C. L. Smear &
Spring Heeled Jack
(A Happening at Kensal Green)
Craig A. Waltman
U.S.A.
April 2019
“Unquestionably,” as Sir Smear would often say,” it has been a rather a vaporous December murk, quite dreary. Indeed, old man winter seems to be in a particularly foul mood…exceedingly contrary the old fozzle-dozzle.”
“Yes,” agreed Fladdeus, "a most sinister easterly it would appear just spoiling under its buoyant vapor.”
As he then stared with a deep shudder through the frozen windowpane Jack-Frost had just monikered with his icy quill, from within the illuminating warmth of their office on Cannon Street, (without either desiring to step out of its comfortable confines into the harshness of the winter which lurked just outside its pane).
“Truly,'" concluded Sir Smear, "only a madman would be traipsing about that…surely one would catch their death of cold. Why, I would much rather go mudlurking the River Thames than to be out upon a night like this.”
And thus the dusky twilight soon turned towards the nocturnal, and so the weather worsened, when hence Fladdeus and Sir Smear ears perceived a diminutive knock just barely echoing across their vestibule, for they were now being called upon by none other than inspector Pemberton, from Scotland Yard, in whom they called Pip. (For they were most affable, one with the other and had assisted him many times before on numerous cases, especially those tending towards the more cryptic in origin).
“Come in, come in, Pip,” said Sir Smear most companionably, "would you care for some rhubarb and hot tea, perhaps a sip of cordial to warm your frigid bones?”
And when accepting his offer, inspector Pemberton then inquired with a monotone whisper scrutinizing the room from left to right, “Were on earth is Miss Tamposy?” questioned he, just beneath his breath with a wide expression plastered across his pestered face. Now resembling he more of a wee mouse scouring the room for a wild eyed moggy, such as Wenzel, Sir Smears ocelot was he, for, indeed, she had bobbed his ears on more than one occasion for calling upon them at such lately hours.
“Needn’t fear, she’s gone for the night, old boy,” answered Sir Smear.
“Glorious, glorious,” replied Pip in his boundless relief, as if though he had just escaped a choker trap, "thanks be to the merciful stars above, and now to your previous proposal…by all means the more butter the better and fill my glass to the brim if you please!”
And so it was he began to tell them of a strange incident which had occurred just an hour before on the grounds of Kensal Green (Cemetery) and thus explained he and said, "An elderly lady by the name of Miss Prunella Brimble was walking her poultry as of late, when most frightfully she was set upon by a caped figure dawning a fedora.”
“Excuse me,” said Sir Smear in his disbelief not entirely believing his ears, “her poultry, old man, you say?”
“Yes,” replied Inspector Pemberton, "you heard it spot-on…her chicken. She walks it leashed and everything…she very much fancies the thing being a dog of sorts.” And so as he quickly scrabbled through his notes he then pointed with his finger and exclaimed,” Ah, there it is…yes, her chicken is named Miss Puff Puff. I do believe the local residents there call her the bird lady if I’m not entirely mistaking.
“Well then,” replied Sir Smear as he rolled his eyes and quiply said, "a foul (fowl) endeavor, indeed, pray chance did she get her feathers ruffled, but even still, old man, I haven’t the foggiest where you’re driving with this…by all means, go on with the details.”
“Oh well," replied Pip, "as I was just describing the poor, dear thing nearly had a coronary, as she screamed a most dreadful scream, in fact, which quite mercifully aroused the grounds keeper, and when coming to her aid the ghastly figure breathed blue flames and tore at them with what appeared to be…and I quote, ‘ As icy claws forged from steel, ‘ and, alas, when the night watchman arrived the specter fled by clearing a nine foot wall, all with a single bound mind you, and has you can plainly tell by Miss Brimble’s affidavit, she attest that he then produced what appeared to be leathery wings of sorts carrying him aloft into the night sky.
“Good heavens,” said Sir Smear, "are devils not only to be leaping but flying now!?”
“Yes,” affirmed Fladdeus, "and there seems to be one hiding behind every bush.” – him saying this, of course, with Pluckley still fresh in their minds and several other strange cases since that faithful night not a year past, as they now seen the world through newer eyes…perhaps even wiser one might say.
“But nevertheless," continued Sir Smear, "there’s nothing more fallible than human memory. Perhaps it was her assailant’s coverings that she had simple mistaking as wings; the mind very often sees what it wants to, particularly under times of duress. Shall I further add this addendum, perhaps even the poor thing could be suffering from some extreme form of pareidolia, it does not entirely exist beyond the realm of possibility.”
Then Pip, when he revealed the accounts of the grounds keeper and the night watchman, which mirrored that of Miss Brimble on every disturbing account, with the lone exclusion of her losing her chicken, of course, for it too fled away as nearly as quickly as her assailant, and Pip further expounded and said, “On the opposite of the cemetery’s wall Big Nose Mary and Typhoid Rosalie attests to the very fact of seeing what appeared to be a giant bat, winging itself off into the night’s gloomy pitch.”
“That’s an absolutely horrible way to describe someone’s proboscis,” replied Sir Smear.
“No…no, dear Sir,” clarified Pip, "she doesn’t have a bulbous snout or any such thing. In fact, it’s quite particular small; she’s just merely a busy body, sticking her nose into everyone’s business where it doesn’t belong.”
“Oh, I see,” replied Sir Smear, "that sort of person, a talebearer you say, old boy, and what’s the story on Typhoid Rosalie then?”
“It’s as her name implies,” answered Pip,” for she spreads rumors faster than the fever itself.”
Then Pip went off on a tangent and revealed, “You know she once told me to stand on a scale, for she wanted to see how much a sack of fertilizer weighed…calling me a sack full of fertilizer…most un-lady like. Why, she was given a straight razor in place of a tongue…going about cutting people like that. At the time I would’ve very much liked to have painted some lipstick to the end of my boot and gave her a good old smacker right to the posterior, but, alas, my better sensibilities overruled…being the gentleman as I am.”
And when Pip’s thoughts had retuned, for his reason being there, he further related to them and explained,” Very much the same thing was seen two nights ago, and again not a fortnight prior when two bobbies was taking to hospital with an encounter with our perpetrator…in whom we now call the Spring Heeled Jack.”
"Pure madness! Why haven’t I read anything about it in the dailies, there’s been no mention made of it?” inquired Sir Smear.
“Yes, it’s all been kept rather hush-hush, completely confidential for now, on account, of the tabloids would have a field day with it, causing a public panic…ruining Christmas no doubt, and we can’t have the queens’ subjects running about causing mayhem can we?”
“Undeniably,” said Sir Smear, "whenever you raise a mountain a valley is lowered. It would be an avalanche of utter pandemonium in the streets. Surely, we can’t have yowl tide ghouls wandering about cemeteries late at night; it would have London by the ear before mourning.”
And then Sir Smear concluded and said, "Let us finish with our rhubarb for the sauce is absolutely perfect, indeed, it is to perish for, and thenceforth we shall proceed to Kensal Green and detect this fiendish devil in which you speak…and if it be a disguise we shall unmask the dastardly villain.” And when they had concluded with their last, remaining scraps as they had sopped up all the gravy with their Cottage loaf, they thenceforth bundled and braced themselves and delved into the frozen scotch mist, and, alas ,when they arrived at Kensal Green the freezing rain had thus turned to a fluffy, wet slurry, which flickered as so many diamonds around Sir Smear’s electric lamp, when subsequently Pip marveled and said, “Scotland Yard could stand a few of those, a most marvelous device you have invented.”
"Yes, the lawn in the light of day is yours alone,” cautioned Sir Smear, “but at night it belongs to the other things which are only heard and go forever unseen. It is as the power of reason which gives us light to illuminate the mysterious, to reveal that which is hidden. I call it my electrica ingnis (electric torch).”
“Superb!” remarked Pip, “I’m usually quite blind as a bat during night, this helps ever so much.”
“I convey with all certainty,” replied Sir Smear,” that I’ve conducted an inquiry in this particular area, and I have found in my research that for every ten years beyond your twenties, that it takes twice the amount of luminosity for you to see.”
“Good heavens,” exclaimed Pip, “so that’s why I’m going blind!”
“Indeed, it is,” replied Sir Smear,” but cheer up, old boy, you’re not quite there yet, you have a few good years left in you.”
“It is my hope that the best is yet to come,” retorted Pip, "and now if I can only do something about this midriff of mine then all would be peaches and cream.”
"Certainly not diet I hope,” replied Sir Smear.
“Why not,” asked Pip,” do they not work?”
“Indeed they do,” replied Sir Smear,” you’ll loss exactly five pounds of water weight and then strap on ten pounds of lard to take its place. You must walk and exercise everyday…rain or shine, old boy, and once you achieved your fighting weight again, you’ll be in tip top condition before you know. Now let us carry on posthaste, before the Jack’s trail runs cold, for we are not here to seek out mere transgressions but to discover true crimes.”
