Greqoh
05-24-2006, 03:25 AM
The following story is based on a strange man/devil who terrorized England for over a hundred years. All other characters and events written are fiction. Only Jack is real....
Spring Heeled Jack
by L. Greqoh,
For decades the silence in the forgotten attic remained unbroken. No light had fallen upon the contents of the room which had become buried under a thick blanket of dust.
Covered by discolored sheets, grotesque statues waited like ghostly sentinels. In one side of the room were curious paintings and shelves of molding books on unexplained and forbidden subjects.
On the other side were carefully sealed crates and boxes that had been pushed back against the wall. They were forgotten under a veil of ancient cobwebs.
For the first time in many years a sound came from the old panel of the attic floor. The panel was pushed up. Light flooded the nebulous room washing back the darkness of generations and revealing a long dead man's bizarre obsession.
"Give me the light, I'm going up!" an anxious voice called down as the head of a man in his early twenties. He rose through the opening casting his flashlight around the neglected garret.
A female voice called, "I'm coming up too! Here help me up..."
Tom knelt down and took his fiance's hand. He pulled her into the attic. Theresa stood next to him gazing around. "Look at all this junk," she said. She tied her long red hair into a ponytail.
Tom called back down to his friend, "give me those lanterns, Jeff."
"Here they are."
Tom pulled the long yellowed tapestry from the mass of crates and boxes. A large plume of dust rose into the air. Revealed beneath were several crates; the last one drew the attention of Tom and his fiance.
"It looks like someone really wanted to keep that one safe," Theresa observed, "Christ, these things are so old. We'll have to cut the chains."
"I'll get the bolt cutters," Tom decided.
Theresa began to open several of the smaller boxes. She discovered old talking boards, a large crystal ball, worn tarot decks and all manner of occult implements.
"Man, my great grandfather was sure into some weird shit," Tom told hae as he pulled himself back into the attic.
"This was his stuff?" Theresa asked as she took off her glasses.
"Yes, I heard he was very eccentric. My grandfather told me when his dad was a young man, he had one of those traveling curiosity shows. It was kind of like a museum of odd things. Even after he gave it up, he continued to add to his personal collection. It became an obsession of his. Most of the family were embarrassed by his collection. None of this has been touched since he packed it away and everyone kind of just forgot about them," Tom explained.
"This will help!" Theresa began to read from an old book she had found. It cataloged the strange old man's collection.
"I don't think this stuff is going to be worth anything," she said.
"Your right," Tom conceded. "Tell you what, I'll go down and get us a couple bottles. We'll open up that big chest over there. If it doesn't have anything good in it, we'll let the junk haulers clear everything out first thing in the morning."
Theresa nodded as Tom climbed down the small ladder. Stillness fell over the attic once more as she began to scan the book for something they could sell.
The absurdity of each item was greater as she went on. She laughed to herself.
Suddenly, as if she had awoken something up, a scratching sound began to come from the big chest with the chains.
"Shit!" she yelled. "Tom do you have rats up here?"
There was no answer. She was sure that she heard something move from the large crate. She took a few steps back as she began nervously thumbing through the book to find the contents of the mysteriously well secured container.
And again! Another sound. It was like someone kicking the inside of the box.
"That's too loud to be a rat, " Theresa realized as she heard a quiet stirring coming from inside the chest.
She took another step back. Something bumped into her from behind. "Dammit, Tom! You scared the hell out of me!" she snapped as she took her Miller Lite.
"Heh heh....Getting a little bit nervous up here by yourself?" he teased as he took a drink.
"It's not funny! I think that you have a raccoon or something inside here. I heard it moving."
Tom's friend, Jeff came up into the attic with the other two.
Tom reached for the bolt cutters. "Let's get this thing open," he said.
Tom and Jeff worked on cutting the chains on the large chest. Theresa found its contents in the book.
She read aloud excitedly, "This contains the prize of all my collection. The reinforced metal chest contains the infamous Spring Heeled Jack!"
