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By Richard Laymon

Whitechapel, 1888; Jack the Ripper is committing his final identified act of butchery within the hovel occupied through the luckless harlot Mary Kelly. And underneath the mattress on which the fiend is cheerfully eviscerating his sufferer cowers a 15-year-old boy. this can be only the start of a rare experience.

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Sample text

Probably would’ve screamed if I’d found a foot there. But the covers were smooth. Beside the other end of the bed was another table. There was a chair nearby. Everything in that room was nearby. It was about the smallest room I’d ever seen, and I pitied any person who had to live in such tight quarters. Why, there was hardly enough space for the bed. It was pushed up tight into a corner, and you couldn’t even open the door without whacking the table by its foot. Standing there, I felt like an intruder on someone’s misery.

I tried not to think about what he was doing to Mary. I tried to keep my mind busy figuring a way to save my own hide. The knife in my pocket was pressed between my leg and the floor. I could get to it. But even with the weapon in hand, what chance would I have against such a monster? He’d get me for sure if I tried to scamper out from under the bed. The only thing to do was wait and pray and hope he’d leave without finding me. I spent a lot of time staring out at the room. There wasn’t much to see.

I wasn’t sure what that might entail, but it scared me plenty. My mouth got dry and my heart started whamming so hard I could barely catch my breath. “It’s awfully late,” I said. “And I really am in quite a rush. ” With that, she steered me into an alley. “No, please,” I protested. ” Sue was just about my own height. She might’ve outweighed me some. But I was strong for my size, and quick. Could’ve broken away from her, if I’d tried. Didn’t try. For one thing, I didn’t relish losing my one and only guide through dangerous territory.

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