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Articles: Short Stories | A Foggy Night
- Mrs. malathi kona
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I open my mouth to answer and as I do, he lunges at me with the knife. The blow is parried with my bag, knocking him to the ground. My right foot kicks out at his face. He lays perfectly still, no doubt unconscious. I kick him twice more, then crouch beside him: he is alive. The knife is still in his grasp and as I take that hand, I plunge the blade into his heart. There, I leave him and walk away.
The Ten Bells is full of people, mainly dockworkers and prostitutes. The air is full of smoke and idle banter.
“Rum!”
The barmaid pours the drink and I look about me. A woman catches my eye. She is plump, unattractive and about forty years of age.
“Buy me a drink?” she asks, and I place four pennies on the counter. “I can give you something in return, not free you understand, but you can have whatever you want for sixpence,” she says.
Although not refined, the way she speaks tells me she was not born into the way of life she has chosen. I politely refuse her offer and watch as she leaves the Bells. I casually drink my rum and leave. Ahead of me I hear footsteps. It is the woman from the pub.
“Excuse me?” I ask, now walking by her side. “I was a little shy and somewhat embarrassed by your offer. I cannot afford for people to see me with... well you know.”
“You need not fear of that. Gentlemen come here all the time, and no-one sees anything.”
Smiling now, I squeeze her hand. “Can we go somewhere quiet? I feel the need for something special.”
She seems to know exactly where to go and after a short walk, we enter a small courtyard.
“How do you want it, back or front?” she asks, lifting her multitude of garments.
“Front I think, yes, the front will do nicely.”
The woman lifts her clothes still further. I open my bag and take from it, one of my surgical scalpels. With one swift action I thrust it into her fat belly, all the while slicing and probing. The look of shock on her face adds to the extreme pleasure of what I am doing.
She screams, “Murder...” I immediately remove the scalpel and slit her throat. She falls, drowning in her own blood. I smile as the warmth and wetness of my seminal fluid makes me feel good and I continue to rip her open. There is the sound of a nearby window opening. Unperturbed, I take a clean cloth from my bag, wipe the blood from my hands, then return the cloth and scalpel before I, the real Jack the Ripper, calmly disappear into the darkness of night.
- MALATHI
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