From Hades Lord of the Dead: the latest case has a supernatural element
Part 1 of 3
Before I pen the details of this case, I must set the stage. I must give a warning to anyone with an aversion to violence, for this tale is a bloody one. There are nights when I can't sleep, laying awake and thinking of the creature we encountered. Those three nights in December, under the new moon, were perhaps the most horrifying, and unexplainable, that I've seen. You may recall the sequence murders of 1889. Holmes was invested in the investigation early on. I have no doubt that the staggering number of victims would have continued to rise if not for his involvement.
On October 24th, Ms. Ada Cooper, the first of thirteen victims, was brutally savaged in a Croydon alleyway. Her body was slashed to ribbons, and missing a few pieces: a hand, a foot, an ear. On the following two nights, similar atrocities were committed. A young man was killed and partially devoured, and a young woman was found mortally wounded, bleeding out in the cold dark after suffering deep slashing wounds. Locals thought she might have been attacked by wolves, owing to howling heard around the time of the murder from the nearby forest. There were many names for the killer: Butcher, Bearman, Croydon Cannibal, Spring-heeled Jack. All of Greater London was in a panic. There were rumors that a man-eating lion, escaped from the circus, was menacing Croydon by night. Holmes himself was endlessly perplexed by those murderers. He burned through tobacco by the ounce, sitting back in his chair, reflecting.
After a month-long respite, the murders resumed. A Bermondsey woman walking home at night. Three men killed at their shared flat. A betrothed couple out for the evening. The killer had graduated to multiple victims per night, and home invasion. Rumors spread that the military would get involved if the killings didn't stop. I cannot condone the surge of dubious arrests executed by Scotland Yard in their desperate thrashing to find the culprit, and to regain some sense of authority.
Holmes was obsessed with a pocket watch discovered at the scene of the first murder, a wristwatch from the fourth, and a wall clock from the Bermondsey flat. All three malfunctioned in a curious way, in which the hands twitched helplessly back and forth at random intervals. Holmes was eating and sleeping less than usual. He received daily reports from his network of informants. Sometimes I didn't see him for days at a time. The three-day October and November sets of killings began under the darkness of the new moon. With London's fog obscuring the stars, many streets were pitch dark. Lunar compulsion? Murders on a schedule? Holmes predicted another set of killings would begin on December 22nd, the first night of the next new moon, about a month away.
Holmes's prediction was right. Unfortunately, predicting when a murder would occur was not enough to prevent it. He and I gathered at the seventh grisly scene in the predawn twilight, hours after the Moore family of four had been slaughtered. We stood in the Moore family dining room, amidst the blood and gore, walls, floor and ceiling painted red. It was the highest death toll yet, but notably it was the first time the killer had left a witness: Ms. Ada Halpine, the house servant. She was in shock when we first arrived, still receiving treatment from the Yard's medical examiner, and collecting her nerves. I recall constables moving in and around the house, looking for any trace of the killer's identity left behind, as Holmes stood in silence, staring at the twitching grandfather clock. He stood with his hands clenched behind his back, breathing deeply.
"Why the clocks?" said Holmes.
"I wish I had a logical answer for you," I said.
"Every timepiece at every scene of death was rendered defective," said Holmes. "Not only the grandfather clock, but also Mr. David Moore's wristwatch." He gestured down to the mangled body of Mr. Moore. He wore a silver wristwatch, splattered with blood, with hands that jiggled helplessly.
"A modus operandi, then?" I said. "Some pathological compulsion of the killer?" The prior year, we helped Inspector Lestrade track a sequence murderer who confessed to a compulsion to steal fingernail clippings from his victims. The only logical explanation was that he did not apply common logic.
"How?" said Holmes. "What causes the clocks to change?"
To Holmes's point, it wasn't as simple as smashing a clock. The clocks were somehow scrambled, their internal mechanisms altered with a subtle touch. "He must open the clocks and tamper with the gears. Perhaps he's a clockmaker by trade."
"This grandfather clock wasn't physically tampered with," said Holmes. He gestured to old, untouched bolts and screws, and a layer of dust. "And it's not a decoy, snuck in after the murders. Do they use a magnet? Some kind of electromagnetic pulse with the ability to shift and reshape a clock's gears from the exterior?"
"Electromagnetism is outside my field of expertise," I said.
"I've consulted with experts," said Holmes. I knew his network of informants was vast. It was composed of field agents, scientists and academics of all sorts. "None have been able to provide a satisfactory explanation."