"Who?" Tom asked.
"Never heard of him. Was he some old myth like Bigfoot?" Jeff asked as he pulled a cut strand of chains from the box. "Hey! Are you in there, Jack?" he said laughing as he knocked hard on the lid.
For a second, Jeff thought he heard a faint reply.
He jumped back. "Did you hear that?"
"Come on man," Tom scolded, "That shit you're smoking is frying your brain!"
They began working on the final chain.
Theresa pulled a collection of old articles out of a box and began reading some of them.
The papers dated back to the early 1800's. They had crudely rendered drawings of a man wearing a strange costume. He seemed to be fleeing from the authorities with a look of delight on his face.
There was a paper attached to the stack of articles. It told of an old rhyme that children used to scare one another with:
Demon, ghost, laughing devil....
Jester wearing black....
With claws that rip, and ember eyes,
The horned one, spring heeled Jack....
Moves through shadows late at night
His face twisted with mirth
Catching the young girls all alone
Bounding from the earth
Rakes and tears their pretty face
And taunts them as they run.
When they think they've got away
He guts them just for fun.
By the time that someone comes
To help the poor girl's plight
Leaping laughter, breath of flames
He vanishes in the night.
Remember when you're alone
You'd better watch your back
Not even death can catch him,
The horned one, Spring heeled Jack....
Theresa paused.
She somehow felt that something was not right. Although she was never given to superstition in the past, her female intuition screamed inside her.... She looked up from the papers to the box that was nearly opened, the back to the hideous pictures again.
Jeff looked at Tom. "There! I am sure I heard something..."
"Yeah, maybe some mice or something."
"Sounded too big for that. I think I heard something shift inside."
"Jesus! Are you scared of your own shadow too? Help me cut this last chain...."
As the two men began to open the lid
Theresa something glowing in the darkness of the long sealed chest. Two fiery red orbs that began to move.
"No! Stop!!!"
The chains clanked against the floor as they fell off.
Tom and Jeff looked back at Theresa. Tom's mouth was half way through forming the word "What" as the lid to the crate shot open.
The two men spun around in surprise as a dark, blurred form shot towards them. Jeff was knocked back to the ground as it went passed him. Tom pivoted away, falling to the ground.
The form jumped into a dark corner of the attic that was not lit up by their lanterns. It was crouching in the shadows.
"What the fuck was that?" Tom demanded as he looked frantically at his friend.
Jeff was stunned, sitting up slowly from the floor. He started to answer but stopped. His mouth hung open as if about to speak as felt around his stinging throat. Jeff looked at his hand; his fingers were stained vermilion as if he had just touched some wet paint.
He began trying in vain to hold back the flow from his wound; it began trickling down his wrist and forearm as he sunk to the floor. He looked at Tom for help.
"Oh God!"
That is when the demonic laughter began. It came from the shadows, deep and lavish with a perverse, sadistic joy. It made the hair stand up on the back of Theresa's neck.
No sooner had it stopped than the wicked jester sprang out of the shadows. He moved impossibly fast.
Before Tom could even think, a metallic claw had knocked him to the ground senseless.
Theresa watched in terror as a man, the same one she had seen in the papers, jumped into the air and landed on her fallen lover.
He began to beat Tom mercilessly. His hands moved so fast they could barely be seen; like watching a wolverine attack.
The clawed hands shredded Tom's face, ripping the flesh from the bone in long bloody slivers. In seconds, Tom's face looked like a bowl of spaghetti. His pitiful screams sounded like a wounded animal's.
Theresa backed up against the wall overcome with shock. She reached out for her lover, "Please! Stop!"
"Eh?" The attacker stopped.
He was still for a second.
His head shot around, facing Theresa. He looked at her with his glowing ember like eyes. She could see an insatiable hunger in them.
A flicker of light came from his mouth; it made Theresa flinch. He spat out a plume of blue flame that just missed her face.