And now with their words yet lingering in the frosty air, they hadn’t taken not more than two steps when the soft rays from their light harshly fall upon the half eaten remains of what shown to be a human thigh, when suddenly Sir Smear drew his foot back and said with a muffled gasp, “It appears our poor victim upon occasion was once dead tired, but now just plain dead. By Jove it’s been picked clean, it’s as if a school of peronei has had its way with it!”
And Pip remarked, “Why, there’s not enough left over for a freak show’s wee, pint pigmy!”
“Indubitably,” agreed Fladdeus,” and might I further state there’s not a scrap to scrape upon a fork much less to say grace over …just gristle and bare bone is all that which remains.”
“Fear not, old boys,” reassured Sir Smear,” I’ve found a spot with a bit of necrosis left on it, it appears our culprit has dug up a corpse.”
Pip likewise responded, “It is my firm hope that he doesn’t want anything fresher on the menu.”
Fladdeus, upon the brink of bewailing, warned, “It’s sure enough a tattletale sign of things to come, friends, this doesn’t bode well for us…not at all, for this is how it always starts…quite innocently at first and the more sinister the further along it gets. At times I wonder if I wasn’t born to trouble as a moth is drawn to flame. I would much rather to have both fame and fortune hunt us down and have their way with us than to face the horrors which surely lies before us.”
Sir Smear answered,” We should all rather spend the rest of our lives contented in a chantey than to be made miserable in a chateau, however, that is not to be our lot in life, therefore, we should disregard the reports of our demise, for without question they have all been greatly overstated habitually. You shall see tomorrow will be as the day before, the clouds will part and the sun will yet again raise in the morning.”
“If not on our coffins,” replied Pip as he pretended to cough,” I can only imagine one fate worse than this poor bloke, and that would be having the dubious distinction of a disease being named after you.”
“Let us postpone these charming opinions,” replied Sir Smear, for now we must proceed to the very spot with no dilly…no dally, and so shall we discover this son of perdition.”
And thus concealing their apprehension they probed on into the slushy, wet darkness betwixt the mausoleums and headstones, through its snow covered path, which unbeknownst to them had filled a pothole, which Sir Smear then promptly stumbled in falling over the head of a tombstone.
“Great-Earth-Erupting-Flaming-Krakatoa,” shouted Fladdeus, "are you uninjured, Sir; are you quite alright!?”
And as Sir Smear stood upon his feet now clutching a bristly rose in his left hand he exclaimed whilst biting his lip, “Adams curse, nature’s bayonet, I do believe I grasped a winter rose by its thorns!” And then he quoted,”’ A rose by any other name is still a rose,’ now pull this infernal thing off for it is growing intolerably insufferable!”
And as they were doing so, they all heard something rustling about just beyond the edge of Sir Smear’s electric light, which made all the hackles upon the hind of their necks stand to attention, when nextly Sir Smear said, "I do believe my ears detect a kerfuffle in the holly bush," and as they all skulked over sauntering on their tiptoes, they rung its berried branches, and thus Sir Smear throwing caution to the wind reached in and grabbed holt of the disturbance by its flanks, which had just as quickly exploded into thrashing wings making such a wildly clamor as if it was being eaten alive by some ravenous beast, when hence Sir Smear leisurely turned to them holding the plumpest, little, scarfed chicken to his woolen breast, with a pink leash still dangling from its feathered neck as he expressed, “Why, its Miss Brimble’s darling Puff Puff, no less. We feared you plucked, singed, and roasted by now…do calm down, old girl, everything will be right as rain.” When suddenly from atop the wall their confabulations were interrupted by the most insane laughter the three had ever heard.
For now with blazing eyes of red, a dark form only known as the Spring Heeled Jack peered down upon them with his slender, garish face contorted by the most sinister smile (resembling he more of a corpse than the living), and that which was abiding around him was a fusty damp rottenness with just a hint of sulfurous brimstone to blunt its moldy flavoring.
“Oh dear, Sir,” exclaimed Fladdeus,” it appears we’re in a spot of trouble, do pray for my nerves if you will!?”
“Don’t be such a nervous Nellie, Fladdeus,” admonished Sir Smear, “now is not the time to have another one of your stress storms, old chum.”
And as he was whirling his lamp as to better see the figure, the fiend leapt upon them, tossing Fladdeus and Pip aside as if they weighed as hollow tins, as he now went for Sir Smear’s pounding jugular, knocking his lantern to the ground as it sat there spinning like a top, when Miss Puff Puff yet again escaped whilst flogging their attacker in his face with her lashing wings, and once again taking her leave into the shrubbery, when suddenly with a boxer’s speed Sir Smear gave the Jack a firm, right cross square to his skeletal jaw, as too all three now seeing their chance piled upon him. But, alas, it availed them not, for the Spring Heeled Jack slipped them with but a single jerk, leaving them as a pile of unlaundered vestments stacked one upon the other now disappearing he upward…vertically without a trace.
“Great Scott!” said Sir Smear, "he has the agility of a jackal and the strength of ten men! He’s bested us without lifting a finger and the game is not even afoot. If one didn’t know better you would believe he was dolling with us.”
“Yes,” affirmed Fladdeus, "it seems he received his Masters of Mischief from the devil himself. We all had a dead man’s grip on him, and yet we could not hold him fast.”
“It is true,” said Pip, as he was wiping his hands with his handkerchief, "he was as holding a smarmy ice sickle, it was as a chill to my bones…frost unto my marrow, the most awful sensation I’ve ever fingered…most disagreeable it was.”
And quite reasonably the offense was unutterable, and thus all grimly agreed with Pip’s observation, for they had come to the same dread conclusion that they were now dealing with something entirely unnatural. “Well then,” said Sir Smear,” one thing is for certain, a lunatic and their sanity are soon parted, and if hell exists in any particular locality then most assuredly this is its physical address.”
And then laying hold to his throbbing fist Sir Smear exclaimed, "I do believe I’ve broken every bone in it, it was like striking a cast iron skillet but all the harder.”
“Are you sure, Sir, “asked Fladdeus,” perhaps you just merely dislocated it?”
“Quite sure,” replied Sir Smear, "and with all hyperbole aside it rather feels much like a sack full of broken crackers right now.”
“Dear Lord” said Pip, "I can see it swelling as we speak!”
“As well as I, it’s as a pulsing thrombus!” too added Fladdeus.
“Yes” bemoaned Sir Smear, "the past may, indeed, be buried, but however, it lives on in our scars and is no less forgotten. Therefore, friends let us not dwell upon this mere trifle, for I have suffered far worse…I’m terribly sure in the proceeding weeks to come I’ll shall be sorely reminded of it continually. Now chins forward, old boys, there will be time enough later for its writhing torment.”
Then Pip whispered to Fladdeus, "Is not Sir Smear afraid of anything?”
“Only the mailbox,” replied Fladdues, "he refers to it as the oblong of horror, only because he doesn’t want to see what kind of devils are dancing around in it. He very much checks it like a hairy hand is waiting just inside ready to grasp his the moment it cracks.”
“Bills you mean, quite understandable," replied Pip, "a very familiar feeling, indeed. Money is so very hard to find yet so easy to lose isn’t it…the pursuit of gold will run you to death don’t you know. I’ve worn through many of a shoe myself, the blisters upon my soles bears testament to that.”
And so it was, Sir Smear having the best look upon their assailant was now under the strong impression that he was somehow acquainted with the villain, even through his terribly emaciated, sunken face was there not to be some brief fragment of recognition, even as he pondered him to be the leanest scoundrel anyone had ever seen, but even still Sir Smear couldn’t dispel the thought no matter how hard he tried, when hence he remembered within that fleeting instant that, in fact, the villain spoke his name and then pleaded and said,” I beg of you, please help me, Lo!?”
That is until he heard a greater voice which commanded him and said, “You Had Better Fasten Your Filthy Flap Before I Nail It Shut!!!”
And by reason of this Sir Smear therefore surmised the heart of the fiend was to be akin to a divided kingdom, for there were two distinct personalities which now resided within him: The greater one and the lesser one, the master and its slave. When then Sir Smear appearing greatly sullen softly aired, "I do believe London’s very own Spring Heeled Jack is none other than Ferrell Pine, I thought I would never hear his voice again.”
“However do you know,” inquired Pip, “is this to be some sort of prophetic word…are you certain of this?”
“Absolutely,” resounded Sir Smear, “beyond a shadow of a doubt…and you may call it what you will.”
Then Fladdeus besought the most obvious question, “Pray tell, Sir, who on earth is Ferrell Pine?”
