia Moreno-Garcia

God of the Razor - Joe R. Lansdale

The Butcher, The Baker, The Candlestick-Maker - Ennis Drake

Ripping - Walter Greatshell

Something About Dr Tumblety - Patrick Tumblety

The Truffle Pig - T.E. Grau

Ripperology - Orrin Grey

Hell Broke Loose - Ed Kurtz

Where Have You Been All My Life? - Edward Morris

Juliette's New Toy - Joseph S. Pulver, Sr.

Villains, by Necessity - Pete Rawlik

When the Means Just Defy the End - Stanley C. Sargent

A Pretty for Polly - Mercedes M. Yardley

Termination Dust - Laird Barron

Once November - E. Catherine Tobler

Silver Kisses - Ann K. Schwader

Thank you!

Copyright Acknowledgments

About the Editor

Critical Acclaim for Ross E. Lockhart’s
The Book of Cthulhu I
&
II

“The enduring allure of H. P. Lovecraft’s Cthulhu Mythos, now nearly a century old, is evident in this representative anthology of modern tales, most of which were written in the last decade.”

—
Publishers Weekly
(Starred Review)

“Gathering Cthulhu-inspired stories from both 20th and 21st-century authors, this collection provides such a huge scope of styles and takes on the mythology that there are sure to be a handful that surprise and inspire horror in even the most jaded reader.”

—Josh Vogt,
Examiner.com

“There are no weak stories here—every single one of the 27 entries is a potential standout reading experience.
The Book of Cthulhu
is nothing short of pure Lovecraftian gold. If fans of H. P. Lovecraft’s Cthulhu mythos don’t seek out and read this anthology, they’re not really fans—it’s that simple.”

—Paul Goat Allen,
BN.com

“
The Book of Cthulhu
is one hell of a tome.”

—Brian Sammons,
HorrorWorld.org

“…a stunning collection of Lovecraft inspired tales all centered around the infamous Cthulhu myth.”

—Drake Llywelyn,
Dark Shadows Book Reviews

“...thanks to the wide variety of contributing authors, as well as Lockhart’s keen understanding of horror fiction and Lovecraft in particular, [
The Book of Cthulhu
] is the best of such anthologies out there.”

—Alan Cranis,
Bookgasm.com

“As he did for his previous anthology, Lockhart has cast his net far and wide to haul in outstanding stories from publications both well-known and obscure, none sampled more than once. He has also commissioned four new stories, several so good that they are likely to be selected for reprint anthologies in the future.”

—Stefan Dziemianowicz,
Locus

“The second volume of
The Book of Cthulhu
exemplifies the richness of Lovecraft’s legacy: gloomy terror, mystery, thrills, vivid action, chilling visions, satire, science fiction, humor—all of that, and then some, is crammed into more than 400 pages awaiting readers eager for some apocalyptic horror.”

—Dejan Ognjanovic,
Rue Morgue

“…any fan of Lovecraft can’t afford to miss out on this one.”

—Justin Steele,
The Arkham Digest

Tales of

Jack the

Ripper

Other books by Ross E. Lockhart

Anthologies:

The Book of Cthulhu

The Book of Cthulhu II

Novels:

Chick Bassist

Tales of

Jack the

Ripper

Word Horde

Petaluma, CA

Tales of Jack the Ripper

© 2013 by Ross E. Lockhart

This edition of
Tales of Jack the Ripper

© 2013 by Word Horde

Cover illustration by Arnaud de Vallois

Cover design by Claudia Noble

Edited by Ross E. Lockhart

All rights reserved

An extension of this copyright page appears at the end of this book

First Edition

ISBN: 978-1-939905-00-0

A Word Horde Book

This volume is dedicated to…

Mary Ann Nichols

Annie Chapman

Elizabeth Stride

Catherine Eddowes

Mary Jane Kelly

…and others unknown.

Introduction

Ross E. Lockhart

You can say a lot of things about humans. One is certain: We are exceedingly good at killing one another.

So much so that one of our formative myths, the story of Cain and Abel, is one of fratricide—brother killing brother. The cycle repeats throughout history. Man kills man. Over power. Over property. Over money. Over gods. Over lovers.

And just as frequently, man kills woman.

What are we to make of brother killing sister?

Well, that’s where Jack comes in.

The killer known as Jack the Ripper wasn’t history’s first murderer. He wasn’t even history’s first murderer of women. But in the canon of vicious killers populating humanity’s collective nightmares, Jack the Ripper was the first rock star.

