Anne

[Wall St. Peon]

Copyright Shane Hefty 2002

The cold wind blew over the dark and desolate London street. A lone figure’s outline was barely visible in the shadows: a short, strange looking creature of unintelligible features. The darkness shrouded this strange young man’s face and movement, and soon the thing – whatever it was – disappeared completely into a doorway clouded in murky gloom.

A young girl named Anne walked down this very street not five minutes later. Her blonde hair fell in small curls over teenage shoulders, and her skin was almost deathly pale. Her blue eyes danced brightly and shone like a beacon in the desolate darkness of midnight in London. She held her white cloak tightly around herself, willing the icy wind to pass over her without trouble.

The biting wind appeared to not affect her; she knew exactly where she was going. The young girl approached the shadowy door and knocked gently – three times – and a bolt was unlatched on the other side of the door. Anne opened the door slowly and the dusty, dank, and decrepit door creaked open into a brightly lit passage. Instinctively, the girl winced as the hairs on the back of her neck were standing up on end, which caused a cold shiver to travel down her spine. Her excitement grew as she anticipated the future events – finally the time was here! The girl shook her head, composed herself, and pulled her white cloak closer to her chest, calmly proceeding into the passage.

Her soft footsteps trod lightly on the hardwood floor. The hallway shortly ended in another door, this one was lovingly cared for and had a fresh coat of paint on its old English styling. The gold knob was polished to the point that it was almost too bright to gaze upon, and she touched the cool metal and turned the display of wealth slowly, ever so slowly, to enter the den of her friend – and soon to be lover – Mr. Hyde.

Father had died three years earlier, leaving my mother and I alone in the impoverished White Chapel district of London. Mother was a prostitute and had been stricken with a deadly form of syphilis and would soon exit this lifetime herself. Mr. Hyde, a previous customer of Mother, had taken a particular interest in our plight, as he had been with my mother before she had caught the dreaded disease which was slowly killing her. Mr. Hyde had done what he could for Mother, getting her medication and other medical care. He had taken a liking to me, a young blonde girl of fourteen, whose face was nearly identical to Mother’s, but without the lines of depression and death. I would be out of this life soon; I would be able to bask in the light of wealth that Mr. Hyde offered me.

But there was one thing that troubled this young girl in her quest for escape: Hyde was truly ugly. He was not physically ugly, really, but there was something that just simply did not sit right with Anne. He was a downright queer fellow, well dressed to show his wealth and living in an apartment tucked away in this prostitute-infected section of London. His face was young, yet old, good, yet evil, handsome, yet ugly; he was the kindest man she knew, yet he frequented the slums, having his way with prostitutes as he pleased; Hyde was a regular for many prostitutes. Anne was drawn to his money, his kindness, and to the way he had made her mother scream all those nights ago when she was still able to do business with him. As Anne’s blue eyes gazed on with these thoughts, the same shiver of excitement she had felt as she entered Hyde’s secret slum apartment shot through her body yet again.

Hyde approached her and gently touched her arm; Anne blushed and lowered her eyes, staring at her shoes. As she looked down, Hyde’s cat rubbed against her leg and looked at her expectantly. Anne held out her hand and Hyde smiled; it was not really a smile, more of a leer, but she took it as a smile from the queer little man. Hyde took Anne’s hand and squeezed it gently, leading her towards yet another door, this one oak with what looked to be a brass handle. Hyde opened the door and led her into the room, which sparkled with dancing candles, all of which encircled a large, four post, antique bed made out of cherry.

The bed was covered with a lavish lace bedspread, four or five pillows were scattered about the head of the bed, and the headboard gazed back at me with the all-seeing, all-knowing carved face of a gargoyle, gazing back unblinkingly at me. The shivers permeated me to the core, and I blushed yet again. Hyde shut the door behind us and held me close, his hands resting on my shoulders and creeping lower, and lower. He smiled yet again as he slipped my cloak of my still shivering shoulders.

An hour later, Anne lay naked and shivering next to her lover. The blood on the sheets was a warm wet spot between her and Hyde, and the pain he had caused made Anne deathly sad. Her screams had not been the same as mothers! But this is how it must be, and Anne decided it would be better once they married. It was only one more week until the service, and against her mothers wishes, she had visited Hyde early. For some reason he did not want a virgin bride; it was just a queer quirk of his. The cat jumped onto the bed, purring and nuzzling her neck, licking her cool, shivering flesh. Anne smiled; she had a friend in the house besides her reclusive husband-to-be. Anne soon fell asleep with the cat curled up on her stomach, warming her freezing flesh.