“Why, he was an old chum of mine,” replied Sir Smear,” from seminar…from another time…another world now so long ago. Oh, we were once as close as brothers, we were as parchment and ink, hot tea and crumpets, and, of course, he was the only one whoever addressed me by that name, he never once called me by my first.”
“Good heavens,” said Pip,” were you to be a man of the cloth, in my wildest dreams I would have never imagined…whatever did happen?”
“Yes, the dreams of youth,” replied Sir Smear, "die hard. We wanted to be as Livingston and change the world, to make it a better place, but such is life that I soon found myself tangled in the affairs of others.”
And then with a far off look he said,” Indeed, through the course of uncharted events, which can only be plotted until after they occur…once they’re submerged by the boundless sea of time never again to raise…or so we presume.”
And once the rumination had lost its hold he said, "Forgive me, I digress… last I heard he was a missionary unto the natives of Canada… after which I lost track of him completely, that is until recently when I received a most alarming post from him, where he made mention that he’s been dwelling among the Nuxalk Indians, in Bella Coola, in the queen’s province of British Columbia, and now it seems the settlement he’s been missioning in is being afflicted by some malevolent spirit, in which the natives reason to be a wendigo. His letter further stated that their burial ground had been violated by a prospector by the name of Simon Mandrose, and what he described as a Skin Walker (evil witch) had placed a curse upon him.”
And then Sir Smear mourned and said, “My poor, poor, dear Fay, (Ferrell Pine’s nickname –Fay for raven, on account, his hair was jet black, of course) whatever did happen to you my old, friend? Indeed, you were elected most likely to be martyred, but not in such a way as this.”
“Whatever is a wendigo?” inquired Pip.
“Yes,” second Fladdeus,” do tell.”
“If my understanding is correct, and, of course, it is,” replied Sir Smear, "a wendigo is a spirit, which can, in fact, take possession of a man, thus giving him an insatiable appetite for human flesh.”
“Great Maker, a Christmas ghoul!” replied Pip.
“Quite naturally,” continued Sir Smear, “and from my further readings upon the subject, it appears by merely placing something as a silver coin in its mouth should do the trick, curing the effects of his psychosis, or in whichever case it may be…driving the evil spirit from him.”
“That is if we can live long enough to put one in, “responded Fladdeus,” for he possesses many times our strength, and now you with a broken hand we’re down to but two.”
“Yes, it seems,” replied Pip,” we shall all be just as dead as all those who reside here in Kensal Green if we fail to do so this night. If I didn’t see it with my own two eyes I wouldn’t Believe it…I wish I hadn’t. Just a mere moment ago I would have said utter tosh, tosh, pure piffle, and as the yanks say, ‘It pays no dollars but it makes cents’…perfect sense. I surely won’t be breathing a word of this if I survive… the intelligentsia of London would think me a laughingstock are worse.”
"Certainly,” reassured Sir Smear, “our names are not in tomorrow’s obituary just yet.”
“That’ll take a miracle replied Pip, (now accented with his pessimistic inflection), "I was all ready to take a holiday…Not A Permanent One!”
“Indeed," said Sir Smear, “our lives are but transitory here, ghosts through the mist are we too soon to be apparitions of yesterday, but hear me now that day has not yet arrived.”
And as Pip now too rolled his eyes back into their sockets while flapping his lips upon the wind of his sigh, Fladdeus then questioned, “However did he come to such a lowly state?”
And thusly Sir Smear related to them and summarized the disturbing contents of his latter, clarifying the more relatively important parts and explained, “There was a wondering, Navajo shaman, who was for the lack of a better term called the Skin Walker, which had begun to plague the district with all manner of mishap and blunder and the least of his offenses not being impropriety. Of course, all these events hinge upon the tenet that the Nuxalk would not accept him…in fact, they made it a point to shun him completely, and for reason of his affliction he blamed Fay entirely. Latter in his letter the Wonderer bonds and buries alive Simon Mandrose in the Nuxalk burial ground, only after placing a curse upon him, that in his death he should rise again as a Wendigo, and in so doing acting as his proxy, to exact his revenge upon the living, and so he did, and at this vocation he proved to be a maestro without equal…that is until Fay exorcised the evil spirit from him, and thus Simon Mandrose fall stone dead (for, of course, he had previously expired from suffocation from his grizzly internment). And it is my conjecture the spirit then fled into the nearest person (Fay)…not desiring to be disembodied, and it is also my belief since it was uninvited it could not take control over Fay…no, not all at once, but gradually as Fay made mention of this, that he was experiencing momentary blackouts, and that, in fact, he was soon returning to England before they worsened. And it is also my belief he hasn’t inkling of a shadow as to what happened to him, but, however, since then I’ve been investigating several rather old, Latin manuscripts which bare remarkable similarities.”
Then afterwards Sir Smear included this little caveat and said, "How can two walk together unless they agree, this is the very reason why he hasn’t killed yet. For it is my conjecture, that Fay now only exists in the creature’s subconscious and is fast losing hold, drifting further and further away as a planet shaking its satellite into the black abyss of space. Soon I fear he will be no more and only then shall the creature will remain with no restraint…God help us then.”
And as he was saying this there became a stillness in the wind, when just then Pip complained and said,” Will you just take a look at me, I’m shaking like a Quaker.” And as he was getting ready to place his pipe to his pucker to take a long and well deserved draw as to untangle the knot in his stomach, when suddenly they all began to hear a musical menace piercing the frigid air…it was the Spring Heeled Jack singing a murderous song with blood in his eye…and thus the ghoulish minstrel’s tune began like this, "Greetings, greetings all, my fine fellows bright and tall are ye…what bonnie lads so proud and strong I perceive…my wanton glimmers are abiding upon thee and this is what they spy: Lungs, livers, brains, and gizzards I’ll have my fill of flesh, and what shall become of your lost souls you may suppose…they shall be mine and mine alone to possess…to possess forevermore and to do with what I will for, alas, your precious Fay has gone to rest, the kip of the dead. Slumber…slumber away now my fair prince in death never again to stir. Hmm…what is this I hear…the ringing of a dinner bell? Now I hope you fancy your pressed shirts so crisp and smooth for they will be the last your bodies ever fit. Oh, how time flies tick-tock-tick-tock goes the great mocker of men to thwart your vanity, to dash your pride, for presently it’s time for me to circumcise your Adams-apples…who then shall be first? Oh, decisions, decisions, toll and bother I really can’t decide!”
And thus he began to whistle an elegy as he contemplated their fate.
“Are you listening to what I’m listening to?’’ Fladdeus nervously asked.
“It’s definitely not a figment of our imagination.” replied Sir Smear.
“What on earth,” inquired Pip,"is that horrid tune he’s butchering away at, anyhow?”
“It rather very much sounds,” answered Sir Smear, "to be Frederic Chopin’s, Marche Funebre, somewhere around the 3rd movement of his piano sonata, in B-flat minor… for verbatim if I’m not mistaking.”
And hence they heard the villain quoted,” When the stars threw down their spears and watered heaven with their tears: Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the lamb make thee?’…and me? For I am the Spring Heeled Jack, the terror which lurks the night… London shall bend her knee to mine…her crown shall be beneath my talus (heel) until my fearful fame is made renown throughout the nations of men…shall I be the crooked stave through their hearts until my revenge is made whole.”
And at his conclusion’s end Sir Smear said, "I do believe there’s a bit of Blake’s Tyger in which he recited in his rhetoric.”
Then being greatly alarmed fearing the Jack’s verdict was now upon them Sir Smear yelled, "Hold fast, men, he’s gone to ground as a lost screw…he’s hit it running! Behold, he’s nearly upon us, lads!"
And thusly poor Fladdeus lamented, "It seems we’re just all dying to get out of this world!”
And likewise Pip agreed and further added, “If the good Lord tarries it won’t be much in the waiting now!”
And oh, if Pip only had eyes within the fury nest of his bold spot he would have seen the fiend this time circumventing he and Fladdeus altogether, as the Spring Heeled Jack did a running lunge head long towards Sir Smear, when he yet again stepped off into the same pothole stumbling he backward to the ground with his face skyward just as his attacker was passing him by in midair, now sailing he onward to split a tombstone with his skull…very much making he the sound of a ten pound hammer striking a brick wall with all its furious might. And then just as quickly was heard Fladdeus slapping his hands together as he exclaimed,” Sir, we’ve been dealt a saving grace!”
And so it was as the Jack laid there sprawled and unconscious upon a grave when Sir Smear beckoned, “Quickly, before he wakes, does anyone have any silver, all I have are these accursed notes?”
"I’ll slip him a “joey” (three pence)," responded Pip.
And as he was frantically riffling through his pockets, all he could find was a lone crown, and as he miserly continued to search for his three pence when suddenly Sir Smear said in his incredulity, 'Good heavens, man, forgive my parlance…now isn’t the time to be a skinflint, just put the bloody thing in. I’ll reimburse you forthwith…now wrench his mouth open, Fladdeus, and, Pip, quit being such an Ebenezer about it!”
