Spring Heeled Jack - Chapter Excerpt Prologue All was quite on the empty London street save for the incessant fluttering of moths around incandescing street lamps. It was the middle of autumn and the summer flourish of leaves had now fallen to the ground leaving nothing but empty forked branches casting shadows over the road. Only a few streets away from the very one in question sat two people in the backseat of a speeding taxi, the elements of this young couples evening up until this point had been very much run-of-mill. Activities began with a trip to cinema followed by dinner at an Italian restaurant, it was then that they had decided to take a taxi and continue the evening at the young gentleman’s home. “I’m so glad you invited me out tonight,” remarked the girl, staring into the expectant eyes of her love. “And I am so glad you came,” he replied, his hand gingerly holding hers, “I had such a wonderful evening.” The two stared at each other for what could have been minutes, savoring what would be a pinnacle moment in their blossoming #life. The couple were oblivious to the jolting movement as the taxi briskly turned corner after corner, content in their own private world consisting of nothing but long gazes and smiles. Suddenly, the serene beauty of the moment came to a halt as the taxi itself attempted to do the same. The young couple turned in unison to look out the front window of the vehicle and establish what could have caused such a cataclysmic intermission. For a split second both caught site of someone standing in the middle of the road in front of the car, someone who appeared like nothing they had seen before. In the days to come they would remember little of that split second except for one specific detail; the eyes of the whatever had stood in there way were as bright and as yellow as the sun. The next thing they knew the taxi had taken a sharp left turn in order to avoid a collision, a measure which proved misjudged as it went head-first into a concrete bus shelter at the side of the road. As the car hit the object mentioned it careened onto its side, ricocheted back into the road and continued to skid across the tarmac until it eventually came to a screeching halt. As the almost conscious driver looked up from his position in the wreckage he attempted to rotate himself in order to view the location where he believed the figure had emerged. Turning his head he suddenly felt a crippling shock run through him as if he’s been struck by lightning. The last thing he would remember was the silhouetted shape of a man seemingly flying across the moonlit skyline and the sound of a cackling laughter moving off into the distance. Chapter 1 – An unanswered question “With all due respect Mr. Greenhall,” Said the policeman as he stood in the large East London dining room “We are doing everything we can to find out what happened to your Daughter.” Mr. Greenhall, although being at least a foot smaller than the policeman, gave the impression of being much larger. He sat in a large velvet chair in the corner of the room staring with a look a look of intense disgust. “With all due respect officer? With all due respect?” he stood up from the chair and pointed haphazardly towards the window, “With all due respect my daughter and her boyfriend are now lying in hospital because some mental case jumped in front of a taxi and tried to kill them, and you and your fellow officers don’t seem to be doing a damn thing about it! Don’t you dare talk to me about respect!” “Sir, we are doing everything we can –” Mr. Greenhall cut the policeman off in mid-sentence “I don’t want to hear it, unless you’ve got something positive to tell me by 5 o’clock I’m going to be contacting chief constable Berkby so he can look into this personally. Am I understood?” The policeman looked at him knowing full well the threat was in no way idle, Mr. Greenhall was a prominent finger in London and held a great deal of power in a variety of circles. If he did contact the chief constable it could mean the end of a number of his fellow officer’s careers, most importantly his own. “Yes sir…understood” he replied reluctantly. “That will be all,” Mr. Greenhall gestured towards the door with his hand. The policeman acknowledged the request, bowing a nod of sincerity as he left in silence. Left alone in the room Mr. Greenhall returned to his position in the velvet armchair. There he remained for the next hour or so thinking about the evening’s events and what he’d do when the perpetrator had been found. Something seemed strange about the whole affair though, when he visited his daughter earlier all she could speak about was a strange creature with shining eyes. Never before had he known her to misconstrue a situation, he had taught her better than that. Logic was paramount to him; ever since she had spoken her first word he’d strictly forbidden anything that could be construed as fantasy. He wanted a daughter to be proud of, someone who didn’t spend their time interested in things that would be useless in the real world. He heaved a sigh of rage as he thought about his baby girl lying there in the upturned taxi, arm broken and half unconscious, the thought became too much for him and he threw his hand at the small table to his right, knocking over the glass of brandy that rested there. It hit the floor with a loud crash as the glass shattered leaving shards across the pristine carpet. *** After leaving the house, Officer