SOULBOUND ‡ waif
By Wes Leigh
This is a work of fiction (or is it?) intended solely
for the entertainment of my readers. It includes references to historical
people and places, in particular, the London borough of Whitechapel and its
streets. I also wish to make a special acknowledgement of Bram Stoker's
ground-breaking novel Dracula, which spawned a new genre of literature, the
Gothic horror tale, and led to countless movies and novels that inspired and
horrified generations of fans. This story includes several (not so subtle)
references to Mr. Stoker and his novel, by which I intend no disrespect, but
rather acknowledge his inspiration of my foray into the realm of vampires.
This story is the property of the author and is
protected by copyright laws. The author retains all rights. No reproductions
are allowed without the author's consent.
If you enjoy this story, please support the Nifty
archives today with a thoughtful donation by visiting https://donate.nifty.org/. Readers who
would like to chat are encouraged to contact me at weston.leigh@protonmail.com.
The immorality
involved is entirely different, in character and even in origin, from ordinary
loose conduct between the sexes. Its sole aim is the satisfaction of male
sexual passion ... The woman's passions are hardly involved at all, she is moved
neither by excitement nor by pleasure ... she merely seeks her living in the
easiest way open to her.
-- From Life And Labour Of The People In London
by Charles Booth
With the morning
sun turning the sky orange behind them, Zavy, Reggie, and Jack rounded the
corner just down the street from McCoy's stables. Blocking their path were two
drunk women, barely able to hold each other up. Seeing the young men coming up
the street, one stumbled forward with her hands out. "Give us a kiss, me
lovelies."
The other tried to
follow but fell onto the ground, laughing. Looking up at the boys, she
chortled, "Kisses be free. A quick suck'll cost ya' a pence. Just a pence to get your pego sucked,
lads."
The first woman
laughed and dropped her bodice, lifting out two slack breasts. "For two pence,
you can have a taste of your first woman. What do 'ya
say, lads?"
Reggie sneered and
replied, "I say, `Fuck off, you nasty tramp.' I've seen better bubbies on a
cow."
The woman squinted
at Reggie, then turned to her friend. "He called me a cow, Polly." She turned
back to Reggie. "They's no call for talking that way, you young scamp. We's good girls, we is. Just trying
to buy a bit of breakfast this morning."
The woman on the
ground wasn't listening, having passed out.
Reggie turned to
Zavy. "Should we help `em out? With a pence or two?"
Zavy pulled Reggie
and Jack into the street to walk around the women. "Leave `em
be, lads. The pence would go to beer this afternoon, not breakfast this morning."
They walked past
the women, only to have the one still standing begin screaming at them, "That's
right! Leave us be, you little fags. Not a pego worth
sucking among the lot of ya'!"
Reggie turned and
lifted his hand, pointing his middle finger at the woman, who cackled and
returned the gesture, but then suddenly she stopped laughing, choking slightly
and staring at the lads walking away from her. Jack was looking back over his
shoulder, and his eyes were glowing bright red.
Her heart began
pounding beneath her breasts, suddenly fearful, though she didn't know why. She
quickly yanked her bodice up to cover her breasts and turned to help her friend
up off the ground. They had to leave. Quickly. To flee and hide. Though she had
no clue what they should be running from. Stumbling off into a dark alley, the
two women disappeared. Jack's eyes
stopped glowing and he simply glared at the alley where they'd gone.
"Bloody tramps,"
Reggie muttered, shaking his head.
"They're trapped,"
Zavy replied. "No way to improve their lot, so they do what they can, using
their bodies to get their next meal."
"Or their next
beer," Reggie added.
Jack angrily kicked
a stone along the street. "They're whores. Disgusting, filthy whores. Leaving
their little ones home to find what food they can while
their mums walk the streets and get FUCKED by any man who has a few PENCE in
his pocket."
Reggie glanced at
Jack, shocked by the venom in his voice.
Zavy noticed too
and put his arm around Jack's shoulder. "What's got into you, lad?"
Jack leaned into
the warmth of Zavy's side. "I hate `em. Fucking whores. They should be home, caring for their
children, not out here selling their bubbies."
Reggie started to
speak, but Zavy cut him off with a quick shake of his head.
Jack didn't say
anything else, but started weeping softly.
Zavy held Jack
tight as they walked, whispering, "It's okay, now, Jacko. You're with us, your
brothers. And our Mum is your Mum."
Jack sniffed and
wiped his nose on his sleeve. "She didn't even care when I left, Zavy. She was
half drunk still after walking the streets all night, fucking whoever would
hand her coin for lifting her skirts. I said I was leaving. Forever. To live
with you and Reg. She just looked at me and laughed. `Go on with ya, then,' she said. `One less mouth to feed,' she said."