And as poor Fladdeus tugged and pulled, pulled and pried with what seemed to last an eternity of horror on hold in its perfect perpetuity and said, "Blasted, it feels as if his mouth has been wired shut, it will not budge in the least no matter how hard I try.”
And so Fladdeus now with Pip’s aid fought a good bout as they continued to pry, and pried they did until it felt though as all their fingers were pricked and flowed as red. When, alas, it was as if they were drowning in their own tearful waters of despair, near verging upon all hope faltering as most frightfully the Jack had begun to stir, as directly his eyes had begun to flutter in their glaring wake, as too his foul lips had begun to snarl in protest against their actions. Then Fladdeus said, “Just a second more, Sir, it’s almost there now.”
As Pip confirmed his feeling and spoke, "I felt it give a little…for heaven sakes pull with everything you got!”
And was there not then heard a most merciful snap, and thus the Jack’s clenched mandible slowly creaked open now very much sounding as an unoiled hinge in its sweetly release.
“Gracious heavens, thank you!” praised Fladdeus, as all at once the Jack’s rotten maw opened wide as some great, ghastly door baring its many angry rows of seriated teeth, when then Pip nearly recoiling, almost hesitating from the sight popped it in and said, “What is that the yanks say?...Oh yes…Now that’s that,” as he then procured a lengthy snort from the little flask he obtained from his coats inner pocket, and thus he concluded to them and said as he pinched his nose, “Never mind me, boys, this is just to steady my nerves and all…besides, I’ve been feeling a bit knackered since this whole affair has gone to pot.”
And just as quickly the Jack had begun to froth and wildly convulse, when Sir Smear urged them on with this admonition and said, “Gentlemen, for as nature this creature abhors a vacuum…at all times we must have our backs towards it, we mustn’t allow our gaze to fall upon its evil eye in the least, for that is where the spirit will enter through…you must remain diligent in this, men.”
And Fladdeus orated as if he was working it out in his mind aloud and said, “If the axiom holds true: The eyes are, indeed, the gateway to the soul, it would certainly necessitate that this one has a rather, particular, nasty one inside.”
And thusly all heeded Sir Smears warning, even until after the Jack’s frothing had ceased for, alas, the evil had departed from him with the shrillest scream of blood, curdling death which rattled all the wax from within their ears.
“Good Lord,” said Pip, “it sounded like a thousand demons being thrown into holy water!”
When next Sir Smear shushed him and asked, “Do you not hear that?”
And as all three strained to listen when then Fay now solicited pushing the coin out with his lips with a silvery clink upon the broken headstone, "Lo, is that you old friend?”
And thus Sir Smear warmly replied as he wiped a tear from his cheek before it became lost in his sideburn, "Yes Fay, it is I old friend…it is Lotharion."
Then Fay asked Sir Smear, "Where am I? It’s all been a foggy cloudland filled with so many empty hours, empty days…why does the wind seem so much colder now?”
“You’re in London old friend,” replied Sir Smear, "alas, you’re at home, and yes we’ve grown older since our last parting…the skin is not as thick as it used to be don’t you know.”
"Yes,” responded Fay, "the keepers of the house tremble (the legs), the grinders have softened (the teeth), and the windows unto the soul have darkened (the eyes).”
“Unquestionably,” replied Sir Smear,” the grass withers and the flower fades, but no worries now we shall take care of you.”
And as they were leaving they again gathered Miss Puff Puff as Sir Smear once more greeted her and said, "Hello again lady bird, if we’re not being tormented by some critter we’re being rescued by one. Surely as I Miss Brimble will be the happiest one when she sees you again…now since our legs are leaving it would be best to follow…come along old girl.”
And thus they closed the gate and left the horrors of Kensal Green behind them. And, alas, when the sun shone in the morning all four were gathered together in their office rehashing over old times both good and bad when Sir Smear said, “Fay, the past at times can be a frightful lane to travel…best not to linger there too long.”
“Yes,” replied Fay, "it’s a wonder how we ever survived; it’s a wonder if anyone survives. You remember once upon that dare we ate from that bloated can of chick peas and nearly succumbed to its putrid contents…botulism wasn’t it?”
"How can I not,” replied Sir Smear, “for it was nearly as bad as the time I contracted ptomaine in the orient. Certainly, Fay old boy, if we can survive that we can survive anything.”
Then Fay recalled and said, “Such as the time you fell shoe leather upended straight down a well after eating too many rum balls…the Dean’s Missis surely thought she had killed you (for she had mistakenly used too much rum in their making) if that rope hadn’t lassoed around your ankle you would have surely broken your neck, for that old well was dryer than the Sahara desert at its bottom.”
“True, “replied Sir Smear,” it branded me for life…I still have the rope burn to this very day.”
And so it was as they warmly reminisced on and on, story after story as Pip and Fladdeus eagerly listened away, when then Miss Tamposy arrived a bit prematurely for work, earlier than usual for, of course, she was never really past her time, when thenceforth she thundered in her raspy, high pitched voice, “Mercy me…are you partaking of buddy beers, and what is this…Christmas crackers and crowns upon your heads I see!?”
Then taking an instant drawing in a deep breath she noticed and exclaimed, "Good heavens, Sir, why is your hand in a cast, and why is that chicken roosting on your desk!?... Never mind…I don’t want to even know. I’m terrible sure it’s one of your monsters yet again…how absolutely dreadful, and If you think I’m going to clean this pigsty, you’re sadly mistaking. Now look at what you’ve done…I’m swooning with the vapors again…the second time this week, no less! Now, I must go and lie down and recline myself, and when I’ve gathered my wits about me, I want everything to be spick and span and in good and proper working order, and most definitely of all I want that chicken to be vacated from these premises and out of my misery as soon as practical.”
And as she was leaving the room whilst stumping her feet she pretended to be muttering to herself, but really she was murmuring against them for she wanted them to hear every last word, every jot and tittle of it, "Certainly, they will be the cause of my death someday, when and where I know not how but the day fast approaches. Here it is not even Christmas morn…not even dear Saint Stephen’s Day yet. Why, they have all the nerve and if I wasn’t such a lady I would give them a real piece of my mind…Good day gentlemen!”
And before she could slam the door upon them Sir Smear asked, "Would you care for some truffles, they’re quite scrumptious today?”
And Miss Tamposy railed, "You know I can’t stand mushrooms, I absolutely detest the things! Why one would be compelled to put mold into ones mouth is beyond me.”
And so she huffed and left the room, alas, slamming the door, dismounting two pictures from their place and smashing one upon the floor. Then Sir Smear surveyed all of them and questioned, “Whatever would we do without her?”
“Indeed, Sir,” replied Fladdeus, “she’s the light of our lives.”
And Pip added, “She has the tenacity of a badger and yet a warm, fuzzy feeling much like a mole burrowing under your skin, however do you put up with her?”
“Keeping her in her present situation you mean?” replied Sir Smear, "She reminds me of an old drill officer I once had, a no nonsense kind of fellow he was…old blood and guts we used to call him, for once he charged a trench holding nothing but a pitchfork in one hand and his regimental colours in the other.”
“Why, I would rather face another monster any day then to be on her bad side,” retorted Pip.
“That she is,” answered Sir Smear with a boyish glint in his eye, "She runs a tight ship…there’s nothing like a real Captain Bligh to keep the old mind sharp.”
“Well then,” replied Pip, “Puff Puff has endured long enough being parted from her lady friend…I best be on my way with her now. I’ll drop the little darling over Miss Brimble’s place, and I’ll give her your best regards…until we meet again, Sir, and a Merry Christmas if I don’t see you before.”
“And a very Merry Christmas, “replied Sir Smear, "and good health to you and yours and may they be long in its keeping, and I would be remiss not to further say: Stay sunny side up, old boy, for behold after the long night and only then when you’ve been through the darkness can you truly see the light…the glory of dawn in all its splendor."
And, alas, when they had all tipped their paper crowns in their warmly farewell Sir Smear said, ”Excuse us, Fay old boy, come along Fladdeus, let’s strike the candle at its mean for when a candle burns twice as bright it only lasts half as long. Now let’s get this entirely put away with no dilly…no dally and presto it will be done…that is before Miss Tamposy wakes and then there shall be most certainly the devil to pay if it’s not."
And thus Sir Smear thought better and said, “But for now let us finish with our tipsy laird and then we shall start.”
“Agreed,” replied Fladdeus,” for there is none which tastes better in all the queen’s realms.”
“Here, here, old man,” replied Sir Smear, "well said and well done.”
And they all rose their glasses to a toast and said, "To our fairest queen and country…may the oceans which carry them never dry!”
