“Yes?”
“Which one is Spring Heeled Jack? Is it this guy?”
“It is indeed.” The lecturer presses his clicker and the screen shifts to a large version of one of the small black-and-white pictures on the handout. A man with a devilish beard is depicted leaping over a wall, dark cloak spreading out around him. He’s almost flying. “He was a bit of an enigma, old Jack. No one has ever discovered who he really was, if he was real at all, although there are many different theories. Not unlike his namesake, Jack the Ripper.” The lecturer chuckles, his voice much more animated now, almost cheerful. Not creepy at all. “He dressed like a creature no one had seen before, white oilskin suits and blue flames shooting from his mouth.” A ripple of laughter disturbs the quiet room and I find myself joining in. It does sound pretty ridiculous. “He was said to be able to bound over fences and even buildings. It was reported that he tore at the skin of young maids with metal claws, though he was never caught and we only have the tabloids of the nineteenth century to go off. . .”
My hand shoots up into the air, almost of its own accord.
“Did you say metal claws?”
“I did.” His eyes twinkle in the most unsettling way behind his thick glasses and he lowers his voice. “There have been sightings of him across the centuries, all the way up to the modern day.” A shiver ripples around the room and he chuckles and changes the screen, which floods the room with warm light. “Anyway,” he continues. “Penny Dreadfuls really catered for the lower classes, making theatre more accessible. . .” I stopped listening as images flashed through my mind.
Metal claws. The scrape of metal on metal. And a girl with blood running down her face.
I push the library door open, still breathing hard. The bell tinkles to announce my arrival.
“Ruth?” I shout, before remembering that I’m in a library. I try again in a whisper. “Ruth, are you here?”
There’s movement up in the stacks, so I throw my bag on the table and head to the stairs. “Ruth?”
“She’s not here.” A low, male voice answers from deep in the stacks. A long shadow creeps across the floor towards me and, as much as I want to move, I’m rooted to the spot as the tall, lanky figure of the library assistant emerges.
“OK, thanks. I’ll just go,” I manage to garble. I turn on the spot, and slam directly into another warm body standing behind me.
“Ooof!” The figure bounces back as I try to catch my breath. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” A girl around my age is straightening a pair of dark framed glasses and smoothing down a preppy checked skirt. “You OK?”
“Yeah, um.” I glance behind me, but the boy has already melted back in among the books. “Yeah,” I repeat. “Sorry.”
“No problem. Are you looking for Mum? Ruth, I mean.” She leans forward and lowers her voice, pointing back towards the stacks. “Ignore Will, he’s a bit, well a bit of a weirdo. Or eccentric, as Mum says.”
Funny, that’s what Mammy would say, too. Always PC. I agreed with this girl though – he freaked me out too.
“Ruth has popped out,” she says. “But maybe I can help? I’m Jess, by the way.”
“Thank you.” She heads back down the steps, her shiny, sun-streaked hair bouncing around her head. She has gorgeous, tight curls, tiny ringlets that have been carefully smoothed and separated. I follow her over to the circulation desk.
“So, what can I do for you?”
“Do you have any newspapers?”
“Sure.” She cocks her head and snaps her fingers, the click loud in the empty room. “That accent is fabulous. You must be the Irish girl? Niamh, isn’t it?” I nod reluctantly. “Mum mentioned you.” She laughs and rolls her eyes. “She always seems to think I need a new friend. Mums, hey?” I nod again, not quite sure whether she’s happy Ruth thought we could be friends or not. “What were you after again?”
“Newspapers.” I repeat.
“Oh, of course! Today’s? Or old ones? We’ve got some scanned but the really old ones are on Microfilm. We’d have to wait for Mum to come back to use that though.”
“Today’s are fine, thanks.” For now. Old newspapers could be interesting later on, so I store that nugget of information in the back of my mind.
“Cool, here you go.” She pulls a sheaf of newspapers from beneath the counter and slides them across to me. “Gimme a shout if you need anything else.”
“Thanks,” I reply absently. The headline emblazoned beneath the red top of a tabloid has grabbed my attention.
LONDON LUNATIC ON THE LOOSE!
“Scary, isn’t it?” Jess gestures towards the picture below the heading and I realize it’s familiar to me. Tatty, yellowed wallpaper frames a door that is crisscrossed with blue and white police tape and signs that yell “Crime Scene: Do Not Cross”.
Sara’s room. My could-have-been room.
If I’d eaten anything today, I’m pretty sure I’d feel sick.
