The Sheriff of White Creek

1

Nevada, 17962

The small settlement of White Creek looked like a ghost town. Not a single lamp shone through a window. No saloon doors were swinging. No sound of hammer on metal echoed from the blacksmiths. At first glance you could be forgiven for thinking the place was deserted. 3

But if you crept up to one of the wooden shacks and pressed your ear against the door, you would hear whispered voices. If you listened harder still, you would hear the name “Mad Jack”. And if you looked through the evening dusk, you would see a lone figure standing before the town gate. 4

Sheriff Jonas McNeil shifted his boots in the sand, his spurs glinting in the moonlight. His hands were steady at his side, awaiting the moment he would need to draw his pistols. He stood for what seemed like hours. Just as he felt sure that the night would make way for dawn, and take with it the threat of Mad Jack, he heard a barely audible rustle. 5

“Evening, Sheriff.” Jack growled from the darkness somewhere ahead.6

McNeil felt his hands tighten on the hilts of his pistols as he peered hard into the inky blackness.7

“Show yourself! Or do you fight like a coward from the shadows?” Only the tremor in his voice betrayed his fear.8

“I can assure you I am anything but a coward. And what makes you so sure I am here to fight?” without the growl in his voice, he had a surprisingly soft tone.9

“I’ve no time for games! This here is my town, and I am telling you to show yourself!”10

His words should have been his epitaph. Jack moved slowly out of the darkness, into the dull glow of the solitary oil lamp that still burned in its sconce. McNeil drew a gasp as he saw the figure for the first time. Jack didn’t look human. He wasn’t human. Yet he spoke as though he were. 11

“You care about this town?” spoke the beast. McNeil kept his eyes fixed on Jack’s as he nodded.12

“Then I will make sure you have all of eternity to enjoy it.”13

The last thing McNeil saw before he passed out was Jack’s gaping maw looming towards him.14

London, 188815

The papers were full of death. Prostitutes were being murdered and nobody could catch the killer. It was as if he literally melted into the night after he had finished his grisly work. 16

Polly Nicholls had decided to take the night off. She would spend the evening in her favourite tavern, laughing and singing with her friends. As she finished rouging her cheeks at her dressing table, she smiled at her reflection, revealing a gap in her teeth. 17

“You know what, you scrub up all right, you do, girly!” she trilled to herself, wrapping a moth eaten shawl around her shoulders, and twirling around. Grabbing her hand stitched silken purse, she sashayed out of the door. 18

The streets of Whitechapel were lively and bustling with ladies and gents going about their business. Life had pretty much carried on as normal since the murders, except that nobody travelled alone down the winding cobbled streets after dark any more. Nobody that was, except Polly. She was too young, to full of confidence to care. And when a stranger stepped from the shadows and doffed his hat to her, she merely giggled coyly, wondering how much he would be good for if she went with him. 19

“Evenin’ sir.” She said in a girlish voice, swinging her bag back and forth across her legs.20

“Ma’am.” He nodded his head at her, one side of his lips raised in a half smile.21

“You looking for a bit of fun? Cos, if you are, you gone and found it.” 22

“Maybe I am. But how much will it cost me?” 23

“Hey, you speak funny! Are you from them Americas? I don’t know much about geography mind.” Polly did her best to be coy and girlish. Her high-pitched London accent was beginning to grate on the man’s nerves. He merely smiled and nodded his head again.24

“My place is only down the way,” she gestured to the street behind her. “We can go back there if you want.”25

“You didn’t answer my question.” He stopped her with a firm hand on her arm. “How much?”26

Polly looked him dead on, taking in every detail of his dress, trying to discern how much she could ask for. 27

“Three shillings.” She said, trying to sound confident, as if she asked as much from everyone.28

“Then lead the way.” The man held out his arm, and she took it, feeling every inch a lady to be seen with such an elegant stranger.29