The End
Spring Heeled Jack
(A Happening at Kensal Green)
Craig A. Waltman
U.S.A.
April 2019
“Unquestionably,” as Sir Smear would often say,” it has been a rather a vaporous December murk, quite dreary. Indeed, old man winter seems to be in a particularly foul mood…exceedingly contrary the old fozzle-dozzle.”
“Yes,” agreed Fladdeus, "a most sinister easterly it would appear just spoiling under its buoyant vapor.”
As he then stared with a deep shudder through the frozen windowpane Jack-Frost had just monikered with his icy quill, from within the illuminating warmth of their office on Cannon Street, (without either desiring to step out of its comfortable confines into the harshness of the winter which lurked just outside its pane).
“Truly,'" concluded Sir Smear, "only a madman would be traipsing about that…surely one would catch their death of cold. Why, I would much rather go mudlurking the River Thames than to be out upon a night like this.”
And thus the dusky twilight soon turned towards the nocturnal, and so the weather worsened, when hence Fladdeus and Sir Smear ears perceived a diminutive knock just barely echoing across their vestibule, for they were now being called upon by none other than inspector Pemberton, from Scotland Yard, in whom they called Pip. (For they were most affable, one with the other and had assisted him many times before on numerous cases, especially those tending towards the more cryptic in origin).
“Come in, come in, Pip,” said Sir Smear most companionably, "would you care for some rhubarb and hot tea, perhaps a sip of cordial to warm your frigid bones?”
And when accepting his offer, inspector Pemberton then inquired with a monotone whisper scrutinizing the room from left to right, “Were on earth is Miss Tamposy?” questioned he, just beneath his breath with a wide expression plastered across his pestered face. Now resembling he more of a wee mouse scouring the room for a wild eyed moggy, such as Wenzel, Sir Smears ocelot was he, for, indeed, she had bobbed his ears on more than one occasion for calling upon them at such lately hours.
“Needn’t fear, she’s gone for the night, old boy,” answered Sir Smear.
“Glorious, glorious,” replied Pip in his boundless relief, as if though he had just escaped a choker trap, "thanks be to the merciful stars above, and now to your previous proposal…by all means the more butter the better and fill my glass to the brim if you please!”
And so it was he began to tell them of a strange incident which had occurred just an hour before on the grounds of Kensal Green (Cemetery) and thus explained he and said, "An elderly lady by the name of Miss Prunella Brimble was walking her poultry as of late, when most frightfully she was set upon by a caped figure dawning a fedora.”
“Excuse me,” said Sir Smear in his disbelief not entirely believing his ears, “her poultry, old man, you say?”
“Yes,” replied Inspector Pemberton, "you heard it spot-on…her chicken. She walks it leashed and everything…she very much fancies the thing being a dog of sorts.” And so as he quickly scrabbled through his notes he then pointed with his finger and exclaimed,” Ah, there it is…yes, her chicken is named Miss Puff Puff. I do believe the local residents there call her the bird lady if I’m not entirely mistaking.
“Well then,” replied Sir Smear as he rolled his eyes and quiply said, "a foul (fowl) endeavor, indeed, pray chance did she get her feathers ruffled, but even still, old man, I haven’t the foggiest where you’re driving with this…by all means, go on with the details.”
“Oh well," replied Pip, "as I was just describing the poor, dear thing nearly had a coronary, as she screamed a most dreadful scream, in fact, which quite mercifully aroused the grounds keeper, and when coming to her aid the ghastly figure breathed blue flames and tore at them with what appeared to be…and I quote, ‘ As icy claws forged from steel, ‘ and, alas, when the night watchman arrived the specter fled by clearing a nine foot wall, all with a single bound mind you, and has you can plainly tell by Miss Brimble’s affidavit, she attest that he then produced what appeared to be leathery wings of sorts carrying him aloft into the night sky.
“Good heavens,” said Sir Smear, "are devils not only to be leaping but flying now!?”
“Yes,” affirmed Fladdeus, "and there seems to be one hiding behind every bush.” – him saying this, of course, with Pluckley still fresh in their minds and several other strange cases since that faithful night not a year past, as they now seen the world through newer eyes…perhaps even wiser one might say.
“But nevertheless," continued Sir Smear, "there’s nothing more fallible than human memory. Perhaps it was her assailant’s coverings that she had simple mistaking as wings; the mind very often sees what it wants to, particularly under times of duress. Shall I further add this addendum, perhaps even the poor thing could be suffering from some extreme form of pareidolia, it does not entirely exist beyond the realm of possibility.”
Then Pip, when he revealed the accounts of the grounds keeper and the night watchman, which mirrored that of Miss Brimble on every disturbing account, with the lone exclusion of her losing her chicken, of course, for it too fled away as nearly as quickly as her assailant, and Pip further expounded and said, “On the opposite of the cemetery’s wall Big Nose Mary and Typhoid Rosalie attests to the very fact of seeing what appeared to be a giant bat, winging itself off into the night’s gloomy pitch.”
“That’s an absolutely horrible way to describe someone’s proboscis,” replied Sir Smear.
“No…no, dear Sir,” clarified Pip, "she doesn’t have a bulbous snout or any such thing. In fact, it’s quite particular small; she’s just merely a busy body, sticking her nose into everyone’s business where it doesn’t belong.”
“Oh, I see,” replied Sir Smear, "that sort of person, a talebearer you say, old boy, and what’s the story on Typhoid Rosalie then?”
“It’s as her name implies,” answered Pip,” for she spreads rumors faster than the fever itself.”
Then Pip went off on a tangent and revealed, “You know she once told me to stand on a scale, for she wanted to see how much a sack of fertilizer weighed…calling me a sack full of fertilizer…most un-lady like. Why, she was given a straight razor in place of a tongue…going about cutting people like that. At the time I would’ve very much liked to have painted some lipstick to the end of my boot and gave her a good old smacker right to the posterior, but, alas, my better sensibilities overruled…being the gentleman as I am.”
And when Pip’s thoughts had retuned, for his reason being there, he further related to them and explained,” Very much the same thing was seen two nights ago, and again not a fortnight prior when two bobbies was taking to hospital with an encounter with our perpetrator…in whom we now call the Spring Heeled Jack.”
"Pure madness! Why haven’t I read anything about it in the dailies, there’s been no mention made of it?” inquired Sir Smear.
“Yes, it’s all been kept rather hush-hush, completely confidential for now, on account, of the tabloids would have a field day with it, causing a public panic…ruining Christmas no doubt, and we can’t have the queens’ subjects running about causing mayhem can we?”
“Undeniably,” said Sir Smear, "whenever you raise a mountain a valley is lowered. It would be an avalanche of utter pandemonium in the streets. Surely, we can’t have yowl tide ghouls wandering about cemeteries late at night; it would have London by the ear before mourning.”
And then Sir Smear concluded and said, "Let us finish with our rhubarb for the sauce is absolutely perfect, indeed, it is to perish for, and thenceforth we shall proceed to Kensal Green and detect this fiendish devil in which you speak…and if it be a disguise we shall unmask the dastardly villain.” And when they had concluded with their last, remaining scraps as they had sopped up all the gravy with their Cottage loaf, they thenceforth bundled and braced themselves and delved into the frozen scotch mist, and, alas ,when they arrived at Kensal Green the freezing rain had thus turned to a fluffy, wet slurry, which flickered as so many diamonds around Sir Smear’s electric lamp, when subsequently Pip marveled and said, “Scotland Yard could stand a few of those, a most marvelous device you have invented.”
"Yes, the lawn in the light of day is yours alone,” cautioned Sir Smear, “but at night it belongs to the other things which are only heard and go forever unseen. It is as the power of reason which gives us light to illuminate the mysterious, to reveal that which is hidden. I call it my electrica ingnis (electric torch).”
“Superb!” remarked Pip, “I’m usually quite blind as a bat during night, this helps ever so much.”
“I convey with all certainty,” replied Sir Smear,” that I’ve conducted an inquiry in this particular area, and I have found in my research that for every ten years beyond your twenties, that it takes twice the amount of luminosity for you to see.”
“Good heavens,” exclaimed Pip, “so that’s why I’m going blind!”
“Indeed, it is,” replied Sir Smear,” but cheer up, old boy, you’re not quite there yet, you have a few good years left in you.”
“It is my hope that the best is yet to come,” retorted Pip, "and now if I can only do something about this midriff of mine then all would be peaches and cream.”
"Certainly not diet I hope,” replied Sir Smear.
“Why not,” asked Pip,” do they not work?”
“Indeed they do,” replied Sir Smear,” you’ll loss exactly five pounds of water weight and then strap on ten pounds of lard to take its place. You must walk and exercise everyday…rain or shine, old boy, and once you achieved your fighting weight again, you’ll be in tip top condition before you know. Now let us carry on posthaste, before the Jack’s trail runs cold, for we are not here to seek out mere transgressions but to discover true crimes.”
