My father woke me from my daydreaming once he had concluded his business. “Come along, Brody. We’ll find something to eat and then look up Mr. Thomas.” I hopped out of my comfortable chair and followed him back outside. Once we had reached the street again, my father began looking for an available carriage. I looked back to the man standing against the wall and found him looking at my father again. He noticed me staring and averted his eyes.
“I suppose we could walk a bit and find a pub or somewhere to get a bite,” my father said. “Let’s try down this way.” We merged with the flow of people going our way and were off, keeping pace with the human river.
After some time in our wandering, my father stopped and took stock of where we had come. “Honestly, Brody, I’m not quite sure how to get around this city.”
“Perhaps, Father, if we—”
Someone stepped close and interrupted. “Pardon me, sir, are you having trouble finding your way?”
I looked up to find the same gentleman in the shabby clothing that had been standing outside the bank building earlier. He glanced at me, flashing that same devilish grin. My father shook his hand, thankful for any assistance he could gain.
“Yes sir, my son and I would be most grateful for some help finding a place to eat,” he said.
“Of course, I’d be happy to show you an excellent place and not so bad on the cost neither.” The man smiled at my father, revealing his yellow teeth. “This way, sir.”
My father followed after the man. “Praise the Lord for a bit of help, eh Brody?”
I thought to warn him, to cry out my misgivings in some way. But what would I have said? I still don’t know. I had no reason not to trust the man except for his appearance and the menace I saw in his eyes. My only regret now is that I did not see the end of my silence at the time.
We followed the man through the streets. He moved quickly through the throng. My father kept his pace, meaning not to lose sight of our guide in this strange city. This path took us into less comely portions of London and then from the main street altogether.
“Come along. We’re nearly there, sir.” The man turned down what seemed to be an alley. It ran between two tall buildings. The sun shone less here in cramped quarters. Dirty wash water rained down from windows high above, catching some unaware. Curses shouted back from the unfortunate. Laundry dried upon lines stretched between the buildings and black rats scurried across our way.
At this point my father began to wonder if we had made a mistake. He stopped in the alley and called ahead to our guide. “Friend, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but are you sure this is the way?”
The man stopped, turned and came back to where we both stood holding our bags. Anger shone upon his face. “I’ve taken the trouble to lead you about, trying to find you and your whelp a bit of good food and drink, and you repay me with accusations?”
“Sir, I meant no disrespect only—”
The man brandished a knife toward us. My father put his hand out to guard me then shoved me behind him. “Honestly, sir, I do apologize for any inconvenience we’ve caused you. We will trouble you no more.” He turned me and started back the way we had come, leaving the man standing in the alleyway alone with his anger and his knife. But as we stepped toward the mouth of the alley, where the two buildings met the street, another man moved out from a doorway to bar our way.
He pulled a pistol and aimed it in our direction. My father turned as our guide approached from behind. “Let’s have those bags, shall we.”
He caught hold of my bag, tossing me into a wall as he tore it from my hands.
“Brody!” My father attacked the man with the knife. They scuffled and fell as the second man came upon them with his gun. My father lay still on the ground as our guide pulled away with blood on his hands. The knife stood in my father’s chest.
I screamed. The men noticed me again—shock upon their faces. I got to my feet as one came for me and ran as fast as I could down the alley away from where we had come from. “Come back here you little wretch!” he shouted.
I heard the flintlock snap and the powder discharge. The bullet hit the wall somewhere near me, but I didn’t stop for anything. I simply ran with a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes. I had no idea where I was going. What did it matter? My father was dead.
Alone?
I cannot say how long I ran. I saw unknown faces of every sort as I passed between buildings through streets full of carriages where my tears mingled with the mud. I saw no one in this awful place whom I could trust. All of them, I supposed, were in on the murder of my father. No one had offered help—none but the villains. I felt utterly alone in a strange city with no hope.
In what seemed like no time at all, darkness settled upon the city. Dark clouds moved in overhead and brought showers. I found myself exhausted, walking through a muddy lane as rain soaked through my clothes. The wet fabric chafed my skin. In some way, I didn’t even care if I caught my death from the cold.
The chill forced me out of the open. I sought refuge, but found no place open to me. I turned down another alley, but stood at the mouth of it afraid to venture in. For all I knew, this had been the same place where those villains had led my father intending to rob us. I feared that I might wander across my father’s body still lying in the mud where he’d been left murdered.
Lightning illuminated the alley before me. Seeing no one, I walked inside and found an overhanging doorway. The little porch happened to be just large enough to keep the downpour off me. I settled in as close to the door as possible and sat down upon the cold stoop. I shook as the chill overtook me. My teeth chattered loudly. I tried to draw my small coat around me, but it too was soaked with cold rain and did little good.
I fixed my eyes ahead and drew my cap down close to my eyes. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled across the cloudy sky. I huddled, waiting. I did not know for what—death perhaps. Without my father, it seemed inevitable now.
I soon became acutely aware that I hadn’t eaten in some time. My belly groaned with desire for a few morsels of anything. I observed garbage strewn here and there in the alley. Rats weren’t even out bothering it here in the rain. I had difficulty imagining myself actually going over and eating anything I saw. I wasn’t that hungry yet.