Polly’s single room in a boarding house was hardly high class, and she hoped it would not deter her gentlemen friend. She pushed the unlocked door open with the toe of one scuffed boot, and prayed he would not think her a common whore. She considered herself classier than most of them. The smell of unwashed sheets and stale bread lingered in the air, and she couldn’t miss the way the mans nose screwed up in distaste. She moved across the small room to the bedside table and took a bowl containing a few lavender sprigs she had picked up from the floor of the flower market. A pot of water above the tiny fireplace was still warm, and she tipped in the lavender, hoping to mask the smell. 30

The man hadn’t moved from the doorway while she did all this. He merely stood, and regarded her with an impenetrable gaze. 31

“So then, what’s your name? I’m Polly, but you can call me….”32

“Jack. My name is Jack.”33

It was nearly light when Jack finally left Polly’s home. She stood on the doorstep and waved him off, hoping she would get to see him again. He was such a gentleman. 34

She stood leaning against the door for a long while, dreaming of her romantic stranger. Another figure dressed in a long dark coat had crept up almost within touching distance before she noticed its presence. My luck must really be in tonight, she thought with a smile, allowing the figure past her to the warmth of her hearth.35

“Come in, come in. It’ll cost you, mind,” She laughed.36

Her body was found a few days later. The young police officer who made the grisly discovery alerted the station and within hours the place was full of detectives and medical experts. While the mist descended around the lampposts in another foggy London night, Polly’s body was photographed and examined. 37

A weathered looking man stood in the corner of the small room, watching as the rest worked. He was experienced in the police with five years in the service. Although he only looked in his mid thirties, his eyes had a world weary quality about them. His name was Jonas McNeil, and after nearly a century he was finally closing in on Jack.38

The streets of London always came alive after dark, and that night was no different. After finishing up at the Nicholls case, Jonas took to the cobbles. In the entirety of his hunt for Jack, he had always found a coin or two pressed in the hand of a local to procure the best leads. And now he had a police badge to help loosen their tongues. 39

As soon as he had heard news of the string of murders occurring in Whitechapel, he had known it was Jack. The police force had been the perfect way to get inside information on the case, so, thankful he had already been living locally, he offered to help the investigating team. After reading the files on the case, he was certain he had found his man.40

Jonas rounded a corner into a small square. There were still a few vendors left with their stalls, probably hoping for business from a gent or two after a few drinks had loosened their wallets. A roast chestnut stall caught his eye and his nostrils. Realising he hadn’t eaten yet that evening, he made his way over. Once equipped with a warm bag of chestnuts, Jonas surveyed the area, looking for likely sources of information. 41

“You waiting for someone?” enquired the vendor.42

“What? Oh, no. No, I'm not waiting. Just wondering.” Jonas turned with a smile to the man. 43

“Anything I can help you with guv’nr?” 44

“Where’s a good place to stay round here? Boarding houses, taverns, that kind of thing.”45

“Well, that’s an easy one! Just over there, Molly’s place. Rooms are alright, and it’s cheap enough.” 46

Jonas followed the finger the man was pointing. A small, tatty looking tavern stood in one corner of the square. He hadn’t noticed it before. 47

“Thanks. I think I’ll give it a try.” Jonas smiled again and slipped the man another coin before pushing his hands into his overcoat and trudging across the square. 48

Molly’s tavern was awash with flowing ale and laughter. A piano in one corner was brought to life by a jolly looking man with ruddy red cheeks, playing a fast paced medley of popular drinking songs. Men and women stood around him singing along loudly, tankards raised high. The loudest voice of all was coming from a well endowed woman behind the bar. Molly, he thought, making a beeline straight for her. 49

“Evening sweetheart. What can I get you?” Molly had friendly eyes which sparkled as she spoke. Jonas flashed the police badge in his pocket discreetly, so as not to draw attention from the revellers in the corner.50

“Nothing, thanks. I'm on duty. I have a couple of questions to ask, if that’s alright.”51

Molly’s face became slightly guarded as he spoke.52

“I aint done nothing wrong! I'm a good girl!” her voice rose above the din in the tavern, and attracted a few curious glances.53