As the sun began to seep through the windows, I woke slowly, glancing drowsily around the room. The candles had long been blown out, and I reached over to feel for Hyde. I sat up in surprise, stirring the sleeping feline from its slumber. Where had he gone? I looked around the room for some sign of him, and seeing nothing, I got up and wrapped my white cloak around my shoulders and wandered to the bathroom.

Seeing no sign of Hyde, I relieved myself and washed up. After putting my clothes back on, I exited the water closet and jumped in surprise as I ran into the maid, causing her to drop the clean sheets and blankets she was carrying. I asked where the master of the flat was, and she said he must have gone to work. Strange, it was a Sunday. I queried her as to where the master works, but she had no idea. She told me to make myself at home, and that she would soon be making lunch. Content with that, I settled comfortably into the den with the cat snuggling in my lap and stared at the door with the gold knob, waiting for my master to return.

On the other side of town, Hyde was in his master’s mansion laboratory. Soon he transformed back to his true self, Henry Jeykll, and resumed his life of apparent normality.

I waited about three days for Hyde, and I had seen neither hide nor hair of him. I was beginning to grow worried, as was the maid; Master is never gone for this long, she exclaimed. Later in the day, the maid returned with horrible news. I was shocked that Danvers Carew, a man Hyde had mentioned a few times in times – a business associate of some sort - had been murdered! I grew scared, as did the maid, as the newspapers’ description of the murderer was of a man who would have to be Master Hyde!

The maid and I talked for a bit about this, and decided that the notion that our kindhearted, albeit queer, master and lover could have committed such an atrocious act as murder. But deep inside I knew it was true, I knew it had to be true that he was the monster who had killed Danvers Carew. After the maid retired to her chambers, I lay in the bed I share with my master, crying, with no company but the cat, and the cat seemed to be laughing at me. Laughing! I grew sick of its company and shooed it out of the room and cried myself to sleep.

Hyde had grown bored in Jeykll’s body, and, because of the murder, had decided to return to the ambiguity of his White Chapel haunt; no one knew that he was the savage who had bludgeoned an old man to death, nor did they care what or who he was. The residents simply wanted his money and his business. He avoided his home, as he was afraid of Anne and the maid figuring out the horrorific event he had done. Hyde grew more frustrated at his lack of courage to confront his fiancé and began to take it out on several of the prostitutes he had been using.

With his knowledge of medicine, Hyde began to gut the prostitutes he received pleasure from and took to leaving them mutilated in public areas. After several of these murders, prostitutes went into hiding, and so did Hyde. He returned to his form of Jeykll and resumed the life of a respected doctor. During this time, he decided to return to his fiancé and his secret life.

I grew more restless as the days went on. I did not even talk to the maid anymore, and I did not even know if she still came to clean. I have been in my room for five days, scared for my mother because a murderer was loose in the neighborhood, but unable to leave for fear Master would be angered at my absence should he return. I finally emerged from my room, and yes, indeed, the maid had not been around for quite some time, as the dust had thickly collected on various surfaces. I sat in the study and – what’s this? – the door is opening and there is Hyde! I run to him to feel his strength, his gentleness, and when I do I see he has a bouquet of beautiful daisies, my favorite. I smile brightly and look in his eyes, and then my smile disappeared. His eyes were dead, and the man I had fallen in love, albeit a strange sort of love, with was dead.

He grips my hands tightly, oh so tight! I scream in surprise as he throws me down on the floor, knocking the small end table over, the tea and tea cups clattering in a hot mess on the floor. I scream as the hot tea burns my shoulder, and I kick at him only to find him growing stronger. I look into his crazed eyes, those dead, green eyes, and this is when I know I have no chance to live. His hands grip my neck tightly, squeezing until everything goes black…

Hyde chokes Anne, his small hands leaving black and blue marks on her pale, pale flesh. Anne’s blonde, almost white, hair fell deathly still, splaying across her forehead into her eyes. Her mouth lay slightly open; her iridescent blue eyes open wide with the bleak accusing stare of death. Hyde ripped her clothes off of her, dragging her roughly down the hallway out to the dark and desolate London street.

