Broken Window Read online

  Copyright 2017 Amy Cross

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, entities and places are either products of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, businesses, entities or events is entirely coincidental.

  Kindle edition

  First published: August 2017

  “Some say he was the greatest serial killer of all time. And to this day, nobody has ever discovered his name.”

  Lost and alone one night on the streets of London, Maddie Harper knows she shouldn't go near the abandoned house on Cathmore Road. She's heard stories about the place, about how everyone keeps away. But tonight Maddie's scared and hurt, and she's being hunted through the city's dark, rain-lashed streets. So when she sees a broken window at the back of the house, she decides she has to take the risk.

  But this is no ordinary house. This house once belonged to a monster.

  Soon, Maddie starts to realize that something in this house is very wrong. For one thing, the basement is set out more like an old operating theater. For another, there are tattered notebooks detailing a series of gruesome medical procedures. And then there's the bell in one of the old bedrooms, which seems to ring from time to time, even though it's covered in a thick layer of dust.

  Maddie is about to learn not only that the house's previous owner hid a dark secret, but also that – as she explores these old and abandoned rooms – she might not be quite so alone after all. And the truth of an English legend is about to be revealed.

  Broken Window is the first book in a new horror series, titled The House of Jack the Ripper. This book ends on a cliffhanger, and the story continues in the next book in the series.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Broken Window

  (The House of Jack the Ripper book 1)

  Prologue

  Suddenly I fall, tripping on a loose floorboard and dropping to my knees. I let out a cry of pain as I tumble forward, but somehow I manage to keep my hands clamped tight against my bloodied belly.

  “Matt!” I scream, trying to get to my feet but not quite summoning the strength. “Matt, run! Get out of -”

  Before I can finish, I cry out in pain as more blood spills from my belly and runs between my fingers. The pain is intense, filling my mind for a few seconds as my knees buckle under my weight. I start slipping down, but somehow I manage to drag myself up.

  “Matt, run!” I gasp, tasting blood in my mouth now. “Matt, you have to get out of here.”

  I lean against the wall for a moment and look down at my clasped hands. The cut on my belly runs all the way from one side to the other, and I can feel the weight of my intestines pushing to get out. If I move my hands away, the torn flesh will split all the way and there'll be nothing holding my guts in place. Even now, I can feel more blood seeping out between my fingers, and I think I can even see a sliver of glistening redness pushing against the cut from deep inside. And no matter how hard I try to stay up, I can't keep from sliding down once again toward the floorboards.

  I adjust my hands a little, hoping to get a better grip, but the pain is intense and my fingers are covered in blood. I feel nauseous too, as if my shifting guts are trying to expel everything they contain. My underwear's soaked too. Even if I get out of here, I don't know how -

  And then suddenly I hear him.

  I freeze.

  I don't dare look, but I know he's close.

  Letting out a groan of pain, I try again to get to my feet. This time I force myself up, but I can feel my knees trembling as if they might buckle again at any moment. I start stumbling forward, heading unsteadily toward the top of the stairs while leaning heavily against the wall. With each step, more and more blood is forced out through the cut in my belly, and when I get to the top of the stairs I let out a whimpered sob. Each step feels as if it has to be my last, yet somehow I've made it this far. I've slipped in my own blood and I've almost passed out as pain bursts through my body, but I refuse to curl up and die. I have to fight.

  “Matt!” I gasp. “He's here! Run!”

  I don't know where Matt is right now, but I have to find him. If he's hurt – if that monster has gotten to him – I have to make sure he's okay and get him out of here. If anything's happened to Matt, I'll never forgive myself.

  I pause for a moment, leaning against the wall and letting out another groan, but then I hear a bumping sound. This time I turn instinctively, and to my horror I see the silhouette of a man standing at the far end of the landing. He's facing this way, and in his right hand he's holding a large knife with a curved blade. Even from here, I can see that blood is dribbling down onto the floorboards.

  My name is Maddie Harper, and I am not going to die like this.

  “You're not going to get me,” I whisper, trying to find some strength from somewhere. “I won't let you.”

  I lunge at the table next to the top of the stairs, desperately trying to find something I can use as a weapon. I miss the table, however, and slam against the wall, and my hands barely contain the sloughing mess that's threatening to come slopping out of my belly at any moment. I feel dizzy, and it takes a moment before I can even turn and focus on the silhouetted figure.

  “Leave me alone!” I scream. “Go to hell!”

  Suddenly he takes a step toward me, and he emerges from the shadows enough for me to see his dark, dead eyes.

  Gripped by panic, I turn and start making my way down the stairs, but I immediately slip. I try to steady myself against the wall, but I quickly realize that I'm starting to fall. As I tumble forward, I instinctively reach out to grab the banister, almost but not quite managing to save myself. Finally I scream as I fall. My remaining hand slips down and my intestines burst out from my belly, splattering against the bare wooden steps.

