From Hades Lord of the Dead: the latest case has a supernatural element
Part 2 of 3
The sky was clear that night. There was a chill in the air, blowing off the Thames. I saw my breath in the orange glow of lantern light as Holmes and I made a circuit around Limehouse. Holmes held a pocket watch out in his hand, glancing down at it periodically. He was vigilant, ears twitching at the slightest sounds, eyes following passing Londoners, those walking home late from work and drinks.
Lestrade's constables, as many as he could spare from other neighborhoods, roamed the streets. Holmes enticed his irregular crew of plainclothes agents with a generous bounty, a reward for anyone who managed to get us closer to the killer. Several locals took up the charge as well, inspired to protect their community, though a few of them took it as an opportunity to get drunk, bark orders, and brandish clubs and knives.
A few minutes to midnight, I felt a frigid chill, a cold snap like a whip.
"Oof! Is that wind off the Thames?" I said.
"Be on your guard," said Holmes.
Not five seconds passed, us marching up the dim street, lanterns in hand, before Holmes exclaimed. He spoke in a sharp whisper. "Your watch, Watson."
I looked down at the wristwatch in the lantern light. The hands began twitching before my very eyes, slowly at first, then faster. Holmes held up his pocket watch, revealing the same malfunction.
"The time phenomenon," I said. "The murderer."
"They're close," said Holmes. "This way."
We moved with double haste, lanterns swinging, casting long dark shadows with each bound. Holmes gave a shrill blast on his whistle, the signal to converge: suspected killer nearby. Holmes led the charge, moving in the direction of cold air and stronger phenomena. We rounded the corner of Saint Peter's Garden, swinging around the old iron gate into the small green square. Two men sat at a wooden bench near the center of the garden, amidst the old stone statues, sharing a bottle. One was laughing as the other took a swig. They turned and saw Holmes and me, whistle shrieking, lanterns swinging.
"Ay! What's going on?!" said the man with the bottle. It slipped from his fingers in surprise and crashed on the ground.
They shielded their eyes from the lantern light. Beyond them the shadows shifted. A dark figure rose to full stature, blacker still against the black night. A void. The figure looked at least seven feet tall. It moved with impossible quickness, standing over the two men on the bench, slender arms extended. It had pale hands, with nails like claws. The blood in my veins froze.
"Stop!" shouted Holmes. He drew his revolver, training it on the towering figure.
The pale creature looked at Holmes, black eyes starkly contrasting its gaunt skin. It had a Cheshire grin, revealing rows of sharp black teeth. One man fell from the bench onto the cold ground. The other screamed in horror at the encroaching creature, putting his hands up over his head. I drew my own pistol. The figure swished a long, bony hand. I felt as if a knife slashed the back of my hand, and I dropped my pistol in pain and surprise. My hand was wet with blood. Holmes dropped his gun as a well, and I saw the blood gushing from his wrist. We stood twenty feet from the creature, but it struck us without the use of a projectile, as if it turned the air itself into a blade. Psychokinesis. Holmes clapped a hand onto his bleeding wrist.
The creature spoke in a cold whisper. I'd say it sounded Eastern European, if it sounded human at all. "Stäp?" Its laugh was high pitched. "Vie ste Mistŭr Kholms, da?"
Holmes stared at the creature, eyes wide, mouth agape, processing the otherworldly sight. As long as I had known Holmes, he always had a retort, a response in the face of danger and uncertainty. Until now. He was shaking.
The creature spoke, and with each word, the air felt colder. I felt it in my lungs, afraid to breathe in, lest I inhale some poison released from that garish maw. "Ne, te spri. You stäp. Stäp hunting for me, or I hunt for you." It flicked its long hand again, and again a spectral slash was dealt. Holmes cried out and clutched at his face, a gash left across his nose and right eye. He dropped to one knee.
The man on the ground reached for the broken bottle. He slashed up at the creature. The creature caught his hand, squeezing hard. He screamed out, and I could hear the pop and crack of the fragile bones of the hand, and the crunch of breaking glass trapped in his grip. The creature towered over the man, jaws opening into a terrible black pit. There were rows and rows of sharp teeth, like a monstrous sea lamprey. With the guise of a distorted human, elongated proportions askew, the giant predator had captured its prey. It craned over the crying man, leaning in to latch on his exposed neck.
I dove for my pistol. The telekinetic slash had not only wounded my hand, it also mangled the barrel of the gun, rendering it unusable. Holmes reached for his ankle, revealing an ankle holster and a small hammerless pistol. He drew it with his left hand, popping off three quick shots before the creature could sink its teeth into the man. Shaking, blood in his eyes, aiming with his off-hand, Holmes still managed to land at least one bullet, or so it seemed from the creature's flinching shoulder. In shifting lantern light, it looked like something small and metallic fell off of the creature's cloak. The creature paused for a moment, looking back at Holmes, appearing more intrigued than injured.
I heard hurried footsteps from the gate behind us. Constable Newark rounded the corner, silver pocket watch in his gloved hand. He was responding to Holmes's whistle. The creature looked up, and sniffed the air. It scrunched its face into a terrible scowl, and dropped the man with the broken bottle. I thought that it would slash the five of us to ribbons with another sweep of its arm. Instead, it turned its back and vanished into the dark, retreating via the other end of Saint Peter's Garden.
"Don't let it escape!" said Holmes. He was back on his feet, equipped with his lantern and ready to charge into the darkness.
"Wait, Holmes!" I said. "Your arm, and your face!"
He paused midstride, touching his face, dabbing the hot blood pouring down from the laceration across the bridge of his nose. He swung his lantern out in the direction that the creature had escaped. It was gone. I ran to his side, producing a handkerchief and a bandage to clean up his wounds. To my relief, the invisible blade had cut just above his right eye, and not directly through it. He hadn't lost any fingers from the first slash either. I checked on the drunken man. He was wailing on the ground, hand crushed and skewered with shards of glass. I'd suffered a deep cut to my own hand, but it was only a scratch in comparison. The man's companion had fainted on the garden bench.
"We need to get to the hospital," I said. "All of us."
"Jesus Christ," said Newark. He stood at the garden gate, dumbstruck. "What was that thing?"
"What did you see!?" said Holmes. He got up in Newark's face, grabbing his collar with a bloodied hand. "Describe it! Now!"
"Holmes, let him go," I said.
"You too, Watson!" said Holmes. "What did you witness!?"
"We witnessed it together," I said. "It was a man, but not a man. A giant! It cut us without touching us. It was just as Ms. Halpine described."
Newark corroborated. The two drunk men were in no condition to contribute. Holmes cursed. I'm sure he suspected he was under the influence of some hallucinogen or hypnosis. No, the creature was real. I hoisted the man with the bleeding arm up over my shoulder. "Hospital, now. There's one just down the street."
"Be rational," said Holmes. "An illusion… a phantasmagoria, conjured with lights and mirrors." He was muttering to himself, teeth chattering.
"Your blood is no illusion," I said. "Nor is mine."
Holmes grabbed Newark's arm by the wrist, smearing blood on his gray fur-lined gloves. He pulled the silver pocket watch close, into the lantern light. The time was correct. Of all the timepieces that came in close contact with the creature, Newark's was the only one that had not malfunctioned.
"Why was your time unaffected?" said Holmes. "Why you!?"
Newark yelped, pulling away from Holmes's grip. He had no explanation. More constables and irregular informants appeared in the darkness in response to the whistle. No one saw where the creature had vanished to. I nearly had to drag Holmes from the garden to the hospital. Before we departed, Holmes snatched up a small metallic button off the ground.
