Daniella Beckett & the Beast of Whitechapel

By Allan McLeod

With the murder of Mary Jane Kelly the Modus Operandi of the killings in Whitechapel changed. The surgical skill of Jack the Ripper was replaced with ruthless abandon, and the careful, precise and deliberate methods used to carve the poor victims became vicious and frenzied.

Due to heightened tensions between the police and the people living in the East End of London the police couldn't openly admit that there was a second serial killer walking the streets of London taking the lives of innocents in the dead of night, even though this beast was far more dangerous than any which the police had hunted before.

When Daniella and her fiancé Thomas were holidaying in a quiet place a little way outside London the world seemed perfect; but when a strange and mysterious beast attacks them on the way home the world changed forever. Upon returning to London grieving the loss of her fiancé, Danielle makes an unlikely friend in a man called Theodore together and aided by a desperate police constabulary they prowl the East End of London looking for the beast who killed her fiancé.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Allan McLeod
• Release date: Sep 10, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310655913

Allan McLeod

Allan McLeod was born in June 1988 and lives in Middleborough, in the UK. He is an honours graduate of the Open University, England and he has also studied at the University of Worcester and Inverness College of the University of the Highlands and Islands. He has higher educational qualifications in Natural & Health Sciences as well as Managing Care.Allan now writes in the fields of social sciences and fiction. His interests are socializing, writing and personal fitness, including running and cycling.

Book preview

Daniella Beckett

and the Beast of Whitechapel

Allan McLeod

www.AllanMcLeod.co.uk

www.facebook.com/daniellabeckettnovel

#DaniellaBeckett

Daniella Beckett and the Beast of Whitechapel

Authored by A. J. McLeod

© Allan McLeod Online

The right of Allan McLeod to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents act, 1998

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing from the author

ISBN: 9781310655913

Cover image: East End Riverside, London

Image courtesy © Bishopsgate Institute

http://www.bishopsgate.org.uk/

Dedicated to my friend Danni:

Firstly; I need to say a big thanks to agreeing to be my consulting Ripperologist through this project, letting me bounce ideas off you and discussing the Whitechapel murders was very useful to me while I was trying to put the storyline together at the beginning of this project.

Secondly; thanks for letting me use you as an inspiration for the lead character.

Finally (and most importantly); thank you for letting me moan about my family problems to you when we were in the Southfield when we went for Laurens good-bye bash; what I was going through at the time was messed up (and frankly so was I) and I really can’t put into words how much I appreciate you listening to me moan.

x x x

Also:

Many thanks to Kit Scorah of Tate Hill Editing for the wonderful work you did as my editor.

Contents

The Hairy Fairy

A Weekend Away

An Eventful Journey

The Aftermath

The End of Rose Mylett

Old Volumes and New Beasts

The Revelation

The Butcher Carves His Prey

When the Wolves Come Out to Play

A Night in the Woods

Wolves on the Prowl

Another Body, Another Pursuit

Revenge of the Werewolf

The Final Encounter

Moving On

Prologue: The Hairy Fairy

(26th December 1887)

Fairy Fay left the lodgings that she kept in Mitre Square at about half past four with her young man, a powerfully built yet handsome and friendly looking gentleman named Theodore. She was really called Fay Farrah, but she looked so dainty with her young features, pale skin and blonde hair that the people around her had given her the nickname Fairy Fay. If only they knew the truth, she frequently mused to herself.

Fay and Theodore had been living together in the house, which was a closed down pub. They had painted the sign above the window black so people would realise that the establishment was no longer open and they wouldn’t have drunks trying to get in for a sip or six of gin. They had been living together for almost eighteen months now, and almost a year ago Fay had decided that she would ask him, and if he was agreeable make him more like her.

She had a peculiarity which made her different from other people, and at times her condition could make her very dangerous. Fay was a werewolf; and since Theodore had been excited by this and not afraid, he was now a werewolf too. She was glad that she had finally found someone who was not sickened, repulsed by or terrified of her; not that she had shared her secret with many humans, but each time she had thought that she could share this information about herself, the reaction had not been the one she had hoped for. But finally she had met Theodore, when she had almost given up on finding someone who would accept her; even when he became excited at the sight of her eyes turning dandelion yellow and her fangs elongating, she had almost expected him to reject her and experienced a little surprise that he didn’t dive for the poker in the fireplace of the bachelor’s lodgings he was occupying at the time.