A faint light caught my attention from the direction of the street. I peered through the rain washing off of the overhang. The light emanated from what I could only call a window of sunshine within the storm. It appeared as though another place sat wrapped inside a bubble where the rain could not fall.
I wondered at the sight fully convinced I must be hallucinating. Perhaps I had grown just hungry enough to begin seeing mirages. I had heard of such things from my father—tales of men crawling across desert wastes thirsting so badly for water that their desires materialize in visions only to disappear as they prepare to fill their bellies.
The rain had strengthened in intensity and I remained reluctant to run toward the oasis. Then I saw what appeared to be a human figure, blurry at first, but then coming into sharper focus. I could not be sure, but this person appeared to be wearing a white robe with gold glinting from his middle. I knew I must be imagining it all, so it did not disturb me so much when I perceived two great wings unfurl with light emanating from them. He lit upon the ground in his strange world and immediately appeared altogether different—more like a normal person.
The man of the vision ran toward me, carrying a bundle under his right arm. I waited for the vision to fade. Instead, the man passed from his place into the alley with me. I started upon his arrival, cringing into my coat, trying to bury my head completely beneath my cap. He came upon me in a moment and when I looked back to the place where he had emerged, I found the oasis of light gone.
The man stopped in front of me dripping wet with rain. He wore a fine quality brown suit though it had soaked through already. Rain poured off the brim of his tall silk hat. “Pardon me, young sir,” he said, “would you mind if I joined yo
u in the dry?”
I sat there against the door like a mute. Was he actually speaking to me? He asked again, and I found the good sense to at least nod.
The man stepped up onto the porch. When he did, the overhang stretched out to cover him, growing two feet larger on every side just to take him in. I looked down at the concrete pad and found it enlarging too, although I hadn’t felt it move in the slightest beneath me.
My eyes grew wide as saucers staring at him, but he seemed not to notice. “There now, that’s at least a little better, eh?” he said. “If you’ll pardon my saying, this is not the best place to make your bed on a night like tonight. You’ll catch your death out in this weather.”
I nodded dumbly and started to shiver again. My teeth chattered loudly. I wasn’t sure if it was from the numbing cold or the shock of seeing this strange visitor. “Ah, you see?” he said. “You’re already headed for a sick bed.”
The man removed his bundle, which he had brought with him cradled under his arm. It appeared to be a rolled blanket, and though he had been drenched in the rain, the blanket remained bone dry. He laid it down before me and opened it up. The bundle rolled out, revealing a small fire surrounded by stones the size of my fist. A small bird roasted upon a small spit over the flame and a tankard of fresh milk sat beside it all.
The man smiled as my eyes took in his feast. “Surely we can do something about those wet clothes,” he said. “Hard to enjoy a proper meal when your bones are aching with cold.” The stranger pulled the brown blanket out from under the fire and food with a flick of his wrist, like a magician whipping the table cloth from beneath a set of fine china.
He leaned forward and wrapped the warm blanket around me. It felt quite warm, as though it really had been wrapped around the flames dancing before me. Though I knew this must all be a figment of my tortured mind, I nestled into it and soon felt my chill flee away.
“There, now isn’t that better?” He smiled again and looked to the meat upon the fire. “Now you can try some of this chicken. I made it myself. Hope you like it.”
I stared at the food then at the man offering it. “Who are you?”
He tore a drumstick away and handed it to me. “My name doesn’t really matter…call me a friend.”
I took the chicken leg. The smell wafted across my nostrils, making my mouth water. I took a bite of roasted meat. It melted in my mouth like hot butter. I savored the taste for only a moment before devouring every morsel I could peel from the bone.
My nameless friend watched with delight as I enjoyed the food. “Here, don’t forget to wash it down. It wouldn’t do for you to choke. There’s so much for you to do.”
I looked at him, puzzling, as the ceramic mug was placed into my hands. “Do? What do I have to do?” Thoughts of my father’s murder plunged back into my brain and came flooding out. “My father, he was murdered. I’ve been running. I didn’t know what to—”
The man tried to quiet me. “There now…I know what’s happened. And I know how you must be grieving. It’s perfectly normal. But you must understand, your father’s work was complete. However, your work is only just beginning.”
“My work?” I stared at him not comprehending a word he was saying. “What work? I’ve not even a place to stay or money or anything.”
“Ah, but you do have faith, Brody, and that is more important than anything else. If your faith wasn’t as well known as your father’s would I be here now? Just look at what you have. You’re warm and dry, fed a good meal and your thirst cured.”
As I took a drink of the milk, I realized the truth of what he had said. Not only did I have a meal before me and something to drink, but I had grown warm again despite the rain and the chill in the air. More than that, I reached inside the blanket to my rain soaked clothes and found them completely dry. I looked at my benefactor amazed.
“But how?” I asked.
He smiled and winked at me. “You would do better, young Brody, to be thankful for blessings given than seek how they were given.” He stood up, beginning to depart.
