Post by TLS on Jan 21, 2023 17:29:47 GMT -5
~ I follow the man down the alley, he exits on the other side then makes a right. I follow him at a distance far enough that he can not see me, but close enough that I can make out his movements. He hides in the darkness of the shade of a doorway as a horse and buggy makes its way down the street. Once the carriage has passed he reappears, but something about his appearance seems different. As if he’s changed his attire. He walks swiftly down a few more rows of apartments, then stops and lights a pipe underneath a streetlamp on the corner of a street. A wooden sign with the letters “WHITE CHAPEL” painted in white is nailed below the streetlamp. As I turn the corner I realize he’s headed back to the scene of the crime.
I can hear the commotion and the chaos as the women on the scene are still crying. They place a white sheet over the victim and prepare to place the dead body in the back of a carriage. The head constable is searching for clues at the crime scene while another is helping to calm down the witnesses. Across the street, patrons at the local pub are standing outside looking on, none of them seem to be phased by the current events. ~
Father Dooley: Has he done it again?
~ The Head Constable nods his head. ~
Head Constable: Father Dooley. How are you awake at such an hour?
Father Dooley: (takes a long drag from his pipe) I heard the constable’s whistle and knew something must be amiss.
Head Constable: Well, you are not wrong Father. The Devil has claimed another victim.
Crying Woman: He is evil. I saw his eyes, they were red and glowing. (sobs hysterically as the other women try and console her)
Head Constable: She may have had a drink mixed with laudanum. Seems like that’s the modus operandi of the culprit.
Father Dooley: You mean to tell me he’s been drugging these poor women, and then murdering them?
~ The Head Constable shrugs, he finally notices me for the first time and points in my direction. ~
Head Constable: You There! Strange looking fellow. What did you see?
TLS: I… uh.. I just got here. I didn’t see anything.
Head Constable: I don’t recall seeing around these parts before. What’s your name sir?
TLS: Um. uh. Jack….. uh...Sullivan…
Head Constable: Well Jack Sullivan. Why is there blood on your hands?
~ I look down at my hands and see that there are cuts and abrasions, probably from being dragged by that Willard fellow in Salem. I look up at the Constable who pulls his whistle to his lip, before he can blow into it, I turn and run the other way. I can hear him shouting after me.~
Head Constable: STOP! GET THAT MAN! JACK SULLIVAN! COME BACK HERE NOW AND ADMIT TO YOUR CRIMES!
~ I don’t need to turn around to know that the Constable, his men, and many of the men standing about are quick on my heels. I run past the “WHITE CHAPEL” sign, and make a left, I then race down the dark street and hop over a fence. I run through some thickets, and then over another fence and find myself in the back of a church. I jiggle with the door and let out a sigh of relief to see that it is not locked. I frantically search around and find another door that leads to a basement, where I find a large crate. I get inside the crate, pull the top over and practice taking slow breaths. The sound of the Constable’s whistle grows faint as I am overcome with exhaustion and fall asleep.~
~ I don’t know how long I was asleep, but as soon as I opened my eyes, I knew I had to leave this place. I push the top open slowly and get up. The sun is out and I can see beams of light breaking through the crevices and into the basement. I reach the door and put my ear close to listen for movement. Surmising that it’s safe, I open the door slowly and step out. The church is empty, but the candles at the altar are lit. I can hear a murmuring sound coming from a room. I walk past the church altar and through a foyer that leads to a series of rooms. I can hear clanking and hammering coming from one of the rooms. I walk past the Church's bulletin board and see a wanted poster. Next to the wanted poster is a sketch that appears to be my face.
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~I tear down the poster and the sketch, and then reach a door where the sounds are getting louder. I can faintly hear the sound of a whimper. I open the door slowly and step inside and see that I am in what appears to be a giant washroom. A man is standing beside a table with a saw and a hammer. A lifeless body is laying on the table. The man turns to me, and I can see that he is wearing a leather apron over his cassock. He isn’t surprised to see me. ~
Father Dooley: I was wondering when you would show up. I saw you last night running here. But I didn’t want the Constable to know. Not until I figure out what to do with you.
TLS: What the fuck are you talking about?
Father Dooley: You sir, are wanted for the murders of these vile whores that pollute our streets. Jack Sullivan. ( he sees the wanted poster and sketch in my hand) Or should I say Jack the Ripper. Haha.