Zavy stopped and
pulled Jack into a hug. Reggie wrapped his arms around both of them, squeezing
Jack between them.
"Bloody fucking whores,
that's what women are," Jack mumbled, his voice muffled with his face pressed
against Zavy's chest. "Bloody fucking whores who
leave their boys alone all night, hungry and afraid, then don't fucking care
when their boys have to wander the streets, begging for a bite of bread. Bloody
fucking whores."
Jack wept softly as
Zavy held him tight while gently rubbing the back of Jack's neck.
Reggie, unsure of
himself, stroked Jack's arm. "Jack, me lad, that's all over now. It'll never
happen to you again, now you're with us. We'll never beg for bread, now we're
vampires."
Jack pulled away, his mouth twisted into a furious grimace. "Ya. We're vampires. We oughta use
our powers to send every one of them damned whores to an early grave. Then
other little boys won't be hurt like I was."
Zavy turned Jack
around to face him, gently asking, "And how will that change anything, Jack? Chuckaboo. Me love. Think about it. We're doing what we can
to help people out. One person at a time. The women out at night, selling their
bodies for what they can get ... those'll always be with us. So
we look after their little ones, hungry and afraid, and we help them out as
best we can. That's how we change Whitechapel, Jacko."
Jack took several
deep breaths, but his heart was still pounding. He pulled out of Zavy's arms and said, "We'll be late for work." He took his
eyeshades out of pocket and put them on. The sun was coming up, and it was
getting bright out. "Come on, lads." He started walking down the street, his
steps stiff and angry.
Zavy sighed and
followed, gesturing for Reggie to come too.
They reached the
stables without further incident. McCoy was pulling the large front doors open
when they arrived. "Ah, early to rise, me lads, as always. Ready to work?"
The boys nodded.
"Every stall's full
today," McCoy said. "You lads best get started."
Jack led the way
into the stables, opening the storage bin just inside and reaching in for a
shovel. He handed it Zavy, who stopped Jack with a hand on his shoulder.
"You gonna be alright, lad?" Zavy asked.
Jack nodded curtly,
handing a second shovel to Reggie before reaching in to pull out a rake for
himself.
Then Jack pushed
past Zavy and headed for the back of the stables to begin work.
͠ ͠ ͠
McCoy handed them
five pence each, pleased as always with the work they'd done that day, and sent
them on their way after checking the streets first for Wentworth lads hanging
about. Strangely enough, the Wentworth boys had stopped coming by, and McCoy
wondered why, but it did make things easier and he much preferred having the Hanbury
lads working for him. They gave him a good day's work for their wages.
He watched the
three Hanbury boys walking off down the street. They had new twill caps, all
three of them, jauntily tilted on their heads. He smiled. They were good lads,
they were.
Turning around,
McCoy saw a bearded man dressed in a black suit coming up the street. The man
wore dark eyeshades, not unlike those the Hanbury boys had been wearing. He
supposed it was becoming a fashion, but he certainly wouldn't wear anything of
the sort. Didn't want folks assuming he had the bad blood. That wouldn't do,
not at all.
The man stopped in
front of McCoy and asked, "Are you the owner of these stables?"
McCoy nodded. "Aye.
What can I help ya' with, sir?"
The man removed his
eyeshades and reached out to shake hands. "I've heard you have a brother moving
here from Glasgow? Willie McCoy?"
McCoy shook his
head. "Nah. Me families from Edinburgh. And I've no brothers by that name."
The man seemed
surprised to hear that. "I must have heard wrong. Do you know of any Willie
McCoy moving here to Whitechapel? He'd have a son or two. Young lads around
fifteen."
McCoy shook his
head again. "No, sir. Afraid I don't."
The man nodded his
head slowly. "Well, then, I'm sorry to have bothered you." He began to walk
away, then turned back and asked, "Do you know of any lads, around that age,
who come around every now and then. They probably live on Hanbury street."
McCoy's eyes
narrowed. He didn't know who this bearded man was or why he was asking so many
questions, but something about the man set the hair on the back of McCoy's neck
curling. "Nah. No lads around here from Hanbury. They'd get in fights with our
lads every day if they did. The lads from one street don't mix with another."
"So
I've heard," the bearded man replied. He nodded his head and continued on his
way.
McCoy watched him
go, then walked into the stables to pull out the horses he planned to use that
day.
͠ ͠ ͠
"Okay, Mum, you can
open your eyes!" Reggie exclaimed.
The table in front
of Mum was loaded with food. Beef galantine. Roasted potatoes. Veal stew. And
an enormous fruit cake for dessert.
Mum shook her head.
"Lord help us, what have you boys done?"
Zavy took Mum's
hand and pulled her to the table. "We worked extra hard today, Mum, and we wanted
the family to have a special meal." He pointed at the food.