For Jack’s crimes captured the public’s attention in a way unlike any previous murderer. The public was rabid for news of the Whitechapel slayings, and the press was happy to oblige. In October 1888, just a few short weeks after the discovery of Jack’s first victim, John Francis Brewer’s
The Curse Upon Mitre Square,
the first novelization of the murders, appeared. Other books followed, as did short stories, plays, radio dramas, films, and television episodes (including one of my all-time favorite classic
Star Trek
episodes, Robert Bloch’s “Wolf in the Fold”).

Which begs the question: Why does a killer of women garner so much attention?

Because Jack the Ripper is a cipher. A mystery.

Jack the Ripper only killed five women—that we know of—Mary Ann Nichols, Annie Chapman, Elizabeth Stride, Catherine Eddowes, and Mary Jane Kelly. We know more about these victims than we do about their killer, including such details as how they lived, what they wore, even the contents of their pockets (a detail that formed the backbone of Alan M. Clark’s excellent novel
Of Thimble and Threat
).

But we don’t know jack about Jack, so he has become a quintessential boogyman.

Which leads us to wonder, to ponder, to imagine. Because we are narrative-driven creatures, we make up stories to fill in the blank spaces. And many of our greatest storytellers have added their own voices to the chorus recanting the tale of, and warning future generations about, Jack the Ripper. Marie Belloc Lowndes, Robert Bloch, Harlan Ellison, Patricia Cornwell, Roger Zelazny, Maureen Johnson, and Alan Moore are just a few of the master storytellers to have spilled ink in examination of Jack and his bloody craft.

This year, we arrive at the 125th anniversary of the Whitechapel Murders. Jack’s quasquicentennial, if you will. In commemoration of this sanguine anniversary, I have asked an assembly of my favorite authors to share with you their own tales of Jack the Ripper: seventeen stories and two poems. Most are brand new, a handful are classics that you may have missed. All provide a unique glimpse at Jack the Ripper and his legacy, filtered through the authors’ lives and locales, visions and voices. Some will horrify you, others will terrify you, still others will entertain and amuse. It’s best you not know which is which going in.

So light a lamp and pour yourself a drink, then sit back in a comfortable chair and settle in for a good read. And I sincerely hope you enjoy these
Tales of Jack the Ripper.

Whitechapel Autumn, 1888

Ann K. Schwader

No changing leaves lament the season here,

for nothing grows but woe in Mitre Square.

The belles of Ten Bells, numbed on gin & beer,

have small appreciation for this air

refreshed at last by dawn mists drifting cold

around the corners of St. Botolph’s Church

where twilight draws the desperate & bold,

parading past on mankind’s oldest search.

Yet summer dies in Buck’s Row—not alone—

& Annie follows Polly down to dust

as cries of wholly simulated lust

are silenced by steel whispering on bone.

Their secret reaper rides a sharpened wind,

signing himself y
our own light-hearted friend
.

A Host of Shadows

Alan M. Clark and Gary A. Braunbeck

“Every man has a host of shadows, all of which resemble him

and for the moment have an equal claim to authenticity.”

—Kierkegaard

Jack the Ripper was dying.

How strange to think of himself that way after so many years. But for that short period in 1888, he had always been Howard Faber, celebrated academic physician, member of the American Association of Anatomists, the American Neurological Society, the Association for the Treatment of Mental Disorders, as well as countless others. His credits and accomplishments would fill several pages of any textbook. Howard Faber was a pioneer in neurophysiological research and had even been the subject of an article in
Time
magazine in November of 1937. His was—had been—a life filled with glories and triumphs and he would not allow his conscience to take those pleasures and prides away from him.

Now, in his eighty-second year, lying on his death bed at his home in Knoxville, Tennessee, he could all but forget the angry young man who murdered right before his wondering eyes. Never could he forget, however, the faces of the women, captured in swift moments like photographic images and twisted over the years into caricatures of disbelief, terror, and the grim resolve of death—

—except for the last one, sad, doomed Mary Kelly. He tried not to think about her final words to him, lest the guilt come snarling to the surface.

I’m not the same man I was then,
he would scream within to his conscience.
It wasn’t really me.

The malignant tumor in his brain had grown rapidly. His right side was now completely paralyzed, severely limiting his mobility, and aphasia had all but eliminated his ability to communicate. He was confined to his bed and dependent upon his doctor and best friend, Wilson Springer, who had come to stay at the house, and a nurse, whose name he could never remember. He was alone with his thoughts even in the presence of others.

“It’s getting dark so early,” said the silhouette of Faber’s sister-in-law, Estell. She had been talking for some time, but he had not heard much of it, preferring instead to watch the warm yellow and orange of the trees blowing in the icy blue of the sky outside his bedroom window.