1888 - Writers Forum

Dark Fact · 03-17-2008, 08:34 PM

This is an older piece I wrote. Enjoy.

1888

Snow crunched beneath Winston Nigel’s boots as he walked to the butchers shop. The blue air bit his lungs with each breath. He carried a large, brown paper bag that dripped dark red from the bottom, leaving a splotchy trail behind him. No one would notice though, the streets of London were empty.
The butcher greeted him when he stepped into his shop. “Good evening. Come in from the cold and let’s see what you have for me today.” The butcher was a tall man and in his mid 40’s. He had pointed features and restless brown eyes, like a bird. Winston set the package on the counter. The butcher opened it and examined its contents critically. Winston rubbed his hands together and stared at the meat with a frown on his face.
“This is the most succulent meat yet, and this shops best ever,” The butcher said. “Won’t you tell me where you get it?” Winston shook his head and held out his hand. The butcher looked at the hand, then the bag. He grumbled and took out his pocket book.
“Five schillings a pound is unheard of,” he said while counting out the money. Winston tucked the money into his pocket. The butcher studied the man across from him and thought he looked sad. “Have you always been a mute?”
Winston turned and walked out into the cold.
Snow fell delicately from the sky, like leaves during fall. There was no wind and a hush had fallen. Early November, and already the city was preparing for Christmas. At least, it was trying to.
It was dark but not late. Shop windows were dimly lit to keep outsiders from peering in, though they were still open for business. Papers littered their walls: someone selling this, someone buying that, work here, no work there, a poster of another missing girl. He was half way home when he noticed two coppers on horseback watching him from the distance. The flickering light from a nearby street lamp cast shadows over their faces. They followed him from a distance, the click clacking of hooves silenced by snow. Each time Winston stopped, they stopped. Each time Winston continued, they continued. Then they were right behind him and he turned to face them.
“Where’re you heading tonight, sir?”
Winston pointed in the direction of his house. One of them pulled out a police sketch of a young woman and held it in front of him.
“Have you seen this woman?”
Winston shook his head.
“Are you sure?”
Winston nodded.
The coppers traded glances. “Why don’t you talk?”
Winston patted his throat, touched his lips and then shook his head. It took the coppers a minute, but eventually one said, “Ah, a mute.”
Winston nodded and shrugged his shoulders.
“Well, on your way then.”
Winston waved and hurried down the street. He spent the rest of his walk thinking about the woman in the sketch.
His house didn’t do much to keep the cold out. It was run down and overgrowth made the walkway to the front door hard to find. In the corner of the yard was a white and green dog house with a hole in the roof. Winston opened the front door and went inside. He took off his jacket and hung it in the closet, then walked to the kitchen, filled a pot with water and carried it to the fire place. Remnants of last night’s fire were pushed aside with a steel poker. To the right was a stack of dry wood he had chopped earlier in the year. He took a few pieces and stacked them in the pit and then encircled them with tinder. Someone knocked five times on his door in quick successions. He stood up and the person knocked five more times impatiently. He opened the door and Herbert, his neighbor, stepped inside.
“It’s bloody freezing out there,” he said while rubbing his hands together. Winston shut the door and turned to face Herbert. He tilted his head to the side.
“How’re you doing? You look nearly as cold me.” Winston motioned towards the fireless fireplace.
“No wonder.” Herbert walked to the fire and knelt down. He took out his flint and steel and struck it, waiting for the tinder to catch a spark. “I’ll have this water boiled in no time and then you and I we’ll be enjoying hot tea.” Winston nodded and sat on the edge of the couch.
“I tell you Winston, it’s a fright out there, a fright, and I’m not just talking about the weather.” Winston watched as a piece of tinder caught flame. Herbert blew on it and before long they had a roaring fire.
The wind had picked up since Herbert arrived. It blew hard, tossing debris against the windowpanes and causing the house to creak and shudder. Winston poured two cups of steaming spearmint tea and then grabbed a bottle of vodka. He motioned towards Herbert’s cup and tilted his head. “If I keep drinking like this every night I’m going to need a new liver,” Herbert said with a toothy grin. Winston shook his head and poured some vodka into Herbert’s tea.
The neighbors sat beneath the window and could hear the shutters slamming open and closed. Side by side on the couch they enjoyed tea and the crackling fire.
Herbert’s right knee bounced up and down. He couldn’t sit still. He kept looking towards the kitchen and then back into the fire.
“It’s beautiful isn’t it, the fire. And it’s made even more so by how wretched it is outside. I guess that’s how life is. Without ugliness there would be no beauty.” Winston patted his friend on the back.
“Say Winston, I know I still owe you from last week, but I don’t suppose I could get a bit more meat from you tonight? Just a smitten would do, just enough for the Misses to fry up a steak or two.” His knee bobbed up and down faster and his eyes were fixated on the ice box in the kitchen. Winston followed his stare and then regarded his friend closely.
“It’s just so delicious. I can’t stop thinking about sinking my teeth into it and tearing off a bite.” Winston frowned and tapped his chin. Herbert stood up, nearly spilling his tea. “I want a slab, Winston, just a measly slab! Are you so selfish that you won’t spare a morsel!?” He paced in front of his neighbor, biting at his thumb nail. Winston sighed and stood up. Once his back was to Herbert he cringed.
“I appreciate it. You know times are hard, what with all the layoffs at the factory.” Winston opened the icebox. Inside there were dozens of meat packages wrapped in white, unmarked paper. He grabbed one the size of a loaf of bread and carried it out to Herbert.
“Thank you,” Herbert said, tucking the package into his coat pocket. “I should be going, the Misses gets scared if I leave her for too long you know, especially now.” He walked to the door and then paused. “Oh, before I forget,” he handed Winston a book. “It’s ‘Great expectations’. I think you’ll like it. It’s my favorite Dickens title. Anyway, stay warm.”