"But ... it's so
much," Mum complained. "It must have cost a shilling or more."
Reggie nodded. "Eighteen
pence, Mum. And worth every bit."
Mum narrowed her
eyes. She suspected the food cost more than that. And then there were the gifts
the boys had given the family. Her dresses. The toys for the little ones. And
where did the lads get the money for the dashing twill caps and new coats they'd been wearing the last couple of days. In her
heart, she knew they couldn't have earned all that money working about town,
but she didn't want to admit to herself that her boys might be stealing or
something worse.
She bowed her head
and offered a silent prayer of thanksgiving for the food and for protection for
her children, especially Zavy, Reggie and Jack. Then she filled a plate for
Crawley, who had refused to come out of the bedroom all day.
͠ ͠ ͠
With full stomachs,
the family went to bed early that night.
Lulling them to
sleep was a soft melody Zavy blew upon his piccolo. It was a Celtic lullaby he
was fond of playing when he wanted to relax and allow his thoughts to drift
away to happier days. With money to provide all the family needed, Zavy
earnestly hoped those happy days would return again, this time to stay. It was
late in August, and there was a storm brewing outside, preparing the country
for the onslaught of winter, but his family would be safe this year.
Reggie sighed
contentedly. His stomach was so full he didn't even want a suck from Jack. Besides,
they'd fucked twice in the loft at the stables that afternoon, and for once,
Reggie's hunger for food and sex were both completely sated.
Jack lay on his
side, staring out the window at the tree branches whipping from side to side. Listening
to Zavy's music. Smiling wistfully. Thinking about
his mother. Losing his smile. Remembering the whores on the street. Gritting
his teeth in anger.
Zavy finished the
song and put his piccolo away. He tried to hug Jack from behind, but his mate's
body was stiff and unyielding, as though he didn't want to be touched. Zavy was
confused, but he rolled onto his back and closed his eyes, hoping Jack would
snap out of his angry mood soon.
An hour later, when
the house was silent and everyone else had fallen asleep, Jack rolled off the
pallet and gathered up his pants, shirt, and shoes. He tiptoed to the door and
quietly put his clothes on. He lifted his coat from where he'd left it on a
chair and slid it on. Then he carefully opened the door and slipped out into
the hallway.
͠ ͠ ͠
Mary Ann Nichols,
known as Polly to her family and friends, was having a miserable night. It had
started well enough, with two late night revelers coming out of a pub to piss
in the alley. She'd offered to blow them for two pence each, and they'd been
drunk enough to take her up on her offer. But the wind started picking up, and
neither man wanted to have his cock out in the chill breeze, even for a good
suck, so they zipped up and went back into the bar to drink some more.
Frustrated with her
misfortune and cursing the weather, Polly tried several other pubs on the same
street with no better results. It was getting close to midnight, and she had
just about decided to call it a night when she found three drunken sailors
leaning on one another at a streetlamp on Buck Row. Hoping her luck had
changed, she approached them with one breast hanging out of the top of her
dress.
"Care for a bit of
fun, boys?" she asked, jiggling her breast seductively.
The least drunk of
the three asked, "How much?"
"What did ya' have in mind?" she asked.
The sailor
approached and took her flaccid breast in his hand. He squeezed it and then
laughed. Turning to the other two, he said, "This one has seen better days,
mates. We should charge her for dropping our pants!"
All three began
laughing at Polly, who tried to slap the first sailor, but he caught her hand
and shoved her roughly away.
"Keep your claws
in, tiger. We aren't interested in the rough stuff."
The other two
laughed even harder.
Polly stomped her
feet, then ran down the street and slipped into a darkened gateway, where she
slid her breast back inside her dress and tugged her shawl around her
shoulders. She felt chilled suddenly, as though the wind had changed and a
freezing breeze was now blowing on her back.
Turning her head,
she saw a shadow moving in the yard behind her.
"Who's that?" she
asked.
The shadow came
closer.
"Best speak up,"
she said, her voice quavering. "What do ya' want?"
A boy's voice
spoke. "Just a bit of fun."
Polly sighed with relief.
"I can be fun," she said. "You have coin?"
The shadow came
closer. In the dim light of the gas streetlamp, she saw his face at last. He
was just a lad. Couldn't be more than thirteen or fourteen. She shook her head
in disgust. "Look, boy. I don't give it away. Not even to eager lads looking
for their first taste of quim. If you haven't got the coin, you're wasting your
time."
The boy reached
into his pocket and pulled out a handful of shillings. He held them up for
Polly to see, and when she reached out to take them, he closed his hand and
pulled it back. "What can I get for this?" he asked.
Polly gave him her
most sultry smile and lifted a hand to stroke his cheek. "You can have whatever
you want? For the entire night, lad."
When her fingers reached
his jaw, the boy clinched his teeth and snarled, "Is it really that easy?"