  Chapter One

  Maddie

  Today

  “Have you seen Alex? Hey, have any of you seen Alex around?”

  Nobody answers.

  There are two guys loading dented tin cans into an old oil drum, but other than that I don't recognize anyone down here under the bridge. It was a long shot coming here anyway, and I know Alex could be miles and miles away, but I have to at least try to find her.

  It's been twenty-four hours now.

  If I don't find her soon, maybe I never will.

  This is my last shot. I spent all morning on the streets, asking anyone I could find whether they might have spotted Alex. Finally I came here, to the space under the bridge, to the place where a couple of hundred homeless people take shelter on cold and rainy nights. The rain has passed now, leaving bright puddles in the morning light, but there are still a fair few people milling about. I know from bitter experience that people can be helpful here, but also that some can be dangerous. This is the first time I've ever been here alone, without Alex.

  “Does anyone here know Alex?” I ask, stumbling slightly in the mud and then adjusting my backpack in an attempt to make it
a little less top-heavy. “Does anyone here know a girl named Alex, from the house on Bowley Street?”

  A woman glances at me, but she simply stares for a moment with a glassy expression before looking back down at the tattered paper coffee cup she's holding. From the look in her eyes, I half-suspect she thinks I'm a hallucination. A moment later she turns away, and I watch as she takes an unlabeled metal can and tips its contents into a bowl. Whatever's inside the can, it slops out like meat or guts, splattering the bowl.

  A train rattles across the bridge above us, carrying more commuters into London. I glance up and spot silhouettes in the windows, but they're out of sight soon enough. For a moment I catch myself remembering the times when I was a little girl, when my grandparents used to bring me up on that same train for day-trips to London. I remember seeing homeless people back then, but I never thought I'd become one myself. I always thought I was safe somehow.

  I can't afford to think like this right now.

  I have to find Alex.

  “Hi,” I say as I spot another familiar face up ahead. A man, someone I think I might have seen around a couple of times before, back near the Bowley Street squat. “Sorry, but can I ask you something? Do you know a girl named Alex with a Yorkshire accent?”

  The man turns to me, but there's no hint of recognition in his features.

  “Do you know the Bowley Street squat?” I continue, stopping a few feet from him, careful not to get too close in case he springs a surprise. “The one that got cleared yesterday? I was supposed to meet my friend Alex there, but when I arrived there were just loads of police around. Do you know what happened to the people who were living there? Did you hear anything about where they might have gone?”

  He stares at me for a moment, before turning and looking back down at the mud. It's already clear that he's not quite all there in the head, although he's still my best bet right now.

  “I'm really sorry,” I say, taking another step toward him, “I just really need to -”

  Before I can finish, I see him slip his hand into the left-side pocket of his tattered coat. I've learned from bitter experience to be wary whenever people conceal their hands, so I immediately take a step back. The man fumbles in his pocket, and it's certainly possible that he's taking hold of a knife's handle. When I look at his face, I see that he's staring at me with wild, yellow-tinged eyes, and I quickly realize that maybe he's not going to be able to help me after all. Alex warned me about this kind of situation.

  “Sorry to disturb you,” I mutter, before turning and trudging away through the mud, making my way toward the spot where the riverbank starts rising up to meet the huge brick arches of the bridge.

  Another train rattles past, but this time I don't allow myself to look up.

  After a few more paces, I glance over my shoulder to make sure that the man isn't following me. Fortunately, he's already wandering off in the other direction. Maybe he wasn't dangerous after all, and maybe that wasn't a knife in his pocket, but I'm glad to have gotten away from him. At least for now. Alex always tells me to be careful around people I don't know, and I've learned to always listen to Alex's advice. Alex has been on the streets for a few years now. Alex knows everything.

  “Maddie,” a man's voice says suddenly. “Hey Maddie, what're you doing here?”

  Turning, I'm surprised to see Nick sitting on his haunches just a few meters away. It must be a month since I last bumped into him, all the way over in Southfields, and I've got to admit that I'm glad to see a familiar face. As I adjust my backpack again and head over to him, I brush some strands of matted, dirty hair away from the side of my face. Tucking the strands behind my ear, I glance down at my shirt, and I immediately realize that there's no point trying to hide the fact that things haven't been going well. I'm probably still wearing the same clothes I was wearing last time I saw him, and I'm pretty sure I don't smell too good.

  “It is Maddie, isn't it?” Nick asks. “From the other week?”

  I nod.

  Nick's okay.

  Alex told me I can trust Nick, and Alex is never wrong.

  “Thought so,” he continues with a smile. “I never forget a face. What're you doing here? I thought you were in with those other people from Bowley Street.”

  “It got raided yesterday,” I tell him.

  “For real?”

  I nod again.

