Jack the Ripper & Fairy Fay: A Living Dead Dolls story

CHAPTER 1

Fay was walking along her normal route for the night, keeping her eyes peeled for potential customers. She hated this job. She hated that she had to sell herself to afford a home and food. She much preferred her day job, working as a housemaid and waitress, at least then she wouldn't have to be touched by as many grimy men. Fay heard footsteps and looked up. A shadow passed just shy of the streetlamp in front of her. For some reason she got a wash of cold. She shivered.

"Hello?" She called into the dark. No reply.

"Hello? Sir? Are you in need of assistance?" She called again, no reply.

Her curiosity grew, so did her fear. Despite her common sense telling her to get out she drew near the mysterious shadow. Something about it seeming familiar.

"Hello? Will you reply?" Nothing again.

The shadow moved. Standing before her was a redhead with bushy mutton chops in nice clothes. Despite his hat being pulled low over his face and a cloak covering his upper body, she knew who it was.

"Jack!" She said. "Lord, you gave me quite a scare, what are ya doin out this time of night?"

He gave no reply, only staring at her.

"Jack dear, are you alright?"

Fay knew Jack well. She knew almost everything about him; how he liked his tea, where he worked, even how he grew up. This behavior was odd for him. It made Fay a little afraid.

"Jack...?" Fay asked again, reaching out and touching his arm.

As soon as her hand grazed him he flinched. He looked up but his hat was set to hide his eyes so all Fay saw was the stiff, stern frown plastered to his lips.

"Oh goodness, what's wrong? Has something happened? Has someone died?" She asked in a rush of panic.

There would be no reason for Jack to act like this than if tragedy had befell him or a friend. He continued to stare forward. Not moving except for the rise and fall of his chest, which looked unusual, forced even. Fay had gotten tired of this. She was now fearful for Jack and her friends. She reached up to remove his hat, she needed to see the look in his eyes, needed to know what was wrong. As her fingertips touched the brim, in an instant, he grabbed her. His pale, freckled, and scarred hand encapsulated her wrist easily, gripping it hard enough to bruise. Fay was shocked by his behavior, he was only violent when needed, so why was he hurting her?

"Jack... you're... you're hurting me." She whimpered, trying to pull from his grip only having her wrist squeezed tighter.

Panicking for her safety, she slapped him. Jack, surprised, staggered slightly, his hat falling off. Still, he kept his grip on Fay firm. Now she knew what was wrong, his eyes. Normally, they were a deep earthy brown, giving away his soft and gentle nature, now, they were white, with a red ring on the outside of his iris. His look was so sharp, Fay felt him cutting through to her soul. This was not Jack. Not the gentleman whom she has known for almost a decade, the man who livened up the pub with his dock mates, nor the man who fell in love with a funny American woman and danced on tables with her three evenings ago. Whatever stood in front of her, be it a doppelganger or a demon taking his form, was not Jack.

"What the bloody hell are you?" She shouted, again trying to fight out of his grip.

The demon held firm, his gaze burning through her. As a last ditch effort to escape, Fay kneed him in the groin. This made him let go and Fay ran as fast as she could away. After a few blocks she stopped to rest. Paranoid, panicked, panting Fay looked around to see if he'd followed. He hadn't. Or so she thought. She continued moving through Whitechapel, at a slower but still brisk pace. Before she even got to the next street, the demon appeared before her. A knife in hand, he lunged. Fay sidestepped, getting grazed on the shoulder. She spun around trying to flee again. The demon nabbed her by the bustle and pulled her toward him once more. Fay began to scream but was silenced by the back of the demon's palm, his other arm wrapped itself around her waist in an uncomfortable, tight embrace. Fay squealed and squirmed as the demon took her to an alley, spun her and shoved her to the ground.

'This is it, I'm going to die.' Fay thought.

She looked up at the demon. The monster formed as her friend. She asked again. "What the bloody hell are you?"

"I'm Jack, love." He replied.

Fay now knew why he wouldn't talk. His voice was unnatural, unholy. Virtually the opposite of Jack's. The sound filled her with such fear that she prayed to God that whatever layer of hell she would be disposed to would not hold the same demon she faced this night. Jack raised his knife, ready to strike. Fay flinched, preparing for the blow. It did not come. Fay, still cowering, looked up. Jack lingered above her, knife raised, but didn't move. Instead he stood stiff. His body quaking, as if under tremendous strain. The real Jack was fighting the foul beast, giving her a chance to escape. Fay saw this opportunity and took it, scrambling backward hoping that this alley had more than one exit. Jack snapped forward, grabbing her ankle.

"Stop runnin from me, poppet." The demon growled.

He dragged her toward him, keeping her pinned with his right arm and raising his knife in his left. Again she prepared for the blow. She stared into his eyes, wanting to burn them into her memory so her spirit could hunt the devil tormenting Jack. Beneath the evil she saw a slight glimmer of fear and regret, a glimmer of Jack buried deep behind the devil's rage. Then he struck, hitting her jugular square on. Jack pulled himself up and walked away. His movements were heavy and disorganized, like he were sleepwalking. Fay's vision began to darken. The strangest things came to mind as she died. A lullabye her mother sang to her as a child, the smell of mint, the feeling of petting a cat, the name of her first dog. And then, nothing. Death was much like falling asleep. It consumed her and Fay was no more. The papers would come to report her death lightly, weeks later other prostitutes would follow her lead. Dying by the hands of the ripper. Unlike Fay, none would follow her into the world she entered.