At the nights of the full moon each month they would go out and hunt together, usually taking only the vermin of the countryside that surrounded London; but in the month before last there had been an incident. Theodore’s transformation had begun before they had cleared the boundaries of the city, and a man had been nearly killed by him. He wasn’t dead but a few days later they had read in the newspaper that he had died, poisoned according to the press account.

Tonight, however, they once again needed to hunt. They walked through the streets until they came to the omnibus station and took the omnibus to the edge of the city, where they began to walk into the countryside. It was a familiar walk by now, travelling under the black cloaks that they wore. The moon was full, as always when they took this journey together.

As they approached the city limits they could feel the change begin under their skins. Their muscles moved, changing shape as though they were supposed to be clinging to the frame of a wolf or a hound. Their usually short fangs were elongated into the canines of a wolf and as their senses of hearing and sight became more attuned to what was around them, they realised that they were not alone. This happened sometimes, coming across people, and was usually not an issue; here however there were a group of them and they were loud.

This was not good, they knew. If they were attacked by a group of drunks then the anger rushing through them might force the change, and they would turn and tear the humans apart. As they walked around a corner, they could hear that the strangers were was still heading in their direction. They wondered if there was another path that they could take, but realised that if they stopped or took a longer route they would not be able to get beyond the city and away from the humans before the transformation took them.

They carried on and hoped that if this group tried to start any trouble they would be able to get away without having to get into a fight. This was a relatively respectable part of London anyway so the chances of these people being any real risk to them were slim, but then again, people usually didn’t feel the need to travel around in large groups in this area to begin with. When they turned the next corner they found themselves face to face with a small mob. They looked like some of the gangs which were found in the East End; they had tried to cover their faces so that they would not be recognised, and the couple could smell fear upon them.

They were carrying knives and sharp tools, like peasants in a novel banding together to drive away some monster from their community. When they were yards away they stopped and a dark-clad man who appeared to be their leader stepped forward. He was carrying something, and there was white about his collar.

He’s a priest, Fay realised. They know what we are. The understanding hit her that they were probably not going to get out of this without having to transform into wolf shape and fight as beasts.

‘Theodore, they know we’re wolves,’ Fay muttered under her breath, too quietly for a human to hear.

With his heightened senses, though, Theodore heard her as clearly as if they were sat at home talking.

‘I guessed as much,’ he replied, just as quietly but his Scottish accent still clear.

The priest stepped out in front of his crowd of followers. Fay and Theodore could clearly see the exorcist’s toolkit about him: a stake and a wooden cross were tucked into his belt and he held under his arm what they assumed to be a bible, and a silver crucifix dangled from his neck.

‘Servants of the Prince of Darkness, be gone from this place at once!’ he shouted as he pulled the bible from under his arm and thrust it out in front of him, the cross on its front cover clearly visible in the light from the streetlight above him.

‘Who the devil do you think we are, lad?’ Theodore shouted to him, hoping that seeing they were not driven back by a cross on a bible, they would think they were human after all and decide against lynching them. It was a futile hope, as the features of their faces had been changed by the transformation to wolf and their fangs were twice their usual length.

‘Forsaken rabid dogs!’ the priest shouted with his face contorted by rage. ‘Under the light of the full moon two months since you killed this man’s brother Christopher Jefferson,’ he yelled to Theodore, pointing at a black dressed man holding a length of rough timber with three nails hammered through it, whose expression mingled sorrow and anger.

‘I saw his death reported in the newspaper, and it said he was poisoned,’ Theodore said, finding it hard to speak as his cheeks were tight and his elongated fangs were complicating his speech.

‘When you took a bite from him you marked him as one of your own so we had to euthanize him, but his life was over the instant you tasted his blood, you filthy rabid animal!’ the priest shouted back.

‘Look, gentlemen…’ Fay began, stepping forward, but was interrupted by a shout from the man the priest had identified as Christopher’s brother.