“No, no! I don’t mean to say you have. I need your help with something.” Jonas soothed her quickly, keen to avoid a scene. “I was wondering if you had any strangers staying here recently. Anyone not local? Foreign, even.”54

He could see the furrows in her brow as she wrinkled her eyes in thought. 55

“Come to mention it, there was one gentleman. American he was. Nice chap, kept himself to himself. He left two days ago though. Room’s been empty since.”56

Ignoring the hint for custom, Jonas pushed on. 57

“Did he say where he was from? Why he was here?”58

“He mentioned a little town in the wild west, like where them cowboys come from, I think. And he said he was here to catch up with an old friend. But like I said, he kept himself to himself. Never really spoke to no-one.”59

“May I see the room he stayed in?” 60

Molly looked thrown for a moment, but regained her wiles quickly.61

“Now, a poor girl like me can’t just be giving her rooms for hire for free, now can I? What if one of these good men behind you want a bed for the night? I can’t be turning business down willy-nilly.”62

Jonas cast a glance over his shoulder. None of the patrons looked as though they had half-pence for their next tankard of ale, let alone enough for lodgings. He turned back to Molly with a wry expression and pulled a shilling from his pocket.63

“Then may I rent the room for a couple of hours?” 64

The floorboards in the hallway creaked underfoot as Jonas made his way to the small room Jack had stayed in. He frowned, realising he had paid over the odds for a short use of such a hovel. Although, he thought, I’d give every penny I owned to find that bastard.65

The room stunk of sweat. Jonas reeled for a moment as he stepped over the threshold. He forced himself to take a few deep breaths. Beneath the stench of the room, he could almost taste something else in his throat. Something raw and animal and wild. Something he had smelled the same night Jack had attacked him in White Creek. Something he now smelled on himself. Instinctively, his hand moved to his throat. Covered now by a scarf, his skin bore a scar, five inches long. The scar from where Jack’s teeth had sunk into his flesh the night he had become a monster. 66

Jonas had died that night, as far as being human was concerned. He had become the same as Jack. A monster. A creature of myth and terror. He had become a werewolf. He had sworn revenge after being run out of White Creek. The locals had become fearful, worried he would turn on them as Jack had, and chased him out of town. He had gone from sheriff to outlaw in one easy move. 67

And so had begun the game of cat and mouse between Jonas and Jack. A game of strategy and cunning, spanning almost a century. Until now, Jack had always been one step ahead, but Jonas was finally closing the net.68

He bent down next to the rickety bed, and ran one hand over the rough wooden floor. Lifting it into the dim light of the oil lamp burning on the wall, he rubbed his fingers together and sniffed them. Blood. A few days old, but still unmistakable. He guessed that the parts of Polly that had been missing had ended up here. Despite himself, the thought drew a loud rumble from his stomach. He may have had a bag of chestnuts, but he hadn’t eaten yet. 69

Jonas performed a quick search of the room, which turned up nothing, before making his leave and heading for home. 70

The fireplace in the rented townhouse was roaring nicely when he got back. The smell of freshly killed rabbit hit his nostrils. He hung his overcoat on the rack by the door, and headed to the kitchen to find Lucille. Sure enough, she was there, pulling the skin from four still warm rabbits on the table. She looked up and smiled at him, with loving eyes that broke his heart every time he saw them. 71

Lucille was his one regret. 72

A saloon girl, she had been the only one in White Creek who hadn’t run in fear after Jack changed him. Instead, she had stuck by him, defending him where the others had shunned. He had always had a soft spot for her, and heightened by the terror at his new state, he had succumbed to her drunken pleas to join him. He had sunk his fangs into her tender stomach and she too had arisen as a werewolf. He had cursed her with an eternity of living as a monster, as Jack had cursed him. Although she had never complained, he could see it in her eyes as she gazed at the moon some nights. He could see her regret at the rash moment that had so terribly changed her. 73

