The Lady Screams

  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: September 2017

  The year is 1888, and Doctor Charles Grazier has succeeded in reanimating the body of his dead wife. Even though she lacks a heart, Catherine Grazier is sitting up on the slab in the basement, but there's one problem.

  She won't stop screaming.

  As Grazier works desperately to fix the problem, he tells himself that eventually he will be able to get his wife back. Soon, however, he's forced to consider the possibility that his work has produced an unintended and terrifying side-effect.

  Meanwhile, in the present day, Maddie explores the house. Although she doesn't believe in ghosts, she soon starts noticing strange sounds during the night. And then, when she meets one of the neighbors, she starts to learn a little more about the history of the house, and about the strange presence that is said to scare people away.

  The Lady Screams is the fourth book in a new eight-part 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

  The Lady Screams

  (The House of Jack the Ripper book 4)

  Prologue

  “Oh Charles, you shouldn't have! You're so romantic!”

  “I saw the look on your face,” I tell her, as she takes the earrings from my hand. “How could I not get them for you?”

  “But can we afford things like this?”

  “Let me worry about that.”

  “But -”

  “Let me worry,” I say firmly. “You must not concern yourself with such things. Everything is in order, and I would not have bought you these earrings if I could not afford to do so. Or do you think me to be a foolish man?”

  “Of course not,” she replies, and something in her seems to relax, as if she accepts that I am right. “I shall try not to fret, Charles. I know you are correct in this, as in all things.”

  It's a warm, sunny morning, and Mousehole is surprisingly busy. As other people walk past us, Catherine and I remain here outside the shop, and she seems genuinely in awe of the earrings. She even holds them up after a moment, to admire them as sunlight glitters against their sides. Once again, I am struck by the absolute beauty of her face, and by the fact that she looks so utterly happy.

  “You must stop spoiling me soon,” she says with a smile. “Charles, I do not need to be a given a gift every single day.”

  “It is our honeymoon,” I point out. “Let me indulge you.”

  Still smiling, she leans toward me and kisses me on the cheek. Such a public display of affection might seem a little awkward, but in truth I do not mind. Catherine has awakened something in me, especially since our marriage. Perhaps I am overstating matters a little, but I truly believe that she is making me a better man. So long as I have her, I feel I shall be able to ignore all the little faults and fractures in my personality, and I shall strive instead to be a worthy husband.

  “Look at the boats in the harbor,” she says after a moment, and I turn to see several fishing boats bobbing gently on the water. “They are so lucky to have somewhere they can shelter. I know the sea is so calm now, but when a storm strikes, they need protection.”

  “You have an unusual way of seeing the world,” I tell her. “That is something is greatly admire.”

  “The earrings are wonderful,” she continues, and I think perhaps I even see tears in her eyes. “I must find some special occasion to wear them.”

  “Come,” I say, taking her arm and leading her along the street, “let us go to the tea room again. Perhaps they have more of those delicious scones with cream. And then perhaps later I shall arrange to have our photograph taken. That way, we can have something that will always remind us of this happy day.”

  “Oh Charles, that would be wonderful, but the cost -”

  “The cost is none of your concern,” I tell her. “You can protest all you wish, but I rather think that I have made my decision. Our photograph is to be taken, and it shall stand as a reminder of this trip. Of the beginning of our marriage.”

  Everything is perfect. Catherine is perfect. And so long as we are together, I am certain that I shall be a good man for the rest of my life.

  Chapter One

  Doctor Charles Grazier

  Monday October 1st, 1888

  The scream is coming from Catherine's mouth, and her eyes are wide open too. The sound is now so loud that I fear my eardrums are about to burst. Somehow, though her body is without a heart and though I am not even halfway through the set of procedures I had planned...

  Somehow, Catherine's face is contorted into a rictus of pain. And she is screaming.

  “What is this?” I stammer, too horrified to even know how I should react. “Catherine, what is wrong with you?”

  Chapter Two

  Maddie

  Today

  It's so quiet in here.

  Standing in the hallway, in a patch of moonlight that's streaming through the broken window, I look around at the dark doors. Straight ahead, the staircase rises up to the upper floor of the house. Glancing over my shoulder, I see the closed door that leads down into the basement. I stay completely still, half expecting to hear some distant creak or cracking sound, perhaps the slightest hint that something is moving.

  But there's nothing.

  I can't even hear any sounds coming from outside.

  It's almost as if, as soon as I climbed back through the window, I entered a new world. A world where even the wound on my waist doesn't hurt so much. Reaching down, I pull my shirt aside and look at the stitches. Maybe I'm imagining things, maybe I'm being overly optimistic, but I swear the swelling actually seems to have gone down. When I touch the wound, I find that there's no soreness anymore. I guess I was right after all, and Simon was wrong. All I had to do was wait, and my body is starting to fix the problem by itself.