Hiding in the shadows, Hyde ran a knife from abdomen to neck, eyes wide with glee at the sight of her blood, cutting fully through the rib cage, being careful not to disturb any of the internal organs. The red – a most magnificent, beautiful ruby red - blood spattered across Anne’s lips, onto her forehead, into her hair. Her brilliant blue eyes were still staring ahead, still holding love for this monster; her eyes were nothing more than a prize that was carefully, oh so carefully, gouged out with Hyde’s sharp, serrated knife. Then, quickly and quietly, this beast of a man removed Anne’s cervix and vagina, wrapping his prizes to glory in a linen handkerchief. His work completed, he stalked back into his flat to pack his clothes and to return to the life of Jeykll, the respected doctor.

[Eugene]

Good stuff, Shane.

It's a little too dark for my liking, but your prose was great, and the descripitions were vivid and intriguing.

Just wondering, what drove you to write this?

Eugene

[GloveGuy]

Kinda like a Porno/Horror story. Interesting. Disturbing, yet interesting.

[Wall St. Peon]

Ever heard of Angela Carter? This was for a paper for one of my lit classes. Angela Carter writes messed up stuff like that all the time (check out "The Bloody Chamber," a collection of her short stories).

I really her style; the object was to rewrite Dr. Jeykl and Mr. Hyde how she would write it. I threw in elements of the Jack the Ripper murders, which was part of the motivation for writing "The Strange Case of Dr. Jeykl and Mr. Hyde," and I got a high B on the paper (no one's gotten an A in the class on anything, it's pretty hard).

I'm doing "Romeo and Juliet" in similar fashion.

[Eugene]

that's cool, shane.

I've never heard of Angela Carter... the transition from first person to third person narrative, is that a trademark of Carter? I don't personally like it, though... if done poorly, I think it could get really confusing.

Regardless, congratulations on the story... I've read that hoops story you wrote a while back, and I'm really impressed. Good job.

Just curious... what college do you go to?

Eugene

[Wall St. Peon]

Good ol' ISU...watch out for the bball team, Tim Barnes told me he's gonna take it to TJ Ford.

Angela Carter used the switch from first to third in a couple stories, for example, Puss 'N Boots. There's a reason you haven't heard of Angela Carter; she's a feminist writer who constantly mentions sex, violence, and so on. However, her imagery is brilliant and the writing style is very much similar to that which I used in this story.

My goal of putting this on here was to creep out people. The girls that read it were appaled.

[tony-x]

[Nick]

Well you're a talented writer that's for sure...Considering it sent shivers up my spine...
I didn't really like the story...kinda kooky...but you've done a good job that's for damn sure...

[Nick]

After rereading the story again i found it has grown on me. It's interesting how you've used some connections there.

The words white and nakedness >> representing her innosence...
Blue eyes >> representing beauty
Cats >> Age
pale flesh >> Helplessness
London >> Coldness
The Master >> The one and only
Smile >> Approval

Am i right shane? Can you think of anymore?

[Bill Russell]

Anne reminds me of Ana, and... well... forget it.

Good stuff Shane.

[Rens]

I like the way you change the perspective from "he/she" to "I". It gives it a nice atmosphere.

[Smooth]

[Wall St. Peon]

After rereading the story again i found it has grown on me. It's interesting how you've used some connections there.

The words white and nakedness >> representing her innosence...
Blue eyes >> representing beauty
Cats >> Age
pale flesh >> Helplessness
London >> Coldness
The Master >> The one and only
Smile >> Approval

Am i right shane? Can you think of anymore?

Well...kind of. Yes, the color white does mean purity/innocence; however, the nakedness was just there. It does mean innocence and such in some cases, but not in this.

The blue eyes are another representation of innocence, and also of beauty.

Cats are a sort of messenger of forboding in this and other stories (think Alice in Wonderland and the original Little Red Riding Hood)

Pale flesh represents youth and virginity; young virgin's skin has not seen the light of day, or been seen by any eyes, therefore it's pale. It's another sign of purity, especially in previous centuries. Girls who were pale and light skinned were considered attractive, and women actually did things to make themselves look even paler.

London is just the setting. Dr. Jeykl and Mr. Hyde were in London, as was Jack the Ripper.

"The master" is a feminist comment; the writer who I am mimicking is a feminist writer, and she would do something like this; to show that the man is in control in everything in a woman's life: sex, livelihood, freedom, and even death.

*note: this is just how she would write the story*

The smile, on the other hand, well, it's just a way to show that Hyde's one sick cookie.

[BIG GREEN]

ionno what to say...except that's some good shit . You my friend are definitely a talented writer. I really doubt i could write that well...how long did it take you to do that?

[Wall St. Peon]

Not all that long, really...I think...pry about 6 hours writing and an hour or so revising.