‘Get them!’ he shouted, waving his piece of wood in the air as he charged forward. The other men in the group charged with him, and Fay and Theodore realised that they had to defend themselves. They fought, but after a few moments the change fully took hold of them and they completed the shift into wolf. In their fighting state the conscious human thought in them was pushed to the back of their minds and pure survival instincts took over. They stood their ground before the lynch mob swinging hands armed with razor-sharp claws, punching and shoving the men back.

They were biting and scratching at their attackers; the last little shred of human in them knew that once blood was drawn from someone, they too would become wolf and would have to be killed so they didn’t turn on those around them. But not just killed, destroyed; their bodies would have to be savaged so badly they couldn’t regenerate and reanimate. So they had no choice but to let the wolves in them have free rein and claw their way through the humans until Theodore, seeing a gap in the barricade that they had tried to form, grabbed Fay’s arm under the shoulder and pulled her though.

She fell to the ground limp as he tried to pull her; the stake that the priest had carried had been thrust into her side. In a frenzy of rage Theodore turned and clawed at the priest’s throat, killing him as blood gushed from his jugular vein. The mob was still striking at him; the ones with knives had been easily fought back but the men with longer objects did not have to get so close. There were so many of them that even with the superhuman strength of a werewolf they were beating him down, and even when Fay fell the mob did not stop attacking her. A man with a knife who had been driven back before was stabbing at her on the ground, while another beat at her limp body with a stick.

When the last of the men attacking him had been killed Theodore turned his attention to the men attacking his mate, letting out a roar as he charged them. Hearing his challenge the man with the stick swung it hard at him, catching him in the head. Theodore fell back, dazed. Ordinarily this would have barely hurt him but in his weakened state he reeled back for a moment before stepping forward again and swiping at the man’s throat. When his neck was opened and his life flowing from him Theodore punched him hard in the face, knocking him to the ground.

Theodore felt the knife of the last man standing pierce his side as his attention was taken up with the other man, and he fell forward to one knee. He stood up and slashed at the face of his attacker, catching him only slightly. Theodore knew that he couldn’t risk running; this man might have been infected by the wound to his face, and he would not have another wolf to help him through the initial rage and need for blood. He had to die so that he wouldn’t kill others.

As he lunged forward Theodore tripped on the body of another dead man and his attacker used his distraction to swipe at him again, plunging the blade into his chest. Theodore felt an intense agony, he didn’t know whether the knife had pierced his heart or not but the pain was excruciating. He felt himself abruptly transform almost all the way back to his human form. Instinctively he saved himself by taking the blood he had lost from the man who had stabbed him.

He clamped his mouth around the man’s shoulder where it mets the neck and gulped down the blood which flowed freely from the bite. Even with this sustenance he felt faint as he stepped back and, reeling, fell to the ground.

After a moment the world stopped spinning and his vision cleared. He stood up slowly, and realised that the man was still groaning. He had to be killed… but it felt different now. The man was defenceless and no longer a threat to him, and now Theodore was in his human form, the animal instincts of the wolf within him had quieted.

He was saved from having to kill the man by the shrill sound of a police man’s whistle. Someone had obviously seen or heard what was going on and called for the police, and now they were coming running. Theodore fled in the direction he had been heading with Fay, in case he began to change again. He ran as fast as he could into the countryside surrounding the vast metropolis, leaving his dead mate surrounded by the bodies of the men who would have killed them both, and a dying man whom Theodore desperately hoped was injured so badly that his body would not be able to reanimate, so he would not return as a werewolf to kill and infect others.

* * *

(One week later)

Theodore’s worst fears had been confirmed, and he was feeling a strange combination of disgust and pity towards the corpse that lay before him near the docks by the river. The wound was already healing where the man had been bitten, and in a few minutes the corpse in front of him would be the most dangerous creature for a hundred miles. The bearded, redheaded man lying dead at Theodore’s feet must stay dead, and in a few moments, after he had done what he must, Theodore would have to pursue the creature that had done this to him. The prospect of this vital mission terrified him and filled him with dread. When a werewolf dies by violence they resurrect as a vampire, and so he knew that his dead mate Fay was probably behind this. He rationalised his new hunt to himself as a kindness he had to do for her, but deep down he knew that this was not only to do with saving Fay but the only way he could stop her from killing anyone else.

Theodore looked down, and saw the