Annual 1 - The Ripper
This issue is recommended for Mature Readers only!
London, England. The East End. 1888.
Hot oil lamps glowed dully in the inky darkness, trying hard to illuminate the sidewalk, cobbled streets, and nearby buildings. In many places, the night refused to be displaced, making those areas seem even darker. The thickening fog added to the gloom.
A woman stood outside of the Boar's Head Pub, her bodice cut low. The bare, exposed flesh seemed to almost glow in the lamplight. She smiled and waved at passers-by, waiting for her next client. Through the fog, she could see a man walking toward her. He reached her and stopped, a bowl hat covering his head.
"Evn'n, guvnah," the woman said, staring lustily at the man. She threw back her head and took a few steps toward the gentleman, pressing herself against his body. "Lookin' for somethin', ay?"
"Indeed," replied the man, his voice low and gravelly.
Smiling, the prostitute stepped away from the stranger and headed into a nearby, shadowed alley. She propped herself up, back-first, against a stack of crates and waited expectantly.
Moving slowly, the man followed. He stopped mere inches from the prostitute and grinned, his body almost entirely swallowed by the darkness.
Hitching up her skirt, the prostitute smiled back. "Well, guv, take a try." She leaned further back on the small stack of boxes, arching her body toward the man.
"Don't mind if I do."
Suddenly, the woman found his thick hands wrapped around her throat. She struggled mightily against her attacker, but could not free herself from his clutches. His strength was inhuman.
After a few short minutes, the stranger gently laid the dead woman on the ground. Still smiling, he whipped a knife out of his coat pocket, leaned down over the body, and sliced the woman's throat. Blood gushed out, running red over the alley's dirty surface. Reaching into his other pocket, the man pulled out a large vial and stuck it in front of the fountain of blood.
Satisfied after a few moments, the man capped the vial, replaced it in his pocket, and walked calmly out of the alley toward the dimly lit street.
Atlanta, Georgia. 1999.
The streets were quiet, dark. Blade crept through the shadows, a duo of long knives held in his hands. His blood was pumping, his adrenaline racing; hunting vampires always got his entire body moving.
Word had spread quickly about the murders, thanks in no small part to their gruesome efficiency. The victims were all young women, all members of the oldest profession: prostitution. Their throats were slashed, and in most cases, the killer had cut open their bellies and had taken a bloody souvenir. Often, it was a kidney, or some other organ.
Blade slipped into the abandoned apartment building, following up on a tip...and a feeling at the back of his neck that he was on the right track. There had been another aspect of the murders that aroused Blade's attention: all of the women were missing at least thirty percent of their blood, presumably taken from the throat wound.
Something scurried off to Blade's left. The vampire hunter whirled to face the unseen creature, but was soon distracted by another sound back to his right. Cracking his neck, Blade stepped further into the apartment building, eventually coming to a set of crumbling stairs. More sounds came from up above him, so the vampire hunter decided to climb the staircase.
Blade stopped at the third floor and wandered down one of the hallways. On each side of him, entrances that led into old, musty apartments were doorless, the darkness extending into the individual rooms.
"You're looking for me," came a low, gravelly voice.
Stopping, Blade waited for the voice to come again. It didn't. His vision adjusted to the darkness, Blade set off once again, entering an apartment to his left. The remains of the door were scattered in the entranceway, and Blade had to step over them.
The voice spoke again with a thick British accent, seemingly from the hallway behind Blade. It said: "You're very good, I'll give you that. Better than those blokes at Scotland Yard."
Slightly annoyed, Blade returned to the hallway, searching the darkness for the owner of the voice. After an hour of searching each and every floor, Blade found himself once more on the ground floor. More scurrying drew his attention, but he quickly saw that the sounds were made by a small group of fat, shiny-coated rats.
"We'll meet again," came the voice once more, but Blade couldn't pinpoint where it was coming from. "I can almost guarantee it."
"Why don't we get it over with now?" Blade shouted, his patience at an end. How could he have missed the vampire, with his senses? He should be able to smell the bloodsucker. "Whoever you are, come on out and face me."
Blade's only answer was a short but energetic burst of laughter, followed by silence. Even the rats were gone, back to whatever pit they called home.
"Damn it," Blade muttered. Sheathing his blades, the vampire hunter left the apartment building, into the cool night air. Walking a few blocks, Blade came upon his motorcycle, revved it up, and shot off into the darkness.
Two nights later...
Police, reporters, and onlookers gathered around the alleyway, some craning their necks in obvious curiosity, some simply doing their jobs. After a few moments, two E.M.T.'s * wheeled a sheet-covered figure out of the darkness toward a nearby ambulance. A flower of blood had soaked through the white sheet right were the victim's neck lay.
* (Emergency Medical Technicians - Sarah)
Blade looked on, frustrated by his recent lack of progress in finding the offending vampire. For the past few days, the hunter's mind had been stuck on one thing that the mysterious man had said...something about Scotland Yard? What did that mean? Had the vampire been a detective at the Yard, or a criminal pursued by the detectives?
Movement caught Blade's eye, jerking him from his thoughts. Looking upward, the vampire hunter noticed a shadowy figure on top of a nearby building, silhouetted against the distant moon. The figure stood where it was for a few moments, motioned toward Blade, then melted into the inky darkness.
Snarling, Blade raced down the street and climbed up a rickety fire escape, to the top of the building. All was silent, as nothing was moving on the rooftop. Blade crept along for a few seconds, trying to listen for anything that would alert him to the vampire's presence.