Then....he burst out into a fit of cachination as Theresa flew down the ladder and out of the attic.
Spring Heeled Jack
by L. Greqoh,
For decades the silence in the forgotten attic remained unbroken. No light had fallen upon the contents of the room which had become buried under a thick blanket of dust.
Covered by discolored sheets, grotesque statues waited like ghostly sentinels. In one side of the room were curious paintings and shelves of molding books on unexplained and forbidden subjects.
On the other side were carefully sealed crates and boxes that had been pushed back against the wall. They were forgotten under a veil of ancient cobwebs.
For the first time in many years a sound came from the old panel of the attic floor. The panel was pushed up. Light flooded the nebulous room washing back the darkness of generations and revealing a long dead man's bizarre obsession.
"Give me the light, I'm going up!" an anxious voice called down as the head of a man in his early twenties. He rose through the opening casting his flashlight around the neglected garret.
A female voice called, "I'm coming up too! Here help me up..."
Tom knelt down and took his fiance's hand. He pulled her into the attic. Theresa stood next to him gazing around. "Look at all this junk," she said. She tied her long red hair into a ponytail.
Tom called back down to his friend, "give me those lanterns, Jeff."
"Here they are."
Tom pulled the long yellowed tapestry from the mass of crates and boxes. A large plume of dust rose into the air. Revealed beneath were several crates; the last one drew the attention of Tom and his fiance.
"It looks like someone really wanted to keep that one safe," Theresa observed, "Christ, these things are so old. We'll have to cut the chains."
"I'll get the bolt cutters," Tom decided.
Theresa began to open several of the smaller boxes. She discovered old talking boards, a large crystal ball, worn tarot decks and all manner of occult implements.
"Man, my great grandfather was sure into some weird shit," Tom told hae as he pulled himself back into the attic.
"This was his stuff?" Theresa asked as she took off her glasses.
"Yes, I heard he was very eccentric. My grandfather told me when his dad was a young man, he had one of those traveling curiosity shows. It was kind of like a museum of odd things. Even after he gave it up, he continued to add to his personal collection. It became an obsession of his. Most of the family were embarrassed by his collection. None of this has been touched since he packed it away and everyone kind of just forgot about them," Tom explained.
"This will help!" Theresa began to read from an old book she had found. It cataloged the strange old man's collection.
"I don't think this stuff is going to be worth anything," she said.
"Your right," Tom conceded. "Tell you what, I'll go down and get us a couple bottles. We'll open up that big chest over there. If it doesn't have anything good in it, we'll let the junk haulers clear everything out first thing in the morning."
Theresa nodded as Tom climbed down the small ladder. Stillness fell over the attic once more as she began to scan the book for something they could sell.
The absurdity of each item was greater as she went on. She laughed to herself.
Suddenly, as if she had awoken something up, a scratching sound began to come from the big chest with the chains.
"Shit!" she yelled. "Tom do you have rats up here?"
There was no answer. She was sure that she heard something move from the large crate. She took a few steps back as she began nervously thumbing through the book to find the contents of the mysteriously well secured container.
And again! Another sound. It was like someone kicking the inside of the box.
"That's too loud to be a rat, " Theresa realized as she heard a quiet stirring coming from inside the chest.
She took another step back. Something bumped into her from behind. "Dammit, Tom! You scared the hell out of me!" she snapped as she took her Miller Lite.
"Heh heh....Getting a little bit nervous up here by yourself?" he teased as he took a drink.
"It's not funny! I think that you have a raccoon or something inside here. I heard it moving."
Tom's friend, Jeff came up into the attic with the other two.
Tom reached for the bolt cutters. "Let's get this thing open," he said.
Tom and Jeff worked on cutting the chains on the large chest. Theresa found its contents in the book.
She read aloud excitedly, "This contains the prize of all my collection. The reinforced metal chest contains the infamous Spring Heeled Jack!"
"Who?" Tom asked.