And now with their words yet lingering in the frosty air, they hadn’t taken not more than two steps when the soft rays from their light harshly fall upon the half eaten remains of what shown to be a human thigh, when suddenly Sir Smear drew his foot back and said with a muffled gasp, “It appears our poor victim upon occasion was once dead tired, but now just plain dead. By Jove it’s been picked clean, it’s as if a school of peronei has had its way with it!”
And Pip remarked, “Why, there’s not enough left over for a freak show’s wee, pint pigmy!”
“Indubitably,” agreed Fladdeus,” and might I further state there’s not a scrap to scrape upon a fork much less to say grace over …just gristle and bare bone is all that which remains.”
“Fear not, old boys,” reassured Sir Smear,” I’ve found a spot with a bit of necrosis left on it, it appears our culprit has dug up a corpse.”
Pip likewise responded, “It is my firm hope that he doesn’t want anything fresher on the menu.”
Fladdeus, upon the brink of bewailing, warned, “It’s sure enough a tattletale sign of things to come, friends, this doesn’t bode well for us…not at all, for this is how it always starts…quite innocently at first and the more sinister the further along it gets. At times I wonder if I wasn’t born to trouble as a moth is drawn to flame. I would much rather to have both fame and fortune hunt us down and have their way with us than to face the horrors which surely lies before us.”
Sir Smear answered,” We should all rather spend the rest of our lives contented in a chantey than to be made miserable in a chateau, however, that is not to be our lot in life, therefore, we should disregard the reports of our demise, for without question they have all been greatly overstated habitually. You shall see tomorrow will be as the day before, the clouds will part and the sun will yet again raise in the morning.”
“If not on our coffins,” replied Pip as he pretended to cough,” I can only imagine one fate worse than this poor bloke, and that would be having the dubious distinction of a disease being named after you.”
“Let us postpone these charming opinions,” replied Sir Smear, for now we must proceed to the very spot with no dilly…no dally, and so shall we discover this son of perdition.”
And thus concealing their apprehension they probed on into the slushy, wet darkness betwixt the mausoleums and headstones, through its snow covered path, which unbeknownst to them had filled a pothole, which Sir Smear then promptly stumbled in falling over the head of a tombstone.
“Great-Earth-Erupting-Flaming-Krakatoa,” shouted Fladdeus, "are you uninjured, Sir; are you quite alright!?”
And as Sir Smear stood upon his feet now clutching a bristly rose in his left hand he exclaimed whilst biting his lip, “Adams curse, nature’s bayonet, I do believe I grasped a winter rose by its thorns!” And then he quoted,”’ A rose by any other name is still a rose,’ now pull this infernal thing off for it is growing intolerably insufferable!”
And as they were doing so, they all heard something rustling about just beyond the edge of Sir Smear’s electric light, which made all the hackles upon the hind of their necks stand to attention, when nextly Sir Smear said, "I do believe my ears detect a kerfuffle in the holly bush," and as they all skulked over sauntering on their tiptoes, they rung its berried branches, and thus Sir Smear throwing caution to the wind reached in and grabbed holt of the disturbance by its flanks, which had just as quickly exploded into thrashing wings making such a wildly clamor as if it was being eaten alive by some ravenous beast, when hence Sir Smear leisurely turned to them holding the plumpest, little, scarfed chicken to his woolen breast, with a pink leash still dangling from its feathered neck as he expressed, “Why, its Miss Brimble’s darling Puff Puff, no less. We feared you plucked, singed, and roasted by now…do calm down, old girl, everything will be right as rain.” When suddenly from atop the wall their confabulations were interrupted by the most insane laughter the three had ever heard.
For now with blazing eyes of red, a dark form only known as the Spring Heeled Jack peered down upon them with his slender, garish face contorted by the most sinister smile (resembling he more of a corpse than the living), and that which was abiding around him was a fusty damp rottenness with just a hint of sulfurous brimstone to blunt its moldy flavoring.
“Oh dear, Sir,” exclaimed Fladdeus,” it appears we’re in a spot of trouble, do pray for my nerves if you will!?”
“Don’t be such a nervous Nellie, Fladdeus,” admonished Sir Smear, “now is not the time to have another one of your stress storms, old chum.”
And as he was whirling his lamp as to better see the figure, the fiend leapt upon them, tossing Fladdeus and Pip aside as if they weighed as hollow tins, as he now went for Sir Smear’s pounding jugular, knocking his lantern to the ground as it sat there spinning like a top, when Miss Puff Puff yet again escaped whilst flogging their attacker in his face with her lashing wings, and once again taking her leave into the shrubbery, when suddenly with a boxer’s speed Sir Smear gave the Jack a firm, right cross square to his skeletal jaw, as too all three now seeing their chance piled upon him. But, alas, it availed them not, for the Spring Heeled Jack slipped them with but a single jerk, leaving them as a pile of unlaundered vestments stacked one upon the other now disappearing he upward…vertically without a trace.
“Great Scott!” said Sir Smear, "he has the agility of a jackal and the strength of ten men! He’s bested us without lifting a finger and the game is not even afoot. If one didn’t know better you would believe he was dolling with us.”
“Yes,” affirmed Fladdeus, "it seems he received his Masters of Mischief from the devil himself. We all had a dead man’s grip on him, and yet we could not hold him fast.”
“It is true,” said Pip, as he was wiping his hands with his handkerchief, "he was as holding a smarmy ice sickle, it was as a chill to my bones…frost unto my marrow, the most awful sensation I’ve ever fingered…most disagreeable it was.”
And quite reasonably the offense was unutterable, and thus all grimly agreed with Pip’s observation, for they had come to the same dread conclusion that they were now dealing with something entirely unnatural. “Well then,” said Sir Smear,” one thing is for certain, a lunatic and their sanity are soon parted, and if hell exists in any particular locality then most assuredly this is its physical address.”
And then laying hold to his throbbing fist Sir Smear exclaimed, "I do believe I’ve broken every bone in it, it was like striking a cast iron skillet but all the harder.”
“Are you sure, Sir, “asked Fladdeus,” perhaps you just merely dislocated it?”
“Quite sure,” replied Sir Smear, "and with all hyperbole aside it rather feels much like a sack full of broken crackers right now.”
“Dear Lord” said Pip, "I can see it swelling as we speak!”
“As well as I, it’s as a pulsing thrombus!” too added Fladdeus.
“Yes” bemoaned Sir Smear, "the past may, indeed, be buried, but however, it lives on in our scars and is no less forgotten. Therefore, friends let us not dwell upon this mere trifle, for I have suffered far worse…I’m terribly sure in the proceeding weeks to come I’ll shall be sorely reminded of it continually. Now chins forward, old boys, there will be time enough later for its writhing torment.”
Then Pip whispered to Fladdeus, "Is not Sir Smear afraid of anything?”
“Only the mailbox,” replied Fladdues, "he refers to it as the oblong of horror, only because he doesn’t want to see what kind of devils are dancing around in it. He very much checks it like a hairy hand is waiting just inside ready to grasp his the moment it cracks.”
“Bills you mean, quite understandable," replied Pip, "a very familiar feeling, indeed. Money is so very hard to find yet so easy to lose isn’t it…the pursuit of gold will run you to death don’t you know. I’ve worn through many of a shoe myself, the blisters upon my soles bears testament to that.”
And so it was, Sir Smear having the best look upon their assailant was now under the strong impression that he was somehow acquainted with the villain, even through his terribly emaciated, sunken face was there not to be some brief fragment of recognition, even as he pondered him to be the leanest scoundrel anyone had ever seen, but even still Sir Smear couldn’t dispel the thought no matter how hard he tried, when hence he remembered within that fleeting instant that, in fact, the villain spoke his name and then pleaded and said,” I beg of you, please help me, Lo!?”
That is until he heard a greater voice which commanded him and said, “You Had Better Fasten Your Filthy Flap Before I Nail It Shut!!!”
And by reason of this Sir Smear therefore surmised the heart of the fiend was to be akin to a divided kingdom, for there were two distinct personalities which now resided within him: The greater one and the lesser one, the master and its slave. When then Sir Smear appearing greatly sullen softly aired, "I do believe London’s very own Spring Heeled Jack is none other than Ferrell Pine, I thought I would never hear his voice again.”
“However do you know,” inquired Pip, “is this to be some sort of prophetic word…are you certain of this?”
“Absolutely,” resounded Sir Smear, “beyond a shadow of a doubt…and you may call it what you will.”
Then Fladdeus besought the most obvious question, “Pray tell, Sir, who on earth is Ferrell Pine?”
“Why, he was an old chum of mine,” replied Sir Smear,” from seminar…from another time…another world now so long ago. Oh, we were once as close as brothers, we were as parchment and ink, hot tea and crumpets, and, of course, he was the only one whoever addressed me by that name, he never once called me by my first.”