  I let my shirt fall back over the wound, and then I look toward the staircase. If I'm going to wait here until Alex comes to find me, then I know what I have to do first. I have to make absolutely certain – once and for all – that I'm really alone in this place. Then again, that shouldn't be too difficult. The house is so utterly silent, it's hard to believe there could possibly be anyone else here. Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself, but every part of this place seems completely and utterly abandoned.

  Whoever used to live in 9 Cathmore Road, they must be long gone by now.

  Chapter Three

  Doctor Charles Grazier

  Monday October 1st, 1888

  “Catherine, it's me,” I stammer as I step closer to her, and as her piercing scream continues. “Catherine, look at me.”

  Her eyes are staring straight ahead, so I move in front of her so that she cannot help but see me.

  “Cathe
rine,” I continue, reaching out and touching her bare shoulder, “my darling...”

  I pause for a moment, unable to believe that my dead wife is now sitting up like this, but finally I step forward and put my arms around her, hugging her tight. As I do so, I feel the open, cracked ribs pressing into my chest, but this disturbs me not one jot as I hold her and weep on her shoulder. Since her death a few days ago, I have dreamed so often of this moment, yet now that it has arrived I can scarcely believe that it is real. I want to hold her and hold her forever, and never let her go. Still, her scream is loud enough to threaten my ear drums, and after a moment I step back a little.

  “Catherine, please,” I say, as tears stream down my face, “you must calm yourself. I have brought you back and now everything is well again.”

  Stepping back, I reach down and take her hands in mine. I squeeze tight, the way I used to squeeze whenever I was promising her that things would be alright. This gesture, I am certain, will rescue her from this tumult and bring her back to the calm shore of our love.

  “Do you feel that?” I ask, convinced that she simply needs to be reminded of her whereabouts. “It is I, my darling. It is your husband, Doctor Charles Grazier. Feel my touch, my darling. Feel my hands on yours, and remember how we used to -”

  Suddenly Jack comes up behind her and places a hand firmly over her mouth, muffling her cry as he forces her mouth closed. At the same time, he mutters something under his breath, something that I do not quite catch. It is evident, however, that he is most displeased about something.

  “Stop that!” I shout, horrified that the brute would dare manhandle my wife in such a manner. “Let go of her at once!”

  “Sir,” he replies through gritted teeth, “you must see that something is not right here.”

  “Stop it!”

  Filled with fury, I grab the oaf's arm and force him away, immediately occasioning Catherine to resume her scream.

  “It is me!” I tell her again, raising my voice this time in case she is having difficulty hearing me. “Catherine? It is I, Charles, your husband. You have only to look into my eyes, and you will see that there is nothing to fear.”

  Pulling free of my grip, Jack quickly places his hands over her mouth again, and this time he rudely resists my attempt to force him away as the scream is once again muffled.

  “Do you want people at your door, Sir?” he asks, adjusting his grip on her face. She tries to turn her head away from him, but he's holding her too tight. “Do you, Sir?”

  “What are you talking about, you foolish -”

  “A sound as loud as this will surely be heard from the street,” he points out. “How much longer do you think it could go on for, before somebody would realize where it is coming from? Why, there would be groups of men searching, going door to door in their effort to rescue whoever they deemed to be in trouble. Eventually they would narrow the scream down to this house. Then there would be questions, Doctor Grazier, and men would demand to find out who is in distress. There would be more and more knocks at the door. Perhaps you could make some flimsy excuse, but there is no excuse in the world that would suffice for long. And then eventually the police would be summoned, and they would not be so easily turned away. Do you feel confident in your ability to explain the situation to the police, Doctor Grazier?”

  “I -”

  “Think carefully,” he adds, speaking to me in a tone that I rather feel I do not like. “Could you explain everything you have done? And I mean everything! If the police came into your house right now, could you talk your way out of trouble?”

  “They would have no right to enter my house!” I point out.

  “The police have a right to enter any house.”

  “Not mine! I am a pillar of society! Nobody would dare go against my wishes!”

  “That protection might last for a while,” he replies, “but sooner or later, they'd start to wonder. Then they'd be in here, Sir, and they'd start looking around. And then, mark my words, you would be dragged away.”

  “None of that matters,” I reply, with tears in my eyes as I look at Catherine's open eyes. “She has come back to me. Somehow I have brought her home, and that is the only thing that is important in the whole world!”