"Never heard of him. Was he some old myth like Bigfoot?" Jeff asked as he pulled a cut strand of chains from the box. "Hey! Are you in there, Jack?" he said laughing as he knocked hard on the lid.
For a second, Jeff thought he heard a faint reply.
He jumped back. "Did you hear that?"
"Come on man," Tom scolded, "That shit you're smoking is frying your brain!"
They began working on the final chain.
Theresa pulled a collection of old articles out of a box and began reading some of them.
The papers dated back to the early 1800's. They had crudely rendered drawings of a man wearing a strange costume. He seemed to be fleeing from the authorities with a look of delight on his face.
There was a paper attached to the stack of articles. It told of an old rhyme that children used to scare one another with:
Demon, ghost, laughing devil....
Jester wearing black....
With claws that rip, and ember eyes,
The horned one, spring heeled Jack....
Moves through shadows late at night
His face twisted with mirth
Catching the young girls all alone
Bounding from the earth
Rakes and tears their pretty face
And taunts them as they run.
When they think they've got away
He guts them just for fun.
By the time that someone comes
To help the poor girl's plight
Leaping laughter, breath of flames
He vanishes in the night.
Remember when you're alone
You'd better watch your back
Not even death can catch him,
The horned one, Spring heeled Jack....
Theresa paused.
She somehow felt that something was not right. Although she was never given to superstition in the past, her female intuition screamed inside her.... She looked up from the papers to the box that was nearly opened, the back to the hideous pictures again.
Jeff looked at Tom. "There! I am sure I heard something..."
"Yeah, maybe some mice or something."
"Sounded too big for that. I think I heard something shift inside."
"Jesus! Are you scared of your own shadow too? Help me cut this last chain...."
As the two men began to open the lid
Theresa something glowing in the darkness of the long sealed chest. Two fiery red orbs that began to move.
"No! Stop!!!"
The chains clanked against the floor as they fell off.
Tom and Jeff looked back at Theresa. Tom's mouth was half way through forming the word "What" as the lid to the crate shot open.
The two men spun around in surprise as a dark, blurred form shot towards them. Jeff was knocked back to the ground as it went passed him. Tom pivoted away, falling to the ground.
The form jumped into a dark corner of the attic that was not lit up by their lanterns. It was crouching in the shadows.
"What the fuck was that?" Tom demanded as he looked frantically at his friend.
Jeff was stunned, sitting up slowly from the floor. He started to answer but stopped. His mouth hung open as if about to speak as felt around his stinging throat. Jeff looked at his hand; his fingers were stained vermilion as if he had just touched some wet paint.
He began trying in vain to hold back the flow from his wound; it began trickling down his wrist and forearm as he sunk to the floor. He looked at Tom for help.
"Oh God!"
That is when the demonic laughter began. It came from the shadows, deep and lavish with a perverse, sadistic joy. It made the hair stand up on the back of Theresa's neck.
No sooner had it stopped than the wicked jester sprang out of the shadows. He moved impossibly fast.
Before Tom could even think, a metallic claw had knocked him to the ground senseless.
Theresa watched in terror as a man, the same one she had seen in the papers, jumped into the air and landed on her fallen lover.
He began to beat Tom mercilessly. His hands moved so fast they could barely be seen; like watching a wolverine attack.
The clawed hands shredded Tom's face, ripping the flesh from the bone in long bloody slivers. In seconds, Tom's face looked like a bowl of spaghetti. His pitiful screams sounded like a wounded animal's.
Theresa backed up against the wall overcome with shock. She reached out for her lover, "Please! Stop!"
"Eh?" The attacker stopped.
He was still for a second.
His head shot around, facing Theresa. He looked at her with his glowing ember like eyes. She could see an insatiable hunger in them.
A flicker of light came from his mouth; it made Theresa flinch. He spat out a plume of blue flame that just missed her face.
Then....he burst out into a fit of cachination as Theresa flew down the ladder and out of the attic.