The following day London was greeted by the following article:
Mary Jane Kelly found dead

It was a gruesome scene for police who arrived on the east side of London, in Whitechapel. Mary Jane Kelly was found murdered, but that hardly begins to tell of the gruesomeness of the crime. The victim had dozens of gashes on her face, her breasts were cut off, organs, such as her liver, missing, her abdomen carved out and nearly 80% of her body skinned. Inspector Walter Beck had this to say: “Never in my life have I witnessed such mutilation and inhumanity. Due to the increasing brutality of the crimes it is my belief that whoever is behind them will continue to push the limits until given reason not to. I suspect a city wide curfew will be in effect by tonight.” It is widely believed that this is the first known serial killer in London history, but perhaps more terrifying than that is the lack of suspects in the case. (Continue p3).
London mourned its victims.

Navneet · 03-17-2008, 10:31 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by Dark Fact

This is an older piece I wrote. Enjoy.

1888

Snow crunched beneath Winston Nigel’s boots as he walked to the butchers shop. The blue air bit his lungs with each breath. He carried a large, brown paper bag that dripped dark red from the bottom, leaving a splotchy trail behind him. No one would notice though, the streets of London were empty.
The butcher greeted him when he stepped into his shop. “Good evening. Come in from the cold and let’s see what you have for me today.” The butcher was a tall man and in his mid 40’s. He had pointed features and restless brown eyes, like a bird. Winston set the package on the counter. The butcher opened it and examined its contents critically. Winston rubbed his hands together and stared at the meat with a frown on his face.
“This is the most succulent meat yet, and this shops best ever,” The butcher said. “Won’t you tell me where you get it?” Winston shook his head and held out his hand. The butcher looked at the hand, then the bag. He grumbled and took out his pocket book.
“Five schillings a pound is unheard of,” he said while counting out the money. Winston tucked the money into his pocket. The butcher studied the man across from him and thought he looked sad. “Have you always been a mute?”
Winston turned and walked out into the cold.
Snow fell delicately from the sky, like leaves during fall. There was no wind and a hush had fallen. Early November, and already the city was preparing for Christmas. At least, it was trying to.
It was dark but not late. Shop windows were dimly lit to keep outsiders from peering in, though they were still open for business. Papers littered their walls: someone selling this, someone buying that, work here, no work there, a poster of another missing girl. He was half way home when he noticed two coppers on horseback watching him from the distance. The flickering light from a nearby street lamp cast shadows over their faces. They followed him from a distance, the click clacking of hooves silenced by snow. Each time Winston stopped, they stopped. Each time Winston continued, they continued. Then they were right behind him and he turned to face them.
“Where’re you heading tonight, sir?”
Winston pointed in the direction of his house. One of them pulled out a police sketch of a young woman and held it in front of him.
“Have you seen this woman?”
Winston shook his head.
“Are you sure?”
Winston nodded.
The coppers traded glances. “Why don’t you talk?”
Winston patted his throat, touched his lips and then shook his head. It took the coppers a minute, but eventually one said, “Ah, a mute.”
Winston nodded and shrugged his shoulders.
“Well, on your way then.”
Winston waved and hurried down the street. He spent the rest of his walk thinking about the woman in the sketch.
His house didn’t do much to keep the cold out. It was run down and overgrowth made the walkway to the front door hard to find. In the corner of the yard was a white and green dog house with a hole in the roof. Winston opened the front door and went inside. He took off his jacket and hung it in the closet, then walked to the kitchen, filled a pot with water and carried it to the fire place. Remnants of last night’s fire were pushed aside with a steel poker. To the right was a stack of dry wood he had chopped earlier in the year. He took a few pieces and stacked them in the pit and then encircled them with tinder. Someone knocked five times on his door in quick successions. He stood up and the person knocked five more times impatiently. He opened the door and Herbert, his neighbor, stepped inside.
“It’s bloody freezing out there,” he said while rubbing his hands together. Winston shut the door and turned to face Herbert. He tilted his head to the side.