The terrible smell of the dining room was beginning to overwhelm me. I turned my attention to the body of Mrs. Elizabeth Moore. What depravity… Not only depraved, but also inexplicable. Never once in Afghanistan, or in my adventures with Holmes, had I seen a saber, knife or other bladed instrument deal such slashing damage. The woman was practically bisected.
"No man possesses the speed and strength necessary to inflict these wounds," said Holmes, reading my thoughts from my expression.
"What then?" I said. "An animal?"
"Or a machine," said Holmes. He shook his head, bringing thumb and forefinger together around the bridge of his nose, as if suppressing a headache. He smiled. "Invigorating, isn't it?"
Inspector Lestrade poked his head into the dining room, holding a handkerchief over his nose as he spoke. "Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, the witness is ready to speak. She's in the parlor."
Ms. Halpine was a quivering mess. She was seated in a dark leather chair at the far end of the parlor, eyes darting between Holmes, Lestrade and me. Those eyes had seen a horror that most couldn't imagine. I wondered how much she would remember, and how much her mind would repress out of an instinct to stave off insanity. She still clung to the heavy iron poker from the fireplace, knuckles white, fingernails digging into her palms. She'd taken it up in self defense hours ago.
"From the beginning," said Holmes.
"Dinner," said Halpine. "They were finishing dinner."
"What time?" said Holmes.
"It was late," said Halpine. "Nine o'clock, I think."
"Is that typical?" said Holmes.
"Not unusual," said Halpine.
"What happened next?" said Holmes.
"We heard a crash from the back of the house," said Halpine. "From the back door. Mr. David got up to find the source of the noise. It was in the dining room doorway before he took two steps. It cut him open in one stroke."
I shared a glance with Lestrade, then Holmes. In Lestrade I saw fear. In Holmes, curiosity.
"Who, or what, did you see?" said Holmes.
Tears welled in Halpine's eyes. She struggled to find words. "It looked like a man, but it wasn't a man. Tall. Pale skin. It wore a black cloak." She was shaking, more agitated by the second. "It killed them."
"How?" said Holmes. "What did it use as a weapon?"
Halpine shook her head. "I didn't see a weapon. The slashes just appeared with each swing of those long arms. It was fast."
"It killed Mr. Moore first," said Holmes. "Who was next?"
"I don't know," said Halpine. "I ran, and all I could hear was screaming. I think I was screaming too. I ran here, into the parlor."
"Where exactly?" said Holmes.
She pointed across the room, past the wet bar and the dart board, to a spot on the floor by the fireplace. She would have had a line of sight on the parlor door, hiding there behind the billiards table, and under the taxidermied head of a gray wolf. Its glass eyes were bulging, fangs bared. "I took the poker, and hid there." She shuddered. "It came looking for me, but it stopped in the doorway."
"Stopped?" said Lestrade. "Why?"
"I don't know," said Halpine.
"Did it see you hiding?" said Holmes.
"Yes," said Halpine. "Yes, I'm sure it knew I was there. It was looking right at me. There was blood all on its face, down its chin."
"Did it speak?" said Holmes.
"While I was hiding, after the screaming stopped, I thought I heard it laughing in the dining room," said Halpine.
"Any distinctive smells or sounds?" said Holmes.
"I could only smell the blood," said Halpine. "It was cold. I remember the house felt icy cold."
With that, Halpine broke into a teeth-chattering fit. She began weeping, with long, loud sobs. She had been through a terrifying ordeal, and the memory was fresh. I didn't know how much of her story to believe. I hadn't sensed any deception, but I was skeptical of her description. Tall, pale skin, black cloak. Inhuman. She spoke of the attack on Mr. Moore as if the killer was wielding an invisible blade. We stepped away, letting her collect herself before she spiraled into a panic attack. I could tell Holmes was keen on continuing to pry.
Holmes stopped at a side table by the door, decked with a decanter and several bottles of liquor. There was a clock near the back, set behind a stack of glass tumblers. The clock hands were twitching.
After a thorough sweep of the house, inside and out, Holmes and I regrouped with Lestrade. The sun was rising. To Holmes's annoyance, he hadn't found any trace of the killer's path to or from the house, though we had discovered two additional twitching timepieces: a clock in the kitchen, and a clock in Mr. Moore's private study. Lestrade and his constables had no luck in their investigations.
"What did you make of her, Holmes?" said Lestrade. "Ms. Halpine, that is."
"Terrified," said Holmes.
