Sprung

“Typical… bloody typical…” Simeon thought; if he hadn’t been bleeding out he might have seen the funny side of things and laughed at the absurdity of it all, but as it was he hurt too much for that. The blood was now soaking into his vest and topcoat, his once pristine white corset stained black in the gaslight. He could still taste the clove-rock sweet he had been sucking on only minutes before, now lost amidst the struggle. Simeon knew he only had himself to blame; court the devil and this is what comes of it, but how could he have foreseen it would end like this?

He cast his gaze through the fogged night to when he first concocted their strange plan. To all intents and purposes it had started out as a jape, something to pass the endless tedium of life under ‘Her Great Majesty, the fat glob of lard, Queen Victoria’.

It was his idea to take his Grandfathers mantel and reform the Hellfire Club. He was a Dashwood and lived up the name in personality and epitomised the description; so much so that he wanted to surpass his Grandfather. Whilst Sir Frances Dashwood’s ‘Order of the Friars of St Francis of Wycombe’ (in its more colourful nomenclature) was merely interested in senseless wenching, banqueting and drunken debauchery (all under a pathetic pagan / demonic mockery) Simeon was more of a prankster, wanting to cause an upset to the social structure he so detested.

He had formed the group from friends that he’d known (or picked up) over the years; they all detested royalty and the matriarchal clutches. The believed in chaos, freedom and anarchy. ‘Do what thou wilt’ was foremost in their mind and their motto, especially when it came to Simeon’s latest brainwave. Despite their growing notoriety of being delinquent malcontents they never actually did anything daring to deserve their reputation and this rankled Simeon; he wanted to change that.

His idea was to create a series of pranks that would strike fear and discord in to the hearts of the so-called Elite society. The pranks would be harmless in themselves but unsettling, and it was decided that it would be best to create a new monster that could terrorise London in the same way that the Hammersmith Ghost had some years did before. All were keen enthusiasts of Gothic horror and between them the devil himself was conjured.

“We need a disguise; an identity that can protect us from being discovered.” Simeon said, his jaw square set in determination. Asa was less than enthusiastic.

“Us? Why us? It’s your damn idea.” Asa was the sickly relative of the group, less of a hell raiser and more of a milksop. He was Simeon’s fag from university and time had done nothing to extricate him from the shadow.

“For three reasons, my dear Asa.” Simeon sneered. “For anonymity and alibi. If we all play the part we can all vouch for each other and the witness statements will differ when they come to describe the physical characteristics of this scoundrel.”

“And the third reason?” Bennet asked.

“Well… If I’m going down I want to ensure that I take you all with me!”

Bennet laughed hard. “Well… in that case, I’m in! All for one and no one gets hung!” Out of them Bennet was the most sure of himself. Short and squat he might have been but he had the luxury of being comfortable in his own skin –a rare thing in Victorian London. He didn’t suffer from little-man’s syndrome and nor did he suffer fools gladly –which is why he clashed with the sycophantic Asa.  He was most similar in his personality to Simeon, whom he grew up with, in all but one way: he had a conscience.

“So what kind of disguise are you thinking of?” Bertram asked. He enjoyed a laugh, but being rake thin and prone to acne he lacked the strength of his convictions, and although he was tallest in the group he felt woefully inadequate. Bennet was the only one who noticed this and stuck up for him.

“Just wait and see.” Simeon said with obvious relish and ducked behind an ornate vanity screen.

“He’s gone off the deep end this time!” Jasper remarked. Even though his parents were far richer than the others in the circle people gave him none of the respect he thought he deserved. He was, what would be termed later as, an upper class twit; the lisp and monocle that perched snugly into his chubby face did nothing to dispel this image.

“Thut up, Jathper.” Asa spat back. “If you’ve got a better idea then out with it!”

“I didn’t say I had a better idea… but it’s lame; even you have to admit to that!”

“Lame or not, it might still have some legs on it.” Bennet replied.

“You do know that I can hear everything you’re saying, don’t you.” Simeon said from behind the screen.

“Hurry up, you bespwaling idiot!” Bennet shouted back.

“Don’t you know that you can’t rush perfection? Good things come to those who wait!” With that Simeon kicked back the screen. He was greeted by stunned silence before the guffaws and bellows of laughter took over. And with good reason: he was dressed in a tight fitting black oilskin, thick black trousers, a large black cloak –which he had splayed outwards- and a black helmet with two small, what looked to be, bat wings protruding from the top. He also had red glassed circular spectacles and some kind of clawed gloves on. The oilskin had thick white lines on it that traced where his ribcage would have been, making him look like walking skeleton.. The laughter still hadn’t died down.

“It will look better after dark, mark my words.” Simeon promised, hiding his embarrassment as best he could.

The intention was to instil fear in the upper classes, to create a stalking terror that could strike on the unwary at any time. The attacks would be totally at random, further seeding the feeling of helplessness; anyone could be the next victim.

Simeon was the first to take the mantel as it was his idea. It was mid-October and out of the five members of the club Simeon was the most sensibly dressed for the cold, as the costume –garish as it was- was extremely warm. The rest of them just shuddered and shivered amongst the bushes on Clapham Common.

Despite the late hour there were still people crossing on their way to Lavender Hill, but despite how many times Bennet or Jasper ventured to pick the first victim Simeon was resolute. He had a specific type in mind and the victim had to be perfect. This gave Bennet the first inkling that maybe everything wasn’t as random as Simeon had made it out to be.