“Dinner is almost done, honey. I hope you’re hungry.”74

“I'm starved. It looks great.” Jonas eyed the raw meat hungrily. “I found him.”75

Lucille stumbled with the plate of hot potatoes she was lifting to the table. She knew the day would come eventually, but she tried to block it from her mind. It scared her to think of what may happen. Jonas lent forward and took the platter from her hands, setting it down carefully between the rabbits. He motioned for her to sit, and took his own place opposite.76

“He was staying at a tavern near here. I was in his room. And it’s definitely him behind the prostitute murders.”77

“Oh Jonas, are you sure, honey? You thought you had him in Paris last year and….”78

He cut her off with a wave of his hand.79

“This time, I know I have him. I'm telling you Lucy, Jack is close.”80

Jack’s footsteps echoed down the street as he escorted a new lady friend home. Her name was Molly, and he had stayed at her tavern a few nights ago. She had drunk a lot of liquor, and her tongue was loose. She had been providing him with some interesting information about a gentleman who had been looking for him. He knew it was Jonas. Time to move the hunt home, he thought. 81

Jonas had been trailing him for years. Been close to tracking him down a few times, too. He was getting tired of it all. Changing Jonas had been a risk, and one that had unfortunately not paid off. Sheriff Jonas McNeil had been the only man to stand up to the threat of the menacing Mad Jack. He would have made the perfect comrade, the perfect companion. But Jonas had turned against his creator instead, swearing revenge from the beginning. Jack had never had chance to show him the true extent of the wonderful gift he had given him. Jonas was capable of doing so much in his new body, but Jack doubted if he had learnt the half of it. Instead, he had insisted on hunting his creator, seemingly willing to follow him to the ends of the earth and back if that was what it took.82

It had been one of life’s little coincidences that a string of murders had begun almost to the day Jack had come to London on business. Jack knew that Jonas thought he was behind them, and that suited him fine. It would give him a nice head start when he set back for America. Enough time to set things up just right, so that the hunter would finally become the hunted once he returned to home soil.83

Molly had stepped up to a doorway and was turning a key in a lock. She looked up from behind full eyelashes, her voice breathy as she asked him in. Jack gazed down at her creamy skin, her full, soft bosom, and smiled as he declined the invitation. He was hungry, and didn’t want to have to kill her. 84

News broke of another grisly discovery early the next morning. Dispatched to the scene immediately, Jonas found himself staring down at yet another mutilated prostitute. She had been split open from throat to pelvis, the worst yet. Flies buzzed around his head as he bent to look closely. The wounds were ragged, as if made by claws. So far, the police had put it down to being caused by a slightly blunt knife, and he had no intention of telling them anything else. 85

“McNeil, finish off searching the place. Meet outside when you’re done.” Barked Sergeant Broome from across the room. Jonas nodded. 86

Once Broome and the others had marched out, Jonas began the routine he always went through when left alone. First, he checked the corpse for teeth marks. He found what could have been some on the inside of her left thigh, but they had been covered well but another long gash that ran almost hip to knee. The opening of the front of the body had almost definitely been done by claws such as he possessed, of that he was sure. He had caused a few wounds like that himself, in the old days. 87

He moved round to look at her arms, to see if there were any bruising or other signs of a struggle. He noticed that her right hand was clutching something. He pried it gently from her fingers, and studied it intently. A feeling of panic coursed through his veins as his eyes devoured every inch of the item. 88

The sound of Sgt Broome barking orders outside broke him out of the trance he was in. Staggering to his feet, he stuffed the object into his overcoat pocket and lurched for the door. 89

“Sir, I don’t feel too good. Think it’s best if I get home and get some sleep.” Jonas lied to his sergeant.90

“Hmmm.” Broome took in the constables pale complexion and queasy expression. “Alright McNeil. Too much death is no good for anyone. You go and rest. But I need you back on things in the morning, OK?”91