Polly nodded. "You
want a bit of fun. I like giving handsome boys some fun. Yes, it's that easy."
She brought her
other hand up to cup his face, but his hands snapped up and clinched each of
her wrists in an iron grip. She gasped at the sudden pain and tried to wrench
her hands away, but the boy's clasp was unbreakable. She shouted, "Oy, let me
go. You're hurting me!"
The boy forced her
hands down and leaned closer. His eyes were glowing red now. "You left them
alone? Didn't you?"
"Who? Ow. That hurts!"
"Your children. You
left them alone while you went out, looking for your FUN!"
"No. It ain't like
that," Polly said, struggling to free her hands.
"And they're
sleeping in a cold room with empty stomachs tonight, wondering where their
momma is." The boy's face was inches from Polly's and his breath was icy,
wafting over her face with each word he spoke, freezing her heart and stealing
her ability to speak. She shook her head desperately from side to side.
The boy released
her hands and grabbed her shoulders, shaking her. Polly tried to scream but
only managed a strangled, choking gasp.
The boy's eyes were
bright red now, shining in the dark. "Your little ones miss their momma, their
FUCKING WHORE of a mother, and after tonight, they'll never see her again."
Polly screamed.
Back on the street,
the three sailors heard Polly's scream and stumbled toward the dark gateway. They
saw a boy bending over the broken body of a woman.
"Oy!" one shouted. "What's
going on here?"
The boy stood up,
blood dripping from his mouth, and disappeared.
͠ ͠ ͠
The men shook
hands.
"Inspector
Spratling, Metropolitan Police, J Division," one said.
The bearded man took
a seat on the other side of the desk. "Good to meet you at last, Inspector
Spratling. I am Abram Schreiber. I work for Minerva Smyth."
The inspector
gulped nervously. "Then Lady Smyth is now concerning herself with this unpleasantness?"
Abram nodded his
head. "Naturally. It occurred in our streets, and she is always concerned with
murder."
The inspector
blinked and replied, "Please reassure the lady that we are doing all we can to
find the one responsible."
"Then it was the
work of a single man?" Abram asked, making a note in his book.
The inspector shook
his head. "Actually ... the work of a boy. A young lad."
Abram looked up. "He
was seen?"
"Yes, by three
sailors, though they were drunk enough that their description is highly
unreliable."
"What did they
see?"
"A small lad, thin,
standing over her body." The inspector paused and then added, "With blood
dripping from his mouth and eyes glowing bright red."
Abram's lips curled
into a smile. He chuckled. "A young vampire, perhaps?"
The inspector
grimaced. "The resemblance is unfortunate."
Abram sighed. "Inspector
Spratling, I understand there is an early draft of a novel circulating around
London, a rather fanciful tale called Dracula? Have you perchance come
across it."
The inspector
nodded. "Yes, indeed. A most entertaining account."
"Do you know who
wrote it?"
"Well ... yes, Mr.
Bram Stoker. A fine novelist, and one Britain should be proud to claim as her
own."
Abram smiled coyly.
"Indeed. I'll be certain to pass your praise along to Mr. Stoker."
"Then you are
acquainted?"
Abram nodded. "We
are ... quite close, you might say."
Spratling smiled. "How
fortunate for you. I would love to meet him sometime."
"Perhaps that can
be arranged. However, we seem to be getting off the topic."
"Ah, yes. The
murder victim and the young vampire who killed her."
Abram chuckled. "That
would certainly make for an entertaining report, one your supervisors would be
most amused to read."
Spratling frowned. "I
see your point."
"I'm certain you
realize that Count Dracula is pure fantasy? That vampires do not actually
exist?"
"Of course, sir."
Abram smiled and
added, "And do you think perhaps these sailors have also read this imaginative novel?"
"I wouldn't be able
to say, sir," the inspector replied, frowning.
With a shrug, Abram
said, "Even if they haven't read it, they've no doubt heard tales of vampires,
and in their drunken stupor, their imaginations ran wild. Certainly, this is a
grisly enough murder without adding the ridiculous charge that it was committed
by a juvenile vampire?"
The inspector
nodded slowly. "Perhaps I should interview the sailors again. It could be they
have changed their tale in the light of a new day."
Abram's eyes glowed
slightly. "I'll report to Lady Smyth that you are diligently investigating this
horrific crime, no doubt committed by a mad man, a very strong, very insane
man."
"Yes, indeed,"
Spratling replied. "A strong, though undoubtedly unbalanced man. Thank you,
sir."
Abram nodded and
stood up. "Have a good day, Inspector."
"You as well, sir."
Abram left the
office, concealing the irritation he felt. Minerva would be furious when she
heard. Furious.
The end of SOULBOUND ‡
WAIF, Chapter Ten