Jack's Back

destroy his life was just background noise; the bigger picture was that he was embarking on a mystical journey in which he would discover his true self and gain the power he needed to live his life to its true potential.  It was his coming out party, only instead of doing something conventional, like confronting the truth about his sexuality, he was finally acknowledging the darkness in his soul; if he didn’t forge ahead with this voyage of self-discovery, there was a very real risk that he would lose what little remained of his sanity.

The Disciple stood up, swaying slightly as the blood drained from his head. His blood sugar was low, he realised, and he told himself to be strong; he could eat as much as he wanted in a few short hours. He checked his watch again, and his stomach immediately constricted. It was getting on for eleven.

The planning and preparation phases were finally over.

It was time for the killing to begin.

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The tube ride to the East End proved singularly uneventful. Emerging from the bowels of Bethnal Green station, he turned his collar up and tucked his chin into his chest to counter the chill. He left the main road as soon as he could and was quickly engulfed in a blanket of darkness. Rubber-soled shoes carried him soundlessly through the cobbled streets that led to his sanctuary, and he scuttled from building line to building line like a sinister shadow, avoiding the sporadic puddles of light generated by the area’s few working streetlights.

A security light above the adjoining lockup, activated by an overly sensitive motion sensor, came on as he crept beneath it, and he quickly shielded his eyes to prevent his night vision from being completely destroyed. He cursed his security conscious neighbour as he fumbled with the key to his lockup, eager to escape into the darkness within.

Once inside, he lit the candles and the incense. He had prepared them himself, just like everything else in the ritual he was about to begin.

The Disciple knew that a magician had to craft his own instruments if he wanted his magic to be successful, and over the past couple of months he had fashioned a number of crude but functional magical accessories. These included pens, ink, a water sprinkler, an inkwell, a sand shaker, and, of course, the candles and incense burners.

Earlier in the year, he had purchased a thirteen-inch serrated Bowie knife and a razor-sharp Finnish skinning knife. In accordance with ritualistic custom, he’d replaced their respective wood-effect and rubber handles with elegant wooden ones he himself had made especially for the task ahead. Both were lovingly engraved with arcane symbols.

He had cut the wood he used from the living tree with his own hand, felling each of the branches he’d selected with a single stroke – an almost impossible task requiring a keen eye, a sharp axe, and split-second timing. It seemed as though half the trees in Epping Forest had been decimated before he’d finally got the knack of it but, once he did, the sound of the wood splitting as he severed the bole of each limb from its host had resonated through the forest like a series of gunshots. Ignoring the excruciating blisters his endeavours had spawned, he begun fashioning his wand and staff that very same day.

Practitioners of the dark arts place little value in the printed word. They believe the most important ingredient for performing any magic ceremony is the will of the magician; the words used are nothing more than a conduit through which the sorcerer’s will is directed.

Over the years, The Disciple had learned that to be truly effective the hand of the person who wishes to use it must copy out the text of the ritual. And so, a few days ago, he had meticulously handwritten the words of the ritual on parchment made from the tanned skin of a lamb he had slaughtered and skinned himself.

The animal’s death had not been a pleasant experience for either of them.

He looked around, studying the cavernous space of the archway in the flickering glow of the candles. The van was as he had left it last night, fully prepared for the task that lay ahead. But that was for later. Right now, he had to concentrate on getting through the opening ritual, in which he would summon the demon and pledge his immortal soul in return for the gifts and privileges the coming sacrifices would bring.

Black magic is most effective when carried out during the waning of the moon, which is the point in the lunar cycle that comes after a full moon but before a new moon – and tonight there was a waning gibbous moon. In addition, he knew that performing a ceremony on All Hallows’ Eve, in a year that has a three-fold repetition of a single number in it, would create very powerful magic – which was why he planned to commence the opening ritual on the stroke of midnight, kill his first victim before sunrise, and consume her organs after sunset.

And there was a very important precedent for what he was about to do; the rituals had been successfully performed in Whitechapel once before, exactly one hundred and eleven years ago – another thrice repeated theological number.

The Disciple believed that the man the word had come to know as Jack the Ripper – whose five canonical murders were committed between 31st August and 9^th November 1888 – had been one of the highest echelons in late 19^th Century Freemasonry, and that he had used dark magic and sacrificial rituals to bring about the destruction of his closest rivals in order to influence the decision-making policies of the Government. His ultimate ambition had been nothing less than to alter the very fabric of the British Empire.

Dark rituals are generally performed to enable the necromancer to communicate with the dead, force malevolent entities to do their bidding, or to achieve power and influence over others. They