Jonas barely made time to nod his agreement before turning and running.92

Lucille was on her hands and knees sweeping out the fireplace when Jonas came bursting through the door. 93

“Honey! You’re home early.”94

“When, Lucy? When did you do it?” Jonas’ face was stone as he spoke.95

“Do what? Baby, what are you talking about?” 96

Jonas reached into his pocket and pulled out a small handkerchief. He threw it down in front of her. 97

“She still had it in her hand, Lucy. I found it on the body.”98

He watched as Lucille turned the colour of paper in the snow as she reached out to pick up the hanky, embroidered with her initials. The hanky she had sat and sewn at home. The hanky whose matching one was to be found in Jonas’ pocket, bearing his initials in the same yellow cotton. 99

“I'm sorry.” 100

“Was it you? Did you do all of them?”101

“I never meant for you to find out like this.”102

“You never meant for me to find out at all.”103

Still on her hands and knees before the fireplace, Lucille began to sob softly.104

“I just couldn’t hold it back any more Jonas! We are hunters! I was just following my instinct!”105

“Giving in to it, more like! Lucy, you know how I feel about killing.”106

“Yes, I know how you feel about it. But did you ever ask how I feel about it?” Lucy’s despair was rapidly turning into anger. “You wont shape shift, you wont feed, you wont do anything! You cant understand how good it feels, how natural. All you care about is killing the one who changed you!”107

“That’s not true! I care about you, Lucy.” Jonas felt his own rage seep away with the shock of Lucille’s speech. “But, yes, I do want Jack dead. He cursed me with this. You must understand.” His voice was barely a whisper.108

“Yes, Jonas,” Lucille spoke softly, sadness in her voice. “I know how you feel. You cursed me, remember?”109

Jonas didn’t go back to work the next day. Instead, he sat on the bed of the small room he had rented after the confrontation with Lucille. He hadn’t been able to look at her after what she had said. He knew she was right, and it pained him more than an eternity of being a werewolf ever could. 110

Jack mailed a letter straight after lunch that day. It was to a newspaper. In it, he boasted of the prostitute murders and claimed he was the culprit. He didn’t really care who the real murderer was. The stranger stalking the streets had done him a favour, inadvertently, and that was good enough for him. He had signed the note ‘Jack the Ripper’, and added a post script that was meant only for Jonas. As he packed his suitcase ready for the return journey to America, he hoped the ex-sheriff would figure it out. 111

The next few days were lonely ones for Jonas. They reminded him of the first week of life as a beast, back in White Creek. Until Lucille had joined him. The thought of her cramped every inch of his skull. He saw her face when he closed his eyes. He could still smell her skin on his hands. Time stood still without her. 112

He moved to stand, to pace the room as he did from time to time. A sharp pain shot across his belly, doubling him over. He hadn’t eaten in days. He knew he should find some food. 113

Reluctantly, he left the lodgings and went in search of a store. 114

It was in a grocers, where he bought meat and cheese, that he first saw the sensational headlines in the newspapers. ‘Killer speaks out!’ they screamed from behind their wire stands. Confused, and scared that Lucille had done something stupid and given herself up, he hastily purchased a copy, and hurried back to his room.115

He read the letter from Jack the Ripper with disbelief. It was from Jack, he was sure of that, but why would he claim to be the killer, when he obviously wasn’t? That question plagued Jonas as he forced down the food he had bought. As his head cleared with the waning of hunger pains, he realised Jack had wanted to send him a message of some sort. But what?116

His eyes scrambled across every printed word as he tried to encrypt it, making his head spin. Then it hit him. It was in the post script. At first, the words seemed to be just a taunt at the police, unable to find the killer. ‘POLICE GO HOME!’ written in bold, slashing letters at the bottom of the note. To anyone else, it would appear a jibe at their lack of leads and ability to solve the case. 117

But Jonas wasn’t anyone else. He knew what it meant. 118

It was time to go back to White Creek. Time to settle the score once and for all. 119

Part Two coming to a web page near you soon!................................................... 120