FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Halloween-Inspired Story - Ghost Unlaid Forbear Thee

A ferret, seemingly in her sixties, had just turned around the corner when she encountered it. She needed a second to register what it was, but as she did, her mouth opened in a shrill scream that pierced through the night.

In front of her stood a horrifying tall figure cloaked in mystery, looming above its hapless victim!

The old ferret stumbled backwards and fell right on her rump. She got up quickly and ran, hurriedly, down the road and around the corner, making all the tittering sounds one would expect from such a surprised old lady.

The figure, after watching the woman disappear into the distance, began shaking its shoulders as it burst into laughter.

"What a sight!" I said as I opened the long coat of the figure from the inside, peeking out from it. I was seated on my best friend's shoulder and the coat we had found was draped over the two of us. Together we were taller than most people and with my arms raised up. We must have looked scary.

"Simon! You didn't need to scream that loudly," my friend Peter said from below me as he crouched down and let me climb off. I was still wearing the oversized coat and grinning from ear to ear like an idiot. I fixed my oversized hat on my head.

"Aw, she'll live, Peter. Don't worry nothin'." I looked up at the taller boy. A wolf with handsome gray fur and a hat much like mine, though his hat actually fit him like a glove.

"Scared her almost half to death, you mean!" He was trying to sound serious but soon he was also giggling, and we were leaning against one another and laughing until our bellies ached.

Normally we wouldn't be picking on old ladies, but on a day like today, everyone was fair game. After all, today was Halloween!

"Peter, we should--"

My friend's sentence was cut off by the scrill whistle of a copper. Our fur stood on end and we looked left, then right