“Good heavens,” said Pip,” were you to be a man of the cloth, in my wildest dreams I would have never imagined…whatever did happen?”
“Yes, the dreams of youth,” replied Sir Smear, "die hard. We wanted to be as Livingston and change the world, to make it a better place, but such is life that I soon found myself tangled in the affairs of others.”
And then with a far off look he said,” Indeed, through the course of uncharted events, which can only be plotted until after they occur…once they’re submerged by the boundless sea of time never again to raise…or so we presume.”
And once the rumination had lost its hold he said, "Forgive me, I digress… last I heard he was a missionary unto the natives of Canada… after which I lost track of him completely, that is until recently when I received a most alarming post from him, where he made mention that he’s been dwelling among the Nuxalk Indians, in Bella Coola, in the queen’s province of British Columbia, and now it seems the settlement he’s been missioning in is being afflicted by some malevolent spirit, in which the natives reason to be a wendigo. His letter further stated that their burial ground had been violated by a prospector by the name of Simon Mandrose, and what he described as a Skin Walker (evil witch) had placed a curse upon him.”
And then Sir Smear mourned and said, “My poor, poor, dear Fay, (Ferrell Pine’s nickname –Fay for raven, on account, his hair was jet black, of course) whatever did happen to you my old, friend? Indeed, you were elected most likely to be martyred, but not in such a way as this.”
“Whatever is a wendigo?” inquired Pip.
“Yes,” second Fladdeus,” do tell.”
“If my understanding is correct, and, of course, it is,” replied Sir Smear, "a wendigo is a spirit, which can, in fact, take possession of a man, thus giving him an insatiable appetite for human flesh.”
“Great Maker, a Christmas ghoul!” replied Pip.
“Quite naturally,” continued Sir Smear, “and from my further readings upon the subject, it appears by merely placing something as a silver coin in its mouth should do the trick, curing the effects of his psychosis, or in whichever case it may be…driving the evil spirit from him.”
“That is if we can live long enough to put one in, “responded Fladdeus,” for he possesses many times our strength, and now you with a broken hand we’re down to but two.”
“Yes, it seems,” replied Pip,” we shall all be just as dead as all those who reside here in Kensal Green if we fail to do so this night. If I didn’t see it with my own two eyes I wouldn’t Believe it…I wish I hadn’t. Just a mere moment ago I would have said utter tosh, tosh, pure piffle, and as the yanks say, ‘It pays no dollars but it makes cents’…perfect sense. I surely won’t be breathing a word of this if I survive… the intelligentsia of London would think me a laughingstock are worse.”
"Certainly,” reassured Sir Smear, “our names are not in tomorrow’s obituary just yet.”
“That’ll take a miracle replied Pip, (now accented with his pessimistic inflection), "I was all ready to take a holiday…Not A Permanent One!”
“Indeed," said Sir Smear, “our lives are but transitory here, ghosts through the mist are we too soon to be apparitions of yesterday, but hear me now that day has not yet arrived.”
And as Pip now too rolled his eyes back into their sockets while flapping his lips upon the wind of his sigh, Fladdeus then questioned, “However did he come to such a lowly state?”
And thusly Sir Smear related to them and summarized the disturbing contents of his latter, clarifying the more relatively important parts and explained, “There was a wondering, Navajo shaman, who was for the lack of a better term called the Skin Walker, which had begun to plague the district with all manner of mishap and blunder and the least of his offenses not being impropriety. Of course, all these events hinge upon the tenet that the Nuxalk would not accept him…in fact, they made it a point to shun him completely, and for reason of his affliction he blamed Fay entirely. Latter in his letter the Wonderer bonds and buries alive Simon Mandrose in the Nuxalk burial ground, only after placing a curse upon him, that in his death he should rise again as a Wendigo, and in so doing acting as his proxy, to exact his revenge upon the living, and so he did, and at this vocation he proved to be a maestro without equal…that is until Fay exorcised the evil spirit from him, and thus Simon Mandrose fall stone dead (for, of course, he had previously expired from suffocation from his grizzly internment). And it is my conjecture the spirit then fled into the nearest person (Fay)…not desiring to be disembodied, and it is also my belief since it was uninvited it could not take control over Fay…no, not all at once, but gradually as Fay made mention of this, that he was experiencing momentary blackouts, and that, in fact, he was soon returning to England before they worsened. And it is also my belief he hasn’t inkling of a shadow as to what happened to him, but, however, since then I’ve been investigating several rather old, Latin manuscripts which bare remarkable similarities.”
Then afterwards Sir Smear included this little caveat and said, "How can two walk together unless they agree, this is the very reason why he hasn’t killed yet. For it is my conjecture, that Fay now only exists in the creature’s subconscious and is fast losing hold, drifting further and further away as a planet shaking its satellite into the black abyss of space. Soon I fear he will be no more and only then shall the creature will remain with no restraint…God help us then.”
And as he was saying this there became a stillness in the wind, when just then Pip complained and said,” Will you just take a look at me, I’m shaking like a Quaker.” And as he was getting ready to place his pipe to his pucker to take a long and well deserved draw as to untangle the knot in his stomach, when suddenly they all began to hear a musical menace piercing the frigid air…it was the Spring Heeled Jack singing a murderous song with blood in his eye…and thus the ghoulish minstrel’s tune began like this, "Greetings, greetings all, my fine fellows bright and tall are ye…what bonnie lads so proud and strong I perceive…my wanton glimmers are abiding upon thee and this is what they spy: Lungs, livers, brains, and gizzards I’ll have my fill of flesh, and what shall become of your lost souls you may suppose…they shall be mine and mine alone to possess…to possess forevermore and to do with what I will for, alas, your precious Fay has gone to rest, the kip of the dead. Slumber…slumber away now my fair prince in death never again to stir. Hmm…what is this I hear…the ringing of a dinner bell? Now I hope you fancy your pressed shirts so crisp and smooth for they will be the last your bodies ever fit. Oh, how time flies tick-tock-tick-tock goes the great mocker of men to thwart your vanity, to dash your pride, for presently it’s time for me to circumcise your Adams-apples…who then shall be first? Oh, decisions, decisions, toll and bother I really can’t decide!”
And thus he began to whistle an elegy as he contemplated their fate.
“Are you listening to what I’m listening to?’’ Fladdeus nervously asked.
“It’s definitely not a figment of our imagination.” replied Sir Smear.
“What on earth,” inquired Pip,"is that horrid tune he’s butchering away at, anyhow?”
“It rather very much sounds,” answered Sir Smear, "to be Frederic Chopin’s, Marche Funebre, somewhere around the 3rd movement of his piano sonata, in B-flat minor… for verbatim if I’m not mistaking.”
And hence they heard the villain quoted,” When the stars threw down their spears and watered heaven with their tears: Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the lamb make thee?’…and me? For I am the Spring Heeled Jack, the terror which lurks the night… London shall bend her knee to mine…her crown shall be beneath my talus (heel) until my fearful fame is made renown throughout the nations of men…shall I be the crooked stave through their hearts until my revenge is made whole.”
And at his conclusion’s end Sir Smear said, "I do believe there’s a bit of Blake’s Tyger in which he recited in his rhetoric.”
Then being greatly alarmed fearing the Jack’s verdict was now upon them Sir Smear yelled, "Hold fast, men, he’s gone to ground as a lost screw…he’s hit it running! Behold, he’s nearly upon us, lads!"
And thusly poor Fladdeus lamented, "It seems we’re just all dying to get out of this world!”
And likewise Pip agreed and further added, “If the good Lord tarries it won’t be much in the waiting now!”
And oh, if Pip only had eyes within the fury nest of his bold spot he would have seen the fiend this time circumventing he and Fladdeus altogether, as the Spring Heeled Jack did a running lunge head long towards Sir Smear, when he yet again stepped off into the same pothole stumbling he backward to the ground with his face skyward just as his attacker was passing him by in midair, now sailing he onward to split a tombstone with his skull…very much making he the sound of a ten pound hammer striking a brick wall with all its furious might. And then just as quickly was heard Fladdeus slapping his hands together as he exclaimed,” Sir, we’ve been dealt a saving grace!”
And so it was as the Jack laid there sprawled and unconscious upon a grave when Sir Smear beckoned, “Quickly, before he wakes, does anyone have any silver, all I have are these accursed notes?”
"I’ll slip him a “joey” (three pence)," responded Pip.
And as he was frantically riffling through his pockets, all he could find was a lone crown, and as he miserly continued to search for his three pence when suddenly Sir Smear said in his incredulity, 'Good heavens, man, forgive my parlance…now isn’t the time to be a skinflint, just put the bloody thing in. I’ll reimburse you forthwith…now wrench his mouth open, Fladdeus, and, Pip, quit being such an Ebenezer about it!”