  “That sucks,” he says with a sigh, and he seems genuinely surprised. “I was thinking of heading there myself. Do you know what happened?”

  I shrug.

  “More rich assholes wanting to clear people out so they can rent the place?” he adds.

  I shrug again.

  “It's the same story everywhere,” he continues, and now there's a hint of venom in his voice. “So where were you when it happened?”

  “I'd been to the station,” I explain. “Liverpool Street. It was luck, really. I was supposed to meet Alex back at the house, but when I showed up...”

  My voice trails off as I remember the thump of shock in my chest. I turned the corner last night, and that's when I saw all the flashing lights as police cars waited outside the house. I watched people being led out, but I didn't see Alex, which means she must have got away. Alex is smart like that. If anyone was going to slip out without getting nabbed by the police, it'd be Alex.

  “I need to find Alex,” I say finally. “Please, if you have any idea where she is, you have to tell me.”

  “Oh I do, do I?”

  “Please!”

  I wait for a moment, but I'm starting to realize that this conversation isn't going anywhere. Maybe Nick's just playing with me for his own amusement, so I mutter something about seeing him later as I turn to walk away.

  “I saw her,” he says suddenly.

  I spin back around, and now he's pointing along the riverbank toward the park.

  “About two hours ago,” he continues. “I think it was her, anyway. She's got that t-shirt she always wears, right?”

  “The Green Day t-shirt!” I say excitedly. “From the Revolution Radio tour!”

  He nods. “Whatever. She was with some people. They looked like they were waiting for someone, and I think I heard them talking about getting some petrol from somewhere. Like, for a car or something.”

  “Where exactly was she?” I ask, and for the first time in hours I feel a flash of hope.

  “I told you, she was in the park but -”

  “Thank you!” I stammer, turning and hurrying away across the mud.

  “Are you not gonna stay a while?” he calls after me. “Hey, I told you what you wanted to know! Don't I get anything in return?”

  “I've got to find her!” I yell breathlessly, although I'm so far away now, I'm not even sure he can hear me. “Sorry, but I've got to find Alex!”

  Chapter Two

  Doctor Charles Grazier

  Saturday September 29th, 1888

  It's no use. She's dying. As a man of science, I have to accept the truth. She's dying and it's only a matter of time before the cancer -

  No.

  No, she's not dying.

  I shall not let her die.

  Weakness and doubt are for other, lesser men. I must focus on the task at hand.

  What I shall do, right this instant, is pull myself together. This is not the time to let doubts creep into my mind, nor is it the time to let myself be distracted. I am stronger than that. Other men might collapse into doubt at a moment such as this, but I am not like other men. I am Doctor Charles Grazier, I am the greatest surgeon in the whole of London – perhaps in the world – and I can do this.

  The cancer's tide might be high in her body right now, but like all tides it will eventually ebb, and that is when I shall drag Catherine clear of its malign influence.

  And yet...

  Looking down at my hands, in which I am holding the diseased and rejected clutch of human tissue, I focus on bringing this vile weakness under control. I am an intellectual, I have an educated mind. I should n
ot be susceptible to weaknesses of the flesh.

  It takes a few minutes, but finally my hands stop shaking.

  There.

  I have restored order to my body. Now I must restore it to Catherine's as well. And yet, in my hands right now, I am holding the evidence of my most recent failure.

  The tissue from the dead woman's uterus is now, itself, dead. There was a brief moment, up until last week, when I actually began to think that the transplant had been successful. The whore's tissue seemed to have taken to Catherine's body, in such a manner that I thought I had been proven right in all my beliefs. Perhaps it was foolish of me to allow myself to hope, but I suppose that after so many months of dread I allowed myself a moment of weakness. I began to think I had succeeded at last.

  I still remember the sense of despair that I felt, last Tuesday, when I saw the first signs of necrosis. And now I have had to cut it out again, and my poor dear Catherine's agony seems set to continue. All because some dead whore could not provide healthy tissue. I went through all that trouble, catching her and killing her and harvesting what I needed, for nothing.

  “Pitiless wretch,” I mutter, overcome by a sense of disgust. Heading across the room, I drop the useless tissue into a metal drum. I must remember to burn the cursed thing later. “Now I shall have to -”

  Suddenly I hear a bell ringing upstairs, and my heart skips a beat. I look up at the ceiling, but I already know that I have no choice. Catherine is calling me, and I must go to her.

  ***

  “The fever will pass soon, my dear,” I explain, as I slide another pillow under Catherine's head. “I'm sure you must feel dreadful, but I believe there will be no long-term harm. We must -”

  Before I can finish, she clutches my wrist with a thin, bony hand. I must confess, my first reaction is to note how painfully weak she seems, and I believe I can feel the bones of her fingers pressing against me, as if her skin is now even thinner than before. Even now, after all this time, I never stop being shocked by the deterioration of Catherine's form. She grows weaker by the day.