  I wait for him to admit that I am right, but he is simply staring at me with an expression that I have never before seen on his face. Jack has always appeared rather confident and in control, yet now I see a note of fear in his eyes. I suppose the brutish aspect of his character has been stirred, and his attempt to present a gentlemanly facade is doomed to failure. Yet still his foul, crust-laden hands remain pressed against Catherine's mouth.

  “That is my wife!” I declare loudly. “You will get your dirty hands off her face at once!”

  “You are not thinking straight!” he snarls.

  “I will not be lectured by the likes of you!” I snap, wiping tears of joy from my face. “I have been working so hard to revive her. You were the one who suggested the endeavor in the first place, or do you not remember?”

  “I remember.”

  “You were the one who told me that I could do this, and now I have done it!”

  “Are you sure of that, Sir?”

  “Am I sure?” I honestly cannot believe that the ruffian is asking me such things when the evidence is right before his eyes. Supposing him to be insensible beyond reason, I turn to Catherine and place my hands on her bare knees, and I once again feel myself struggling to hold back tears. My wife is clearly still trying to scream, prevented only by Jack's hands, but at least she is not flat on her back and dead on the slab. At least she is showing signs of revival.

  She merely needs to be talked back to clarity.

  “Focus, my darling,” I continue, trying to sound calm and reasonable. “Look at me. Look into my eyes.”

  I wait a moment, but she has not yet acknowledged me.

  “Catherine,” I say again, “look at me. Catherine, please...”

  Again I wait, but again it is evident that I have not managed to get through to her. Catherine always had such a calm and considered demeanor. Indeed, she was widely regarded as being one of the most composed ladies in all of London, with a temperament that put all others to shame. Even in the midst of a crisis, she could be counted upon to keep a cool head and to determine the correct course of action. This was one of the many, many qualities of hers that I so admired, and it seemed to be a founding element of her character.

  And now she seems temporarily panicked.

  “Catherine,” I whisper, leaning a little closer, hoping that perhaps the delicate aroma of my aftershave might serve to bring her around, “listen to me. Hear my soothing words and let me bring you back to wakefulness, the way a sailor brings a boat back to the shore. Do you remember the boats in Cornwall, in the harbor? Do you remember how they bobbed gently once they were safe? You will be like those boats soon, but first you must let me guide you.”

  Reaching down, I stroke her hands. Again, I am replicating the manner in which she and I spoke during our courting days, and in the period shortly after our marriage. I remember those days so vividly. She, too, must remember them. We were so utterly happy then, and I am certain this is the best way to rouse her true spirit.

  “Hush,” I continue, “and don't cry. I'm here.”

  “What are you talking about?” Jack asks. “Something is clearly very wrong with her!”

  “After everything she has been through,” I reply, glancing at him, “it is hardly surprising that she is a little upset. She merely requires a degree of clarity.”

  “You are the one who requires clarity,” he replies. “Doctor Grazier -”

  “Do not speak to me in that way!” I snap.

  “She is -”

  “Do not!” I roar, briefly raising my voice. “Remember your place, man! You came into my house from the street, and you know nothing of medicine, or indeed of science! So do not think to lecture me on such matters! What you think or believe is of no interest to m
e. Do you understand? Now keep your voice down, lest your common tones offend my wife's ear.”

  His lips begin to move, as if he intends to argue, but then he falls silent. At least now the brute understands that he has no right to question me. He would do well to learn his place.

  “Catherine,” I continue, turning back to her, “everything is quite alright. This is clearly a great shock for you, but you shall overcome the trauma. I am here to help you, which means that you are in no danger whatsoever. You must merely...”

  My voice trails off, and I am starting to think that although Catherine's body is indeed sitting up and moving, her mind seems not to be quite engaged. At least not yet. Perhaps there is something I have missed, or some mistake I have made. Perhaps I have stumbled onto something that I do not yet understand. I had not previously considered the idea that the mind and the body might not come back in total synchronization, but I suppose that is a valid theory. Clearly I am on the right path, but I might yet need to make a few tweaks.

  “This is not possible,” Jack points out, still holding his hand tight over her mouth. “Doctor Grazier, you cannot be blinded to the truth. Your work is not complete, yet your wife is animated again. How is this happening? It defies every natural thing in this world!”

  “Do not lecture me on nature,” I whisper, peering closer into Catherine's eyes. “You know nothing of the subject.”

  Slowly, my gaze is drawn down to her open, gaping chest. Her body is twitching a little as she struggles against Jack's firm grip, but for a moment I cannot help but stare at the space where her heart should rest. I have a heart for her, but it is soaking in a solution on the far side of the room, and for now the stumps of her various arteries are poking out from her flesh, waiting to be connected. She is bloodless, and she lacks several other organs as well. I have worked hard to understand how the human body works, and I have considered many possibilities, but this is one idea that never even occurred to me.