~ I drop the poster and the sketch and rush to tackle the evil cleric. The saw goes flying, but he grips the hammer and wails away at my head. The hammer misses my skulls but hits my right clavicle. As I land on top of him, I pin him down and wrest the hammer away from his grasp with my right hand. I place my left hand on his throat and begin to choke him. He squirms and gasps, then his body soon goes limp. The door to the room swings open and the constable is Standing with his Baton pointed at me. ~
Head Constable: You devil. Now we’ve caught you. You will hang for this!
~ The constable blows his whistle as his men rush through the door. I spot a latrine in the far corner of the room and run towards it. I jump in head first. And then things goes dark.~
OCW Intern: So you’re telling me that you were transported back in time through the portal potty? And you are Jack the Ripper? T
TLS: No..well, yes…but no. Anyway, can you give me the number for Mike Zybala?
OCW Intern: I’m not sure If I should do that. Mr. Welsh isn’t too happy with you right now. That’s why he’s booked you in this match and also why you’re not in the next Pay Per View.
TLS: fuck Marcus Welsh. I just need the number for Mike Zybala.
~ The OCW intern opens the rolodex on Welsh’s desk and rifles through.~
OCW Intern: Okay. here we are. Mike Z…
—----------------- 30 minutes later —-----------------
~ I dial the number that the OCW intern gave me for Mikey Z., he picks it up after 1 ring.~
Mike Z: Hello? Who’s this?
TLS: Mikey Z? You have a cold or something?
Mike Z: Yeah I’ve been under the weather? Who’s this? What do you want?
TLS: It’s me man TLS?
Mike Z: ( a sound of surprise in his voice) TLS? Well what do I owe the pleasure. This is out of the blue.
TLS: Hey, I was wondering if you’d like to team up for one more match?
Mike Z: You know I’m not doing it anymore right? And why me of all people?
TLS: because we are a great team.
Mike Z: How did you get my number anyway?
TLS: One of the OCW interns gave it to me.
Mike Z: How much money are we talking about here?
TLS: It’s the main event for Massacre.
Mike Z: Oh. the big bucks. I’m in. Who are we beating up?
TLS: Bob Grenier and Just Another Masked Guy.
Mike Z: These guys again?
TLS: Yeah, these guys again. Same guys I’ve been beating up for years. Bob Grenier used to be good once. There’s a reason he’s in the Hall of Fame. But those years are long gone. If last year is any indication of what’s to come, Bob Grenier will probably go down in the history of OCW as the biggest loser. There was a point in time when Bob was carrying this team, but it seems now that JAMG may be the guy that’s holding this team up. But what sucks is that wrestling is the only thing that Bob knows. And so he’s holding on to this, he can’t just leave and go find a day job. He has no other life skills. There’s nothing else that Bob can do in the world than lace up those boots and get his ass beat in the ring. I mean maybe he can go work at Macdonald’s, but that would involve taking orders and punching in orders into a machine. The only punching that Bob is familiar with is when someone’s fist is hitting his skull. And I think that he’s been punched too many times. If there’s ever anyone in this business that may need their brain evaluated for CTE it’s Bob Grenier. The guy is a walking concussion. At Massacre, he’s going to have another one when I drop him on his head.
Mike Z: yeah. Bob Grenier isn’t as good as he used to be. But what about that Masked guy?
TLS: JAMG is going to do what Bob can’t do anymore. He’s going to run and throw his body around. I’m going to snatch him mid air and break him in half. You ever read that book “Of Mice and Men?”
Mike Z: No. But I did watch Stuart Little.
TLS: Well, if there were a book that was written about these 2 guys, it would be “Of Mice and Mice.” Neither of these guys are competent and capable. Two idiots who have very few brain cells. JAM G is the type of guy that belongs in OUTSIDERS…
Mike Z: Hey now. There’s nothing wrong with being a wrestler in OUTSIDERS.
TLS: I know. Sorry. You’re right. But that’s where JAM G belongs. He doesn’t belong on Massacre. He doesn’t belong on tv. The people at home don’t deserve to be punished by watching JAM G flail around in the ring. I honestly could have taken this match on my own, but I thought about how great it would be for you to go out for one last ride, one last superkick.
Mike Z: Do you think you can wire me some money? This is short notice and I’ll need to catch a plane there. Might need a hotel room too. I’ll send you my venmo information.
TLS: Uh.. I guess. Surprised to hear you are strapped for cash. How much do you need?
Mike Z: Maybe about 5 thousand dollars. I’ll pay you back when we get paid.
TLS: Sure.. send me your information.