"Sure, but can we trust her?" said Lestrade. "She described the Devil himself."
"We'll stop the Devil if we must," said Holmes with a smirk.
"Don't make a joke of this," said Lestrade.
"Who's joking?" said Holmes. "I'm merely stimulated. There is nothing more stimulating than a case where everything goes against you."
"Just don't treat this like a game," said Lestrade. "Oh God, I hate to think of the headlines. People are going to be out for blood after news of this gets out. There will be riots in the streets." Lestrade moaned about the injustice of this responsibility falling onto him. None of the arrests or tips over the past two months had amounted to anything. A quarter of his men resigned after the November killings. "He kills three nights at a time, right? What am I going to do tonight?"
"The first set of murders was committed in Croydon," said Holmes. "The second in Bermondsey. Now, here we are in Limehouse."
"Five thousand people live in Limehouse," said Lestrade. "He targets men, women and children. He isn't shy about killing in the street, or in the home." Lestrade threw his hands up into the air.
"His quarry is unpredictable, but let's assume he will strike in or around Limehouse, between six o'clock in the evening and six o'clock in the morning," said Holmes. "How many men can you gather?"
"You want me to patrol the streets?" said Lestrade. "We can cast a wide net, but I fear the holes will be too large. He'll slip away."
"I'll send a request to my informants as well, to bolster your numbers," said Holmes. "And Mycroft should be able to spare a few agents. These killings can't be good for his lot."
"What do we tell them?" said Lestrade. "Wander around in the dark until you hear a scream?"
"We'll give them each a lantern, a whistle and a watch," said Holmes.
"I understand the lantern and the whistle," said Lestrade. "To see the bastard, and to call for reinforcements. But why a watch? We'll just start at sundown, and end at dawn."
"The watches are for detecting the killer's presence," said Holmes. He chuckled. "How bizarre I sound! I theorize, due to some rare phenomenon, that the killer's presence causes nearby timepieces to malfunction. I estimate the range of this phenomenon is between twenty and fifty feet."
Lestrade raised an eyebrow. "I suppose this case is far from ordinary, but even still… How did you determine the range of this phenomenon? And what's causing it?"
"The killer forced the back door," said Holmes. "He went straight through the back room and kitchen to the dining room. After the Moore family massacre, Ms. Halpine didn't report any further noises, and no other doors or windows were broken or unlocked. In the most likely case, the killer left the same way he entered, and he only went into the house as far as the parlor doorway. In our inspection of the house, Watson and I discovered malfunctioning clocks in the kitchen by the back door, and in Mr. Moore's private study, adjacent to the parlor. The kitchen clock was in the killer's path. The study clock was twenty feet from the killer's last known location, likely the furthest he ventured into the home. Thus, I hypothesize that the timepiece-altering phenomenon is not limited by solid walls, and that it has a minimum range of twenty feet. In the side yard shed, fifty feet from the parlor doorway, we discovered a pocket watch on Mr. Moore's tool bench. The watch was operating normally, implying that the maximum range of the phenomenon is less than fifty feet."
"Never in my life have I heard of such a thing," said Lestrade.
"Nor I," said Holmes. "I can't say what the cause of the phenomenon is, only that we have empirical evidence of its existence. If my theory is correct, then a simple watch can be thought of as a portable alarm system, indicating the killer is nearby when it begins to malfunction. Instruct your men to keep an eye on their watches, and if a man's watch begins to malfunction then he should sound off with his whistle to gather the others."
Lestrade crossed his arms and lowered his head. "I don't like it." The red glow of sunrise spread over the Thames. "Being honest, I like less than half of your wild theories and schemes. But damn it, we have nothing else to work from."
"Tonight is the night, Lestrade," said Holmes. "Feel the pressure in the air—Limehouse will be dark under the new moon, but the sky should be cloudless and clear. Starlight will be our ally. Until then, we'll recruit patrolmen, map their routes and vantage points, and commission maintenance workers to repair any faulty street lamps. The more light the better."
Lestrade nodded. "A lantern, a whistle, and a watch. We should ensure each man is equipped with a firearm as well."
I'd be certain to carry my old service revolver. I had the terrible sense that it would take more than pistol fire to down the beast that haunted London. How right I was.
"I feel as though we're scientists on the cusp of a revolutionary discovery," said Holmes. "Like an engineer on the verge of a technological breakthrough, a physicist revealing some new truth about the natures of energy and matter, or a zoologist on the trail of an undocumented species. Tonight is our best chance yet to quell this madness."