Read Online Tales of Jack the Ripper by Ramsey Campbell, Joe R. Lansdale, Walter Greatshell, Laird Barron, E. Catherine Tobler, Ed Kurtz, Mercedes M. Yardley, Stanley C. Sargent, Joseph S. Pulver Sr. - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ramsey Campbell, Joe R. Lansdale, Walter Greatshell, Laird Barron, E. Catherine Tobler, Ed Kurtz, Mercedes M. Yardley, Stanley C. Sargent, Joseph S. Pulver Sr.
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kit originally came from England. Says so in the case. You should see the handle on this baby. Ivory. With a lot of little designs and symbols carved into it. Donny looked the symbols up. They’re geometric patterns used for calling up a demon. Know what else? Jack the Ripper was no surgeon. He was a barber. I know, because Donny got the razor and started having these visions where Jack the Ripper and the God of the Razor came to talk to him. They explained what the razor was for. Donny said the reason they could talk to him was because he tried to shave with the razor and cut himself. The blood on the blade, and those symbols on the handle, they opened the gate. Opened it so the God of the Razor could come and live inside Donny’s head. The Ripper told him that the metal in the blade goes all the way back to a sacrificial altar the Druids used.”
The young man stopped talking, dropped the blade to his side. He looked over his shoulder. “That cloud is very dark… slow moving. I sort of bet on rain.” He turned back to Richards. “Did I ask you if you thought it would rain tonight?”
Richards found he couldn’t say a word. It was as if his tongue had turned to cork in his mouth. The young man didn’t seem to notice or care.
“After Donny had the visions, he just talked and talked about this house. We used to play here when we were kids. Had the boards on the back window rigged so they’d slide like a trap door. They’re still that way… Donny used to say this house had angles that sharpened the dull edges of your mind. I know what he means now. It is comfortable, don’t you think?”
Richards, who was anything but comfortable, said nothing. Just stood very still, sweating, fearing, listening, aiming the light.
“Donny said the angles were honed best during the full moon. I didn’t know what he was talking about then. I didn’t understand about the sacrifices. Maybe you know about them? Been all over the papers and on the TV. The Decapitator they called him.
“It was Donny doing it, and from the way he started acting, talking about the God of the Razor, Jack the Ripper, this old house and its angles, I got suspicious. He got so he wouldn’t even come around near or during a full moon, and when the moon started waning, he was different. Peaceful. I followed him a few times, but didn’t have any luck. He drove to the Safeway, left his car there and walked. He was as quick and sneaky as a cat. He’d lose me right off. But then I got to figuring… him talking about this old house and all… and one full moon I came here and waited for him, and he showed up. You know what he was doing? He was bringing the heads here, tossing them down there in the water like those South American Indians used to toss bodies and stuff in sacrificial pools… It’s the angles in the house, you see.”
Richards had that sensation like ice-cold piss down his collar again, and suddenly he knew what that swimming rat had been pursuing, and what it was trying to do.
“He threw all seven heads down there, I figure,” the young man said. “I saw him toss one.” He pointed with the razor. “He was standing about where you are now when he did it. When he turned and saw me, he ran up after me. I froze, couldn’t move a muscle. Every step he took, closer he got to me, the stranger he looked… he slashed me with the razor, across the chest, real deep. I fell down and he stood over me, the razor cocked,” the young man cocked the razor to show Richards. “I think I screamed. But he didn’t cut me again. It was like the rest of him was warring with the razor in his hand. He stood up, and walking stiff as one of those wind-up toy soldiers, he went back down the stairs, stood about where you are now, looked up at me, and drew that razor straight across his throat so hard and deep he damn near cut his head off. He fell back in the water there, sunk like an anvil. The razor landed on the last step.
“Wasn’t any use; I tried
The young man stopped talking, dropped the blade to his side. He looked over his shoulder. “That cloud is very dark… slow moving. I sort of bet on rain.” He turned back to Richards. “Did I ask you if you thought it would rain tonight?”
Richards found he couldn’t say a word. It was as if his tongue had turned to cork in his mouth. The young man didn’t seem to notice or care.
“After Donny had the visions, he just talked and talked about this house. We used to play here when we were kids. Had the boards on the back window rigged so they’d slide like a trap door. They’re still that way… Donny used to say this house had angles that sharpened the dull edges of your mind. I know what he means now. It is comfortable, don’t you think?”
Richards, who was anything but comfortable, said nothing. Just stood very still, sweating, fearing, listening, aiming the light.
“Donny said the angles were honed best during the full moon. I didn’t know what he was talking about then. I didn’t understand about the sacrifices. Maybe you know about them? Been all over the papers and on the TV. The Decapitator they called him.
“It was Donny doing it, and from the way he started acting, talking about the God of the Razor, Jack the Ripper, this old house and its angles, I got suspicious. He got so he wouldn’t even come around near or during a full moon, and when the moon started waning, he was different. Peaceful. I followed him a few times, but didn’t have any luck. He drove to the Safeway, left his car there and walked. He was as quick and sneaky as a cat. He’d lose me right off. But then I got to figuring… him talking about this old house and all… and one full moon I came here and waited for him, and he showed up. You know what he was doing? He was bringing the heads here, tossing them down there in the water like those South American Indians used to toss bodies and stuff in sacrificial pools… It’s the angles in the house, you see.”
Richards had that sensation like ice-cold piss down his collar again, and suddenly he knew what that swimming rat had been pursuing, and what it was trying to do.
“He threw all seven heads down there, I figure,” the young man said. “I saw him toss one.” He pointed with the razor. “He was standing about where you are now when he did it. When he turned and saw me, he ran up after me. I froze, couldn’t move a muscle. Every step he took, closer he got to me, the stranger he looked… he slashed me with the razor, across the chest, real deep. I fell down and he stood over me, the razor cocked,” the young man cocked the razor to show Richards. “I think I screamed. But he didn’t cut me again. It was like the rest of him was warring with the razor in his hand. He stood up, and walking stiff as one of those wind-up toy soldiers, he went back down the stairs, stood about where you are now, looked up at me, and drew that razor straight across his throat so hard and deep he damn near cut his head off. He fell back in the water there, sunk like an anvil. The razor landed on the last step.
“Wasn’t any use; I tried
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