Mike Z: Thanks. Listen, I gotta go. Make sure you send me the cash, or else I won’t be able to make it to Massacre.
TLS: Okay. Bye.
________________________________________________________________
~ I wake up in the parking lot of a restaurant. There is a big sign that reads “ MACHUS RED FOX- DINING and COCKTAILS”. There are no cars in the lot except for a maroon Lincoln Continental.~
I can hear the commotion and the chaos as the women on the scene are still crying. They place a white sheet over the victim and prepare to place the dead body in the back of a carriage. The head constable is searching for clues at the crime scene while another is helping to calm down the witnesses. Across the street, patrons at the local pub are standing outside looking on, none of them seem to be phased by the current events. ~
Father Dooley: Has he done it again?
~ The Head Constable nods his head. ~
Head Constable: Father Dooley. How are you awake at such an hour?
Father Dooley: (takes a long drag from his pipe) I heard the constable’s whistle and knew something must be amiss.
Head Constable: Well, you are not wrong Father. The Devil has claimed another victim.
Crying Woman: He is evil. I saw his eyes, they were red and glowing. (sobs hysterically as the other women try and console her)
Head Constable: She may have had a drink mixed with laudanum. Seems like that’s the modus operandi of the culprit.
Father Dooley: You mean to tell me he’s been drugging these poor women, and then murdering them?
~ The Head Constable shrugs, he finally notices me for the first time and points in my direction. ~
Head Constable: You There! Strange looking fellow. What did you see?
TLS: I… uh.. I just got here. I didn’t see anything.
Head Constable: I don’t recall seeing around these parts before. What’s your name sir?
TLS: Um. uh. Jack….. uh...Sullivan…
Head Constable: Well Jack Sullivan. Why is there blood on your hands?
~ I look down at my hands and see that there are cuts and abrasions, probably from being dragged by that Willard fellow in Salem. I look up at the Constable who pulls his whistle to his lip, before he can blow into it, I turn and run the other way. I can hear him shouting after me.~
Head Constable: STOP! GET THAT MAN! JACK SULLIVAN! COME BACK HERE NOW AND ADMIT TO YOUR CRIMES!
~ I don’t need to turn around to know that the Constable, his men, and many of the men standing about are quick on my heels. I run past the “WHITE CHAPEL” sign, and make a left, I then race down the dark street and hop over a fence. I run through some thickets, and then over another fence and find myself in the back of a church. I jiggle with the door and let out a sigh of relief to see that it is not locked. I frantically search around and find another door that leads to a basement, where I find a large crate. I get inside the crate, pull the top over and practice taking slow breaths. The sound of the Constable’s whistle grows faint as I am overcome with exhaustion and fall asleep.~
~ I don’t know how long I was asleep, but as soon as I opened my eyes, I knew I had to leave this place. I push the top open slowly and get up. The sun is out and I can see beams of light breaking through the crevices and into the basement. I reach the door and put my ear close to listen for movement. Surmising that it’s safe, I open the door slowly and step out. The church is empty, but the candles at the altar are lit. I can hear a murmuring sound coming from a room. I walk past the church altar and through a foyer that leads to a series of rooms. I can hear clanking and hammering coming from one of the rooms. I walk past the Church's bulletin board and see a wanted poster. Next to the wanted poster is a sketch that appears to be my face.
~I tear down the poster and the sketch, and then reach a door where the sounds are getting louder. I can faintly hear the sound of a whimper. I open the door slowly and step inside and see that I am in what appears to be a giant washroom. A man is standing beside a table with a saw and a hammer. A lifeless body is laying on the table. The man turns to me, and I can see that he is wearing a leather apron over his cassock. He isn’t surprised to see me. ~
Father Dooley: I was wondering when you would show up. I saw you last night running here. But I didn’t want the Constable to know. Not until I figure out what to do with you.
TLS: What the fuck are you talking about?
Father Dooley: You sir, are wanted for the murders of these vile whores that pollute our streets. Jack Sullivan. ( he sees the wanted poster and sketch in my hand) Or should I say Jack the Ripper. Haha.
~ I drop the poster and the sketch and rush to tackle the evil cleric. The saw goes flying, but he grips the hammer and wails away at my head. The hammer misses my skulls but hits my right clavicle. As I land on top of him, I pin him down and wrest the hammer away from his grasp with my right hand. I place my left hand on his throat and begin to choke him. He squirms and gasps, then his body soon goes limp. The door to the room swings open and the constable is Standing with his Baton pointed at me. ~
Head Constable: You devil. Now we’ve caught you. You will hang for this!