Dulwitch, as he was known to everyone other than Mr. Greenhall, began the long walk back to Leytonstone Police station. His previous conversation had left him feeling slightly disturbed and he welcomed the chance to clear his head. People like Mr. Greenhall always had a way of getting under his skin, always wanting more than was humanly possible, without an interest in the toll it took on those below them. With a sigh he decided to ignore his past encounter in order to dwell on the case at hand. As far as he and his fellow officers could understand, and from the information they could pull from a number of witnesses who claimed to present at the scene, the assailant was wearing black clothing and appeared to be holding a torch. There was nothing odd about this in the slightest, and if this was the only information they had, the person involved would just be classed as a passer-by in the wrong place at the wrong time, with no criminal intent whatsoever. This was not however the general stance taken by those that saw the incident, as a handful claimed to have seen the individual under suspicion jump over a six foot fence, unaided. Due to the number of people supporting this fact Officer Dulwitch couldn’t merely view it as a trick of the light, there had to be more to it. But what? The only explanation he could think of was that the individual in question had somehow managed to scale a high fence; he just needed to understand how it was done, and fast. It was 8am by the time he reached the police station and the small building was surrounded by journalist. As they saw the police officer walking in their direction he realized that any attempt to evade them was pointless, residing himself to the fact that some form of conversation was inevitable. The first of the dozen or so reporters to approach him was a young lady of about twenty; although Officer Dulwitch was unfamiliar with her name he had seen her badgering many of the other officers on a number of occasions. “Hi, Suzy Margent, Evening Post, would you be able to answer a few questions for me?” She said holding a paper and pen in front of her, the latter poised as if ready to pounce on the fist thing he said. “I can try,” replied Dulwitch as the pen hit the paper in a fury of erratic movements. “Great. Firstly, have you any comment to make on claims that last night’s crash was due to malicious intent?” She stared at him intently, momentarily staring down at her notepad as her pen looped around the page. Dulwitch had no idea what she could be writing. “We are investigating any lead which arises, at present we have no concrete evidence that any harm was intended.” He stared back at her blankly, knowing that she was expecting more. After hesitating for a few seconds she resorted to asking another question. “Okay, a number of witnesses have even claimed that the perpetrator of the incident-“ Dulwitch cut her off mid sentence. “There is as yet no evidence to suggest a perpetrator, as you say, was even involved.” “But haven’t there been a number of witnesses claiming to have seen someone at the scene of the crime.” “As I have already said, we are investigating any leads,” “And what about eye-witnesses maintaining that the individual in question leapt a 9 foot fence?” Dulwitch refused to entertain the young journalist any further. He knew that anything he said would be taken out of context and the last thing he wanted to do was look like a fool in the local paper. “I’m sorry but I’m very busy,” He moved past Margent avoiding any physical contact as he did “If you’ll excuse me.” Suzy Margent knew that further probing would be pointless and decided to return to her position at the steps of the station, awaiting her next victim.

A Fetish For Stationery “She drinks pints of coffee and writes little observations and ideas for stories with her best fountain pen on the linen-white pages of expensive notebooks. Sometimes, when it's going badly, she wonders if what she believes to be a love of the written word is really just a fetish for stationery.” ― David Nicholls, One Day

Samarkand “I had a chance at him now. Things were a bit more even. He knew my name, I knew his. He had six years' experience, I had five thousand and ten. That was the kind of odds that you could do something with.” ― Jonathan Stroud, The Amulet of Samarkandp

Consent No-one can make you feel bad without your consent

The Boy Who Cried Werewolf - Chapter 1 Extract Mike Ballet – The Boy Who Cried Werewolf Chapter 1 – ‘Try and Catch Me’ ‘There he is’ whispered Ballet, his index finger raised just enough for Luke to see where he was gesturing in the dim light of the cinema. ‘Damn...We need to get closer’. Luke nodded and looked across the busy rows of chairs dotted around then. ‘I can’t see any empty seats.’ He said nervously ‘maybe if we look over there-’ ‘Not enough time,’ Ballet quickly responded. His torso was now poised leaning forward like an animal ready to take its prey. Briefly he looked up at the cinema screen, his attention caught by the sight of lady exiting a swimming pool in a skimpy bikini. The smallest of smiles crept across his face before his mind returned to the task in hand. ‘We don’t have a choice,’ he continued, his body still motionless. ‘We’ll have to wait by the doors. If he sees us he has the choice of four exits from this room and we can’t cover all them. We’ll have to take our chances.’ With a nod Ballet gestured towards the doors ‘you take those,’ he said ‘I’m going this way’. Luke nodded in reply and in unison the pair turned away from each other. Carefully they stepped across the audience occupying the row of chairs. ‘Sorry,’ muttered Luke as he accidentally stood on a woman bare foot. Ballet heard and looked across, a bead of sweat glistening against the projector light. ‘Careful lieutenant’ he slurred through gritted teeth to no-one other than himself ‘careful’. Suddenly there was a loud bang and instantly Ballet and Luke spun forward, their right hands drawn to their hips with an almost magnetic pull. Both looked up at the screen and saw the familiar site of a smoking gun barrel, the white plume being blown from the tip by the marksman. Ballet sighed and looked across at his target. The man was still sat looking forward, the crown of his bald head reflecting the image from the projector. Turning again Ballet continued to step across the last few people situated between himself and the door to the cinema foyer. The pair stood at opposite ends of the auditorium staring intently at the target, after three months of investigation this was the best chance they had ever had at catching him. Ballet wasn’t prepared to let him get away. The film had reached its climactic end. The hero cop was stood over the body of the dying villain whilst the latter spat blood across the floor. Ballet looked across at Luke and tapped his finger against his watch face. Luke replied with a nod and stared intently forwarded. The cinema was suddenly engulfed with the sound of a soft rock ballad and they both knew it was time. Ballet watched as the first silhouette stood up in front of the credits rolling slowly down across the screen. Which way will he go? He anxiously thought to himself as he watched the bald-headed man intently, waiting for him to follow suit and step up from his seat. Slowly more and more people crept up from the endless rows and made their way to the back of the theatre. Ballet noticed that no-one had yet attempted to use the fire escapes to either side of the screen, it didn’t mean that they wouldn’t though. He looked back over at his target and realised his view was obscured by the people in the row behind shuffling through the stalls. He waited as they sidestepped across to the walkway that led to the door Luke was guarding until a wave of shock hit him. The target had gone. Ballet swung his head left and right trying to find some sign of the bald man but there were too many people. He glanced over at Luke who was now stood on tiptoes, his hands attempting to guide the moving people out of his way. ‘Damn!’ Ballet exclaimed as he looked across at the screen. The fire door to the left was open. ‘Luke!’ he shouted across the crowd. ‘Try to get round the back! I’ll meet you there.’ Luke looked across at the fire door and realised. He spun around and ran through the entrance to the foyer. ‘Not today,’ Ballet muttered under his breath as he pushed his way past the mass exodus. ‘Not today.’ The concrete corridor that the fire door led onto was empty save for a mop and bucket leaning against the wall. Ballet crept forward trying to listen for any noise up ahead. He may have been in a rush but if the other guy had a gun a white-walled corridor didn’t leave a great deal of space to hide. He stepped cautiously forward until he neared the turning at the end. With his back against the cold wall he inched round to poke his head out. There was a sudden crash as Ballet caught a glimpse of the man pushing a trolley down the corridor, the brute force of which knocked the majority of its contents across the floor. Ballet swiftly tucked himself back behind the wall as the sound of the trolley wheels drew closer, before smashing into the wall opposite. ‘Go!’ He shouted to himself before leaping forward and running up the next corridor, his hand still hovering above his right gun holster. It was now empty and all Ballet could see were the fire-escape doors at the far-end leading the way outdoors, the bright sun outside making its way into the previously darkened corridor. Ballet sprinted as fast as he good, his breath rasping with the adrenaline cursing through his veins. He leapt out into the street and looked around. He was in the car park behind the cinema surrounded by vehicles. He watched as some of the people, presumably from the previous film happily walked to their cars. He had to find him now, if he let him get to a car then three months work would be over. But where had he gone? In that instant he heard a thud and looked over at a parked Ford Escort located at the far-most corner of the area. At its wheel lay a young woman slowly climbing to her feet. ‘Are you okay?’ Ballet called as he ran over to the woman. ‘I’m fine,’ she replied ‘Just pushed that’s all.’ ‘Where did he go?’ continued Ballet, his eyes darting left and right across the car park like a meerkat. ‘He went down that street,’ she said pointing to a small alley about twenty metres away. ‘Thanks,’ called Ballet as he ran toward the alley entrance. As Ballet stepped into the street he suddenly realised that it was a dead end, in front of him was nothing but a 15 foot brick wall surrounded by large metal bins. ‘I have you now.’ He said to himself with a short laugh. ‘Now, whereabouts are you hiding?’ Cautiously he stepped forward closer and closer to the first bin, all the while holding his right hand towards his gun. Gingerly he placed his hand on the metal handle and pulled open the lid. There’s was nothing there save for a rotting pile of meat and a selection of old magazine piled to the brim. Ballet choked and slammed the lid back down. He stepped over to the next in the line of bins and once again pulled open the lid. He gasped again, nothing but rotting food in small bags. He continued to open each of the lids until finally he came to the last remaining container. ‘I know you’re in there Klishmov’ he said out loudly ‘Why not save us both the trouble and come out?’ There was no reply ‘This would really make #life easier for both of us.’ Again it was complete silence. Ballet sighed and stepped forward. ‘Very well’ he said ‘But looking through all of these bins hasn’t helped my mood at all.’ Once again he held the metal handle and opened the lid, slamming it against the wall behind. ‘What? But how?’ he exclaimed looking into the empty bin. He looked around at the others he’d already opened and stood silent. ‘No!’ In that instant there was a crack behind him and automatically he spun around. Stood there was Klismov holding a large metal bar poised to attack. Ballet leapt sideways, narrowly missing the giant swing and landing on the floor. ‘How did you-? asked Ballet before being interrupted. ‘In my country we have stronger stomachs than you English.’ replied Klismov, his body preparing for another swing at Ballet. Ballet noticed the man was covered in the meat remnants from the first bin and winced. He rolled backwards quickly as the metal pole swung down and hit the floor in front of him. ‘Stop running little English mouse,’ squealed Klismov swinging the pole around for another hit ‘It is only a matter of time’. Ballet moved back towards the bin as Klismov crept closer and closer to him. He put his hand to his pocket and realised in an instant that there was nothing there. Where was it? He thought as he looked around the floor. He could see nothing but the remnants of food packets dotted across the area. Klismov shot forward again, this time missing Ballet by mere inches. ‘It looks like you’re out of time detective.’ Said Klismov, a snarl forming across his top lip ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to tell your policemen friends you almost managed to find me.’ With that he let out an evil laugh before raising the pole back above his head. ‘Good night, Detective Ballet.’ Ballet stared in front desperately trying to think of some way dodge the oncoming blow but his position against the bin allowed him no room for movement. With nothing else left at his disposal he held out his hand in front of himself as a last resort, his eyes squinting as he predicted the final blow. There was a sudden screech of tyres and both Ballet and Klismov spun round to the sight of his 1987 Astra GTE skidding round the corner of the alleyway. Ballet took the chance and scrambled forward just enough to make some space between himself and Klismov. Without looking back he leapt forward as hard as he could and landed in a heap a few metres from Klismov. Klismov turned and gave Ballet the briefest of looks before the car spun into him. There was a loud crash as it went side on into the Bins and Ballet saw Klismov disappear behind the wreckage. For a few brief moment there was silence as the engine turned off. The side door of the vehicle clicked open and out stepped Luke. ‘Are you okay boss?’ He said, his hands on his knees as he breathed heavily. Ballet smiled ‘Barely,’ he replied. ‘what took you so long?’ he slowly stepped up from the floor and made his way towards the vehicle, picking up the metal pole Klismov had dropped as he did. ‘Good work Lieutenant’ Ballet continued patting Luke on the shoulder. ‘Looks like you have been listening to me after all. The pair both moved round the front end of the car carefully watching the space ahead with every footstep. Ballet stopped and lowered the pole. In front of him lay Klismov, the bottom part of his torso obscured by the GTE. ‘Looks like you’ll still be able to speak to my policemen pals back at the station Klismov.’ He said ‘If you make it that far.’ Klismov spat blood across the concrete in front of him. ‘To hell with you detective,’ he rasped. ‘It’s not over yet. The Baron will find you.’ Ballet looked at Luke with a surprised expression then back at Klismov. He crouched don’t next to him and lifted his head off the ground with his lapels. ‘Who is the Baron?’ he shouted at him ‘Where is he?’ Klismov coughed again and began to laugh ‘listen closely detective’ he said carefully ‘you will never find the Baron, nobody ever finds the Baron. Many people see the Baron, but only when it is too late.’ He laughed again ‘The Baron is for people like you detective, the last thing you will ever see.’ With that Ballet saw the man bite something and within an instant realised what had happened. Swiftly he pulled Klismov’s jaw apart and looked inside. It was too late. ‘The Baron will ride’ Klismov suddenly exclaimed before making a choking noise. His head went limp and fell backwards as Ballet lowered him back towards the ground. He turned to look at Luke. ‘Damn.’ He said ‘Looks like it isn’t over yet.’ Luke nodded and stepped backwards before taking a loud sigh. Ballet stood up also and moved towards the side of the car. He looked down to inspect the damage and his frown furrowed. ‘Lieutenant’ he said eventually, still staring at the front bumper ‘next time you want to run someone over, remember to commandeer a civilian vehicle first.’