She felt a presence hovering over her and heard a slight intake of breath. Her eyes flew open in time to see a sick smile on the face of the man lying on top of her. His eyes were glowing evil and his breath held a carrion stink. His teeth were yellow and had been filed to sharp points which made his insane grin even more disgusting. His grip on her wrists was iron and his weight was breathtaking. He locked eyes with her and slowly, he licked the side of her face as she squirmed in revulsion.
“I have waited and waited for you, love.” he breathed in her ear as she cringed beneath him. “Now, we can have a bit of fun.”
He pushed her hands together and held them one handed in a viselike grip. Stiletto was strong for a normal human and even so, she could not budge his grip. His other hand disappeared for a second and then was twirling a gleaming straight razor in front of her eyes. He stroked her face and neck with the flat side of the blade and a string of drool appeared on the corner of his mouth.
“Your skin is so dark and beautiful. There were not many for me to prey upon like you in my time. Have no fear though, I’ve grown accustomed to dark meat.” he whispered lasciviously. “In fact, I’ve grown to love it.”
He drew the blade down her costume, slicing it open to the middle of her chest. The blade slightly nicked the skin of her breast and a tiny drop of blood welled up. His eyes widened and he licked the blood off his blade and she could feel a sudden hardness against her belly. He tilted his head back in pleasure and for an instant his grip on her hands weakened.
She surged upward violently and, in an instant, was slashing him across the throat with a small blade attached to her right index finger. The tiny blade cut as deep as it could and a red line appeared on his neck. He stumbled upright, his hand grasping the wound and his eyes were wild as they bored into her. She pulled her legs underneath herself and slowly stood in a fighter’s crouch. She reached into her boots with each hand and drew forth the slender daggers held there. He smiled.
“What a rare spirit you are!” he said breathlessly, still holding his injured throat. “I have a mind to keep you as my own as opposed to devouring your soul as I did the others.”
“You are welcome to try, monster.”
His smiled widened and his hand dropped from his throat. The wound was an angry red line across the neck, but no blood came forth. Instead an otherworldly glow poured from the mark of her blade, a hellish light that bathed the dead end alleyway like Dante’s Inferno. She took an involuntary step back from the spectacle and he laughed in her face.
“I have lived, through murder and death and fire, for over a century.” he taunted as he retrieved his razor from the dirty alley floor. “Did you really think I would be so easily dispatched? I, who waited and waited, for you and the others to reappear as I knew you would? No. I will not die so simply. I have paid for my power with my soul and those of my victims. I am Springheel Jack and even Hell gives me my due.”
He lunged at her, his blade cutting through the very reality in which she stood. Reacting instinctively, she used her left hand blade to block the razor whistling at her and the unnatural weapon sliced right through her boot knife. Impossibly fast, the razor switched directions and scored her across the left shoulder. She gasped in pain but her right hand was already rocketing upward and opened a nasty slash through his cheek. She swung her left hand, still holding the hilt of her broken dagger, and landed a weak blow on his left elbow.
He laughed and lunged again and she felt the white hot pain of cutting flesh as he scored a slash on her thigh. Stumbling, she fell to one knee but still had the wherewithal to flick her left wrist, sending her hidden throwing dagger to land deep in his chest.
He stepped back and casually brushed the dagger from his flesh and the hellish glow grew brighter in the alley. She had only her right hand dagger left and could barely move from her injuries. He had laughed at her best shots and despair began to set on her with the realization that she would die in this alley. And die screaming for mercy.
Impossibly fast, he lunged again and knocked her blade from her hand. Then he backhanded her and she slammed to the pavement once again, the force of the fall knocking the breath from her with a gasp. He paced around her, his eyes twinkling with death. He was enjoying this and she could see evidence that it was sexually exciting him. He darted in and she involuntarily cringed and he laughed again.
“Finally, you show your fear of me!” his face close to hers again. ‘That’s all I have ever wanted from any of you. Your fear and respect!”
The razor floated into her field of vision and was silhouetted against the half-moon above. It streaked towards her and for a moment in time, it froze. This is the end, she thought. But that thought angered her. She did not want it to be the end and as time returned to its normal pace, she reached out and plucked the razor from his hand.
He jerked upright as if she had shot him and she crawled to her feet. The razor gleamed in the darkness and she felt unnatural cravings fill her soul. It leapt in her hand and Springheel Jack stumbled backwards with a horrible look on his evil face. He held his left arm up and the hand was missing, the stump oozing hellish light.
“No…” he whispered. “You can’t…”
But she could, and did. The razor leapt and swirled and slashed and danced and Jack wailed pitifully as slivers of himself flew from his body to adorn the dark alley floor. Seconds that felt like eternities passed and Springheel Jack was little more than a moaning pile of red, glowing, flesh. And then he was no more.
*****
She handed the razor to Dictionary Jones. He carefully opened a metal case and allowed her to place it inside, gently making sure he did not touch it. She saw how careful he was being and raised her eyebrow, the only part of her not completely exhausted. He grinned cryptically.
“If I were to touch that, I might be taken over by the spirit inside. Jack’s power did not come from himself but from his cursed straight razor.” he explained.
“Where did the razor come from?” asked Stiletto, “Hell?”
“Not quite. Did you not see the initials on the handle? S.T.?” he asked.
“I did. But I didn’t know what it meant.”
“S.T. stands for Sweeny Todd.” he said. “The first serial killer, he was a barber who slashed the throats of his clients with his straight razor and his woman baked the victims into meat pies. Somehow, Jack got hold of the razor and the rest is history.”
“Well, now Jack is history too!” she exclaimed.
But as she said it, some slight noise just out of range of hearing came from the metal box and Jones looked at it and then her.
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that. It will wait there until someone is fool enough to open the box. And then it will begin again.” he said.
“Well, he is done for now.” she replied. “But if he returns, I will be waiting for him.”
And it seemed that the box smiled.
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