“Wait!” I begged him. “What am I supposed to do? I don’t even know my way in London. There is no one I can look to for help.”
“You’ll soon find your path, even if you don’t understand how.”
“What about the work you spoke of—what did you mean?” I asked.
He tipped his hat brim to me. “The work will find you.” He turned around and started back into the pouring rain. I stammered for another question, anything that might delay his departure, anything not to be left alone again.
“Are you an angel?” I asked.
He stopped and turned slightly. The rain beating against the porch made it hard to hear his words. “Do you believe in angels, Brody?”
I hesitated a moment, unsure of my answer. He turned back and started away again. I mustered my resolve hurriedly. “I do believe!”
He turned again with a smile. “Then you are a wise man, Brody West.” He walked on through the rain until his body seemed to melt away in the downpour. I remained on the porch wrapped tight in the blanket with the little fire still blazing under the roasted bird and the tankard of warm milk sitting in my trembling hands. I would soon find this to be only the very beginning of many strange things I would experience.
Glass
Harvey Glass rung his towel of its excess water and then slid the damp rag down the scarred oak bar top. Crumbs and spills alike were evacuated, leaving behind a dull finish that Harvey inspected casually before moving on. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied two regulars who never failed to push the limits of his patience when it came time for closing the pub.
“Hey, Nigel,” Harvey called. “It’s time to finish up.”
“Ah, Harvey,” the other man said. “One more round for the road.”
“Let’s go, Donavan,” Harvey said. “Else I’ll put out the lights and leave you to the Ripper, and there won’t be any regrets when you turn up butchered like those girls neither.”
“Settle up, while I hit the privy,” Nigel told his companion as he got up from the corner booth.
A lone candle burned atop the table, its wick almost swallowed up now by a pool of wax.
“Settle up?” Donavan complained.
“You owe me from last Tuesday,” Nigel reminded him as he stumbled toward the back of the pub and through the door.
Donavan grumbled as he fished through his pockets, finding his small bag of money. He held it near the dying candle long enough to remove one coin which he tossed to the barkeep.
“Thanks,” Harvey said, nimbly snatching the coin from the air even in the half-light of the pub. “Now, get out.”
“We’re going, we’re going,” Donavan said.
A loud bang resounded from the back of the pub, halting both Harvey and Donavan for a moment.
“You all right back there?” Donavan said. He started to laugh, turning to look after his friend.
“If he pukes, you’re cleaning it up!” Harvey shouted after him.
When Donavan arrived at the back of the pub, he found Nigel already standing there. His eyes appeared glazed over. He was staring blankly into space working his jaw slowly up and down, as though he had never used it before.
Donavan stood before him, wondering at his friend.
“What’s wrong, Nigel?”
Nigel’s eyes wandered toward Donavan. His gaze locked upon his friend. Behind him, two creatures wearing burlap sacks appeared in the doorway. Donavan started to cry out in alarm, but Nigel’s hand shot out lightning quick, snatching Donavan by the throat in an iron grip.
Donavan grabbed his friend’s hand, trying to break free from the human vise now crushing his windpipe. Nigel hoisted Donavan completely off the ground, his feet kicking wildly. The two burlap creatures loped into the room around Nigel. One of the rag dolls continued toward the bar where Harvey was just now coming around to investigate. The other creature stood by Nigel, reaching for Donavan.
Th
e doll burst open along the seam running from its chest down along the bloated abdomen. Donavan saw through the tears streaming from his eyes that this was no mere costume. There was no body within the burlap cloth.
Rusty chains shot from the well of darkness within, lashing about Donavan’s struggling arms and legs, binding him up. Nigel flung Donavan’s body aside, releasing him as the chains pulled his old friend within the doll’s body. The seam closed immediately, and the burlap doll took on the image of Donavan.
Harvey stood by the bar, taking in the abduction with terror in his eyes and a broom in his hands. Having been trained upon Donavan’s ingestion, he only now realized that the third burlap doll was ambling toward him. He screamed, raising the broom to defend himself. It snapped across the doll’s misshapen head with its black button eyes.
Harvey turned to run as the middle seam split open, revealing a dark void within just like the one that had swallowed Donavan a moment ago. He managed two desperate steps before the first chain ensnared his ankle. Harvey fell hard, smashing his face upon the newly swept floorboards.
He raised his head again as more chains erupted from the creature, finding his other leg and one of his arms, wrapping around them like the tentacles of an octopus. Harvey clawed grooves into the lacquer finish with his fingernails as the chains dragged him back across the floor toward the waiting orifice. Nigel and Donavan watched, crazed grins painted on their faces.
Thieves
Sunshine woke me the next morning. I had not remembered falling asleep the night before, though I did recall finishing the roast chicken and the milk. The memory lingered for a moment bringing a smile to my face.
I looked on the porch next to me and realized the fire was gone, but the brown blanket my nameless friend had given me remained. Though I couldn’t recall doing it, the blanket had been folded into the same neat roll the man had brought with him. Two ties held it secure near either end. Each tie left enough room for my arms, so I could carry the blanket roll on my back if I wanted.