~ The constable blows his whistle as his men rush through the door. I spot a latrine in the far corner of the room and run towards it. I jump in head first. And then things goes dark.~
OCW Intern: So you’re telling me that you were transported back in time through the portal potty? And you are Jack the Ripper? T
TLS: No..well, yes…but no. Anyway, can you give me the number for Mike Zybala?
OCW Intern: I’m not sure If I should do that. Mr. Welsh isn’t too happy with you right now. That’s why he’s booked you in this match and also why you’re not in the next Pay Per View.
TLS: fuck Marcus Welsh. I just need the number for Mike Zybala.
~ The OCW intern opens the rolodex on Welsh’s desk and rifles through.~
OCW Intern: Okay. here we are. Mike Z…
—----------------- 30 minutes later —-----------------
~ I dial the number that the OCW intern gave me for Mikey Z., he picks it up after 1 ring.~
Mike Z: Hello? Who’s this?
TLS: Mikey Z? You have a cold or something?
Mike Z: Yeah I’ve been under the weather? Who’s this? What do you want?
TLS: It’s me man TLS?
Mike Z: ( a sound of surprise in his voice) TLS? Well what do I owe the pleasure. This is out of the blue.
TLS: Hey, I was wondering if you’d like to team up for one more match?
Mike Z: You know I’m not doing it anymore right? And why me of all people?
TLS: because we are a great team.
Mike Z: How did you get my number anyway?
TLS: One of the OCW interns gave it to me.
Mike Z: How much money are we talking about here?
TLS: It’s the main event for Massacre.
Mike Z: Oh. the big bucks. I’m in. Who are we beating up?
TLS: Bob Grenier and Just Another Masked Guy.
Mike Z: These guys again?
TLS: Yeah, these guys again. Same guys I’ve been beating up for years. Bob Grenier used to be good once. There’s a reason he’s in the Hall of Fame. But those years are long gone. If last year is any indication of what’s to come, Bob Grenier will probably go down in the history of OCW as the biggest loser. There was a point in time when Bob was carrying this team, but it seems now that JAMG may be the guy that’s holding this team up. But what sucks is that wrestling is the only thing that Bob knows. And so he’s holding on to this, he can’t just leave and go find a day job. He has no other life skills. There’s nothing else that Bob can do in the world than lace up those boots and get his ass beat in the ring. I mean maybe he can go work at Macdonald’s, but that would involve taking orders and punching in orders into a machine. The only punching that Bob is familiar with is when someone’s fist is hitting his skull. And I think that he’s been punched too many times. If there’s ever anyone in this business that may need their brain evaluated for CTE it’s Bob Grenier. The guy is a walking concussion. At Massacre, he’s going to have another one when I drop him on his head.
Mike Z: yeah. Bob Grenier isn’t as good as he used to be. But what about that Masked guy?
TLS: JAMG is going to do what Bob can’t do anymore. He’s going to run and throw his body around. I’m going to snatch him mid air and break him in half. You ever read that book “Of Mice and Men?”
Mike Z: No. But I did watch Stuart Little.
TLS: Well, if there were a book that was written about these 2 guys, it would be “Of Mice and Mice.” Neither of these guys are competent and capable. Two idiots who have very few brain cells. JAM G is the type of guy that belongs in OUTSIDERS…
Mike Z: Hey now. There’s nothing wrong with being a wrestler in OUTSIDERS.
TLS: I know. Sorry. You’re right. But that’s where JAM G belongs. He doesn’t belong on Massacre. He doesn’t belong on tv. The people at home don’t deserve to be punished by watching JAM G flail around in the ring. I honestly could have taken this match on my own, but I thought about how great it would be for you to go out for one last ride, one last superkick.
Mike Z: Do you think you can wire me some money? This is short notice and I’ll need to catch a plane there. Might need a hotel room too. I’ll send you my venmo information.
TLS: Uh.. I guess. Surprised to hear you are strapped for cash. How much do you need?
Mike Z: Maybe about 5 thousand dollars. I’ll pay you back when we get paid.
TLS: Sure.. send me your information.
Mike Z: Thanks. Listen, I gotta go. Make sure you send me the cash, or else I won’t be able to make it to Massacre.
TLS: Okay. Bye.
________________________________________________________________
~ I wake up in the parking lot of a restaurant. There is a big sign that reads “ MACHUS RED FOX- DINING and COCKTAILS”. There are no cars in the lot except for a maroon Lincoln Continental.~