“How’re you doing? You look nearly as cold me.” Winston motioned towards the fireless fireplace.
“No wonder.” Herbert walked to the fire and knelt down. He took out his flint and steel and struck it, waiting for the tinder to catch a spark. “I’ll have this water boiled in no time and then you and I we’ll be enjoying hot tea.” Winston nodded and sat on the edge of the couch.
“I tell you Winston, it’s a fright out there, a fright, and I’m not just talking about the weather.” Winston watched as a piece of tinder caught flame. Herbert blew on it and before long they had a roaring fire.
The wind had picked up since Herbert arrived. It blew hard, tossing debris against the windowpanes and causing the house to creak and shudder. Winston poured two cups of steaming spearmint tea and then grabbed a bottle of vodka. He motioned towards Herbert’s cup and tilted his head. “If I keep drinking like this every night I’m going to need a new liver,” Herbert said with a toothy grin. Winston shook his head and poured some vodka into Herbert’s tea.
The neighbors sat beneath the window and could hear the shutters slamming open and closed. Side by side on the couch they enjoyed tea and the crackling fire.
Herbert’s right knee bounced up and down. He couldn’t sit still. He kept looking towards the kitchen and then back into the fire.
“It’s beautiful isn’t it, the fire. And it’s made even more so by how wretched it is outside. I guess that’s how life is. Without ugliness there would be no beauty.” Winston patted his friend on the back.
“Say Winston, I know I still owe you from last week, but I don’t suppose I could get a bit more meat from you tonight? Just a smitten would do, just enough for the Misses to fry up a steak or two.” His knee bobbed up and down faster and his eyes were fixated on the ice box in the kitchen. Winston followed his stare and then regarded his friend closely.
“It’s just so delicious. I can’t stop thinking about sinking my teeth into it and tearing off a bite.” Winston frowned and tapped his chin. Herbert stood up, nearly spilling his tea. “I want a slab, Winston, just a measly slab! Are you so selfish that you won’t spare a morsel!?” He paced in front of his neighbor, biting at his thumb nail. Winston sighed and stood up. Once his back was to Herbert he cringed.
“I appreciate it. You know times are hard, what with all the layoffs at the factory.” Winston opened the icebox. Inside there were dozens of meat packages wrapped in white, unmarked paper. He grabbed one the size of a loaf of bread and carried it out to Herbert.
“Thank you,” Herbert said, tucking the package into his coat pocket. “I should be going, the Misses gets scared if I leave her for too long you know, especially now.” He walked to the door and then paused. “Oh, before I forget,” he handed Winston a book. “It’s ‘Great expectations’. I think you’ll like it. It’s my favorite Dickens title. Anyway, stay warm.”
Five minutes after Herbert left Winston went to the closet and took out an old shoe box. He carried it to the living room and sat in front of the fire. He removed the top. Inside were torn off pieces of notebook paper, a few tiny trinkets and a chew toy. He removed a sheet of paper, made yellow by time, and unfolded it gently. It was a letter, but for a while he just stared at it without reading the words. The snow and wind were no more and the emptiness of the house threatened to engulf him. Only the fire and its light kept the darkness at bay. He ran his hand tenderly over the words on the paper, reading snippets of the whole. “I’ll miss you,” and “take care of Spot,” were lingered on, and finally “your love, Janet Nigel.”

The following day London was greeted by the following article:

Mary Jane Kelly found dead

It was a gruesome scene for police who arrived on the east side of London, in Whitechapel. Mary Jane Kelly was found murdered, but that hardly begins to tell of the gruesomeness of the crime. The victim had dozens of gashes on her face, her breasts were cut off, organs, such as her liver, missing, her abdomen carved out and nearly 80% of her body skinned. Inspector Walter Beck had this to say: “Never in my life have I witnessed such mutilation and inhumanity. It is clear that this is the fifth victim of Jack the Ripper, and due to the increasing brutality of his crimes it is my belief that he will continue to push the limits until given reason not to. I suspect a city wide curfew will be in effect by tonight.” It is widely believed that this is the first known serial killer in London history, but perhaps more terrifying than that is the lack of suspects in the case. (Continue p3).
London mourned its victims. They had joined Winston in sorrow.

BRAVO, not bad at all.