"Didn't think I would stick around, did you?" came the voice, oddly quiet, yet with a mocking tone. Blade watched as the vampire, clad in a dark vest, dress pants, and carrying a cane, stepped into the dim light cast by the moon. "Surprised that I did?"
Blade responded by drawing a pair of long, jagged knives from their holsters. He took a few steps toward the vampire, moving in a small semicircular pattern.
The vampire grinned, flashing his long canines. "Do you mean to fight it out with me right now, chum?" he said, withdrawing a thin sword from his cane. "What have I ever done to you?"
"You're nothing but a bloodsucking murderer, an abomination," Blade spat, slowly circling the vampire. With a quick, fluid motion, Blade shucked his long black trenchcoat. "And I'm the hunter. Nothing suprises me."
"Nothing?" chuckled the vampire, an amused look on his face. He stepped in once, swiped at Blade with the sword, then backed away again. "Nothing at all, eh? Do you know who I am?"
Swiping at the vampire with one knife, Blade scowled. "Does it matter?" The circle Blade was walking in was becoming smaller, each step taking him closer to the bloodsucker. "I don't need to know your name to put you out of your misery."
Laughter pierced the night as the vampire burst out. "Misery? Ha! Being a vampire is a particular pleasure for me, sir," said the vampire, watching Blade circle. "I enjoy it. I love the hot, coppery taste of their blood going down my throat. I long to see the looks on their faces as they feel their life's essence draining from them. I revel in it." Grinning, the vampire suddenly lashed out at Blade, who nimbly jumped out of the way. "As an aside, sir, you may address me as Jack."
"Jack?"
"Indeed," Jack replied, the metal of his blade screeching against Blade's knives. "Perhaps you've heard my tale. Many who know me refer to me as the Ripper."
Blade's scowl deepened as he shoved the vampire back. In an instant, the hunter was on Jack, searching for a place to bury his knives. "Jack the Ripper," Blade growled, pushing his knives downward. Jack had one hand on each of Blade's wrists, his sword discarded nearby. "The Scotland Yard comment..." Finally, after days of the statement burning in Blade's mind, the entire picture opened up before him.
"Verily," Jack replied, using a sudden burst of strength to push Blade away. Quickly, Jack was on his feet, the rapier once again grasped in his hand. "A tribe of buffoons, if you ask me. The men of Scotland Yard couldn't find their arses with both hands, even if they had help." Jack lunged at Blade, cutting a gash across the hunter's broad chest. "They never succeeded in bringing me to justice for my crimes... nor shall you."
"We'll see," Blade replied, blood seeping from his wound. He ducked under another clumsy thrust from Jack and jabbed one of the knives into the vampire's gut. With a quick jerk, Blade ripped Jack's stomach wide open.
Jack stumbled backward, one hand grasping his open midsection. A thin trickle of blood spilled out, but soon stopped. "Damnation," Jack muttered, watching the borrowed blood rush out. "Oh well, I suppose. This little wound simply means that I'll have to feed again." Jack began to slowly back away, toward the edge of the building.
"The hell you say," said Blade, charging at the vampire.
Jack stepped out of the way, smacking the flat of his sword against the back of Blade's neck as the man rushed by. A well-placed kick, and Blade found himself facedown on the roof. In an instant, the hunter was back on his feet, whirling to engage his enemy again.
Jack was gone.
Blade jerked his head around, trying to find any trace of the vampire, but could see nothing. For a moment, the hunter felt grudging admiration toward the vampire. Soon, however, the feeling was quelled.
"We'll meet again," came Jack's voice from far away, carried by wind. After a few moments of trying to locate the voice, Blade simply gave up. Once again he was alone.
Blade lay awake, watching the old black and white television in his warehouse 'home'. It had been daylight for more than a few hours, but Blade couldn't bring himself to go to sleep.
"...another woman was found in the city last night, a victim of someone the police are calling a latter-day Jack the Ripper." The newscaster looked out at her audience, a look of stoic neutrality on her face. "This is the fifth victim in the past three months, which seems to indicate that a serial killer is indeed stalking the city. Police are no closer to coming up with a suspect, which begs the question: how much longer will this go on?"
"Not much longer, if I have anything to say about it."
For the next three months, Blade scoured the city of Atlanta, searching for any clue as to the whereabouts of Jack. The murders came more infrequently, since Jack knew that Blade was always there, always ready to confront him once again.
Finally, the murders simply stopped. Blade didn't know what to think of that, but he knew that, for the moment, the city was safe from Jack the Ripper. Something new had caught his attention, something that he had heard about while hunting Jack: a group of vampires that were turning children to their fold.
Blade set off in search of the child vampires, never knowing that Jack the Ripper was still around, still stalking, still prepared to kill. Would Blade ever be one of the serial killer's victims?
Author Notes
Well, there you have it, the untold story of Blade's meeting with Jack the Ripper! Ol' Jack is still out there, so you can count on him making a return appearance to the pages of Blade! By the way, many have speculated as to the identity of the real Ripper. Some claim that he was a doctor, while others claim he was simply a commoner. Others, readily dismissed by many, claim that Jack the Ripper was a member of the British Royal Family!
As you know, of course, the events in this annual came directly before issue #1, so if you haven't checked it out yet, please do so!
Thanks, Adam Koeth
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