And as poor Fladdeus tugged and pulled, pulled and pried with what seemed to last an eternity of horror on hold in its perfect perpetuity and said, "Blasted, it feels as if his mouth has been wired shut, it will not budge in the least no matter how hard I try.”
And so Fladdeus now with Pip’s aid fought a good bout as they continued to pry, and pried they did until it felt though as all their fingers were pricked and flowed as red. When, alas, it was as if they were drowning in their own tearful waters of despair, near verging upon all hope faltering as most frightfully the Jack had begun to stir, as directly his eyes had begun to flutter in their glaring wake, as too his foul lips had begun to snarl in protest against their actions. Then Fladdeus said, “Just a second more, Sir, it’s almost there now.”
As Pip confirmed his feeling and spoke, "I felt it give a little…for heaven sakes pull with everything you got!”
And was there not then heard a most merciful snap, and thus the Jack’s clenched mandible slowly creaked open now very much sounding as an unoiled hinge in its sweetly release.
“Gracious heavens, thank you!” praised Fladdeus, as all at once the Jack’s rotten maw opened wide as some great, ghastly door baring its many angry rows of seriated teeth, when then Pip nearly recoiling, almost hesitating from the sight popped it in and said, “What is that the yanks say?...Oh yes…Now that’s that,” as he then procured a lengthy snort from the little flask he obtained from his coats inner pocket, and thus he concluded to them and said as he pinched his nose, “Never mind me, boys, this is just to steady my nerves and all…besides, I’ve been feeling a bit knackered since this whole affair has gone to pot.”
And just as quickly the Jack had begun to froth and wildly convulse, when Sir Smear urged them on with this admonition and said, “Gentlemen, for as nature this creature abhors a vacuum…at all times we must have our backs towards it, we mustn’t allow our gaze to fall upon its evil eye in the least, for that is where the spirit will enter through…you must remain diligent in this, men.”
And Fladdeus orated as if he was working it out in his mind aloud and said, “If the axiom holds true: The eyes are, indeed, the gateway to the soul, it would certainly necessitate that this one has a rather, particular, nasty one inside.”
And thusly all heeded Sir Smears warning, even until after the Jack’s frothing had ceased for, alas, the evil had departed from him with the shrillest scream of blood, curdling death which rattled all the wax from within their ears.
“Good Lord,” said Pip, “it sounded like a thousand demons being thrown into holy water!”
When next Sir Smear shushed him and asked, “Do you not hear that?”
And as all three strained to listen when then Fay now solicited pushing the coin out with his lips with a silvery clink upon the broken headstone, "Lo, is that you old friend?”
And thus Sir Smear warmly replied as he wiped a tear from his cheek before it became lost in his sideburn, "Yes Fay, it is I old friend…it is Lotharion."
Then Fay asked Sir Smear, "Where am I? It’s all been a foggy cloudland filled with so many empty hours, empty days…why does the wind seem so much colder now?”
“You’re in London old friend,” replied Sir Smear, "alas, you’re at home, and yes we’ve grown older since our last parting…the skin is not as thick as it used to be don’t you know.”
"Yes,” responded Fay, "the keepers of the house tremble (the legs), the grinders have softened (the teeth), and the windows unto the soul have darkened (the eyes).”
“Unquestionably,” replied Sir Smear,” the grass withers and the flower fades, but no worries now we shall take care of you.”
And as they were leaving they again gathered Miss Puff Puff as Sir Smear once more greeted her and said, "Hello again lady bird, if we’re not being tormented by some critter we’re being rescued by one. Surely as I Miss Brimble will be the happiest one when she sees you again…now since our legs are leaving it would be best to follow…come along old girl.”
And thus they closed the gate and left the horrors of Kensal Green behind them. And, alas, when the sun shone in the morning all four were gathered together in their office rehashing over old times both good and bad when Sir Smear said, “Fay, the past at times can be a frightful lane to travel…best not to linger there too long.”
“Yes,” replied Fay, "it’s a wonder how we ever survived; it’s a wonder if anyone survives. You remember once upon that dare we ate from that bloated can of chick peas and nearly succumbed to its putrid contents…botulism wasn’t it?”
"How can I not,” replied Sir Smear, “for it was nearly as bad as the time I contracted ptomaine in the orient. Certainly, Fay old boy, if we can survive that we can survive anything.”
Then Fay recalled and said, “Such as the time you fell shoe leather upended straight down a well after eating too many rum balls…the Dean’s Missis surely thought she had killed you (for she had mistakenly used too much rum in their making) if that rope hadn’t lassoed around your ankle you would have surely broken your neck, for that old well was dryer than the Sahara desert at its bottom.”
“True, “replied Sir Smear,” it branded me for life…I still have the rope burn to this very day.”
And so it was as they warmly reminisced on and on, story after story as Pip and Fladdeus eagerly listened away, when then Miss Tamposy arrived a bit prematurely for work, earlier than usual for, of course, she was never really past her time, when thenceforth she thundered in her raspy, high pitched voice, “Mercy me…are you partaking of buddy beers, and what is this…Christmas crackers and crowns upon your heads I see!?”
Then taking an instant drawing in a deep breath she noticed and exclaimed, "Good heavens, Sir, why is your hand in a cast, and why is that chicken roosting on your desk!?... Never mind…I don’t want to even know. I’m terrible sure it’s one of your monsters yet again…how absolutely dreadful, and If you think I’m going to clean this pigsty, you’re sadly mistaking. Now look at what you’ve done…I’m swooning with the vapors again…the second time this week, no less! Now, I must go and lie down and recline myself, and when I’ve gathered my wits about me, I want everything to be spick and span and in good and proper working order, and most definitely of all I want that chicken to be vacated from these premises and out of my misery as soon as practical.”
And as she was leaving the room whilst stumping her feet she pretended to be muttering to herself, but really she was murmuring against them for she wanted them to hear every last word, every jot and tittle of it, "Certainly, they will be the cause of my death someday, when and where I know not how but the day fast approaches. Here it is not even Christmas morn…not even dear Saint Stephen’s Day yet. Why, they have all the nerve and if I wasn’t such a lady I would give them a real piece of my mind…Good day gentlemen!”
And before she could slam the door upon them Sir Smear asked, "Would you care for some truffles, they’re quite scrumptious today?”
And Miss Tamposy railed, "You know I can’t stand mushrooms, I absolutely detest the things! Why one would be compelled to put mold into ones mouth is beyond me.”
And so she huffed and left the room, alas, slamming the door, dismounting two pictures from their place and smashing one upon the floor. Then Sir Smear surveyed all of them and questioned, “Whatever would we do without her?”
“Indeed, Sir,” replied Fladdeus, “she’s the light of our lives.”
And Pip added, “She has the tenacity of a badger and yet a warm, fuzzy feeling much like a mole burrowing under your skin, however do you put up with her?”
“Keeping her in her present situation you mean?” replied Sir Smear, "She reminds me of an old drill officer I once had, a no nonsense kind of fellow he was…old blood and guts we used to call him, for once he charged a trench holding nothing but a pitchfork in one hand and his regimental colours in the other.”
“Why, I would rather face another monster any day then to be on her bad side,” retorted Pip.
“That she is,” answered Sir Smear with a boyish glint in his eye, "She runs a tight ship…there’s nothing like a real Captain Bligh to keep the old mind sharp.”
“Well then,” replied Pip, “Puff Puff has endured long enough being parted from her lady friend…I best be on my way with her now. I’ll drop the little darling over Miss Brimble’s place, and I’ll give her your best regards…until we meet again, Sir, and a Merry Christmas if I don’t see you before.”
“And a very Merry Christmas, “replied Sir Smear, "and good health to you and yours and may they be long in its keeping, and I would be remiss not to further say: Stay sunny side up, old boy, for behold after the long night and only then when you’ve been through the darkness can you truly see the light…the glory of dawn in all its splendor."
And, alas, when they had all tipped their paper crowns in their warmly farewell Sir Smear said, ”Excuse us, Fay old boy, come along Fladdeus, let’s strike the candle at its mean for when a candle burns twice as bright it only lasts half as long. Now let’s get this entirely put away with no dilly…no dally and presto it will be done…that is before Miss Tamposy wakes and then there shall be most certainly the devil to pay if it’s not."
And thus Sir Smear thought better and said, “But for now let us finish with our tipsy laird and then we shall start.”
“Agreed,” replied Fladdeus,” for there is none which tastes better in all the queen’s realms.”
“Here, here, old man,” replied Sir Smear, "well said and well done.”
And they all rose their glasses to a toast and said, "To our fairest queen and country…may the oceans which carry them never dry!”
The End
Below are some spooky night photos taken by Craig at the Springhill Cemetery.