They then heard the familiar sound of worn boots clomping on the pavement towards them. From the footfall it was a woman, possibly on the rotund side, she sounded out of sorts as if after a long, hard day at work.

“This is her.” Simeon whispered and tensed himself for the leap.

The girl never knew what happened. In an instant Simeon was all over her, tightly pinning her arms to her side, he began to lick her face all over like an animal about to devour its prey; whispering all the while: “Lovely… you’re lovely. Jack’s a lucky boy.” He then used his claws to rip at her clothes, leaving red welts over her distended body. As it turned out, much to the ignorance of the other fellows, the girl, Mary Stevens, was heavily pregnant. Mary screamed and Simeon pushed her over before disappearing into the bushes.

Due to the foggy darkness none of the other men had an inkling what had really happened, all were trying their best to contain their mirth at this new form of entertainment. They quickly ran from the prostrate, screaming girl and were jockeying as to who would be the next one to wear the costume.

It was Asa’s turn the next day and they deliberately picked dusk when the light was failing so that people would have difficulty noticing that the size and shape of the assailant was different. This time Asa bungled the attempt at jumping out at someone; it had been a swarthy sailor rather than a woman –the red glasses made it difficult for him to see clearly. The sailor actually gave chase and Asa narrowly avoided being run over by a fast approaching carriage. The coachman lost control of the horses and nearly ran over the sailor, prompting more merriment that evening. The costume was proving to be a complete success!

The character received its christening the next day for its fleetness of foot. Bertram read out the headlines of the first story: ‘Terror in London –Spring heeled killer on the loose.” But he was then shocked by what he read further down the page.

“Christ! We’ve gone too far, Simeon. That bird you jumped out on was pregnant!”

“So? How was I to know?”

“She lost the baby, Simeon!”

“So? She lost it… it was either that or it would have been born a bastard as she would no doubt have died in childbirth. I probably did the silly bitch a favour!” Bertram, not normally known for his temper, slammed Simeon in the jaw. “I take it this means that none of you wish to take part in this grand venture anymore?”

“Do you think us fools? This is tantamount to murder! Can’t you understand that?” Bertram insisted.

“So you don’t want to hear the latest wheeze then?” Simeon replied, incredulous.

“What are you talking about?” Jasper enquired.

“Ahem.. ‘I came from pandemonium, if they get me I’ll go back; Meanwhile I’ll jump, Spring-heeled Jack.”

“You’re crazy!” Bertram concluded.

“Hardly; it’s a stroke of genius. I even sent a copy to the Times. London will be up in arms.”

“I want nothing more of this.” Bennet made the gesture to show that he washed his hands of the whole affair and walked out; the rest of them followed suit, except Asa.

“Spineless milksops.” Simeon shouted out when they’d gone.

“You should have told them, Simeon.” Asa said when he was sure there was no one else to overhear. “You should have at least told Bennet.”

“Oh shut up, Asa.”

Days passed into weeks; Bennet did his best to forget about Simeon and his ‘creation’; that is until he was paid a visit by Asa and things became clearer.

There was a knock on Simeon’s door; it was late and he was about to go out on one of his drunken debaucheries. Checking through the spyhole he saw it was Bennet.

“Tell me why I should let you in.” He asked imperiously.

“Fais ce que tu voudrais.” Bennet replied in a monotone; it was their secret passcode. Simeon opened the door and walked down the corridor, Bennet closed it behind him.

“Ha – ‘do what thou wilt indeed’ Your the only one that truly understood that, Bennet.” Simeon carried on, walking into his lavish parlour. “Have you seen the latest? There are even reports of Jack as far away as Sussex! Now unless one of the milksops have tried to beat me at my own game, it looks as if we have a copycat! What do you think of that, Bennet? Eh?”

It was Bennet’s time to strike Simeon now, hard. “You bastard. You never told us that you’d laid Mary Stevens! That was your baby that you.. killed that evening!”

“He told you, didn’t he? That fucking mutton-shunter, Asa. Still, no matter. What are you going to do about it?”

“Take you to the peelers.”

“I can’t see you doing that.” Simeon replied smugly. “You wouldn’t want to be implicated as an accessory, would you? You’d all go down with me, I can assure you of that.”

“Bastard.” Bennet replied, but Simeon was right. “Do anything more like this and I’ll kill you myself.”

“I’ve stopped, Bennet! Didn’t you hear me? I…” But Bennet had already left.

Later on that night, walking back to his apartment after a grand evening, Simeon was firmly in his cups and sucking contentedly on his favourite sweet, a Clove Rock. He had hated growing up, his parents never had any time for him; the thought of having a child of his own sent shivers down his spine; especially one from such a lower caste. Still, part of him regretted killing it.

It was then that he heard a rustle in the bushes beside him.

“Hello?” The rustling continued, in front of him this time. “I can assure you that this is not in the least bit amusing.” He carried on walking, intent on ignoring whatever it was.

Suddenly something leapt out at him with great force; the size and shape of a large man. It knocked him to the ground.

“Fuck!” Simeon shouted. “Is that you, Bennet? Is this your idea of retribution?”

He was quickly grabbed from behind and lifted up in one swift motion, spun round, as if he was nothing. Simeon now faced the visage of a fiend from hell. The face was more like a rodents with long protruding teeth, thick bushy moustache and flaming red eyes.

“Jeesus Christ!” Simeon shrieked. “What the hell are you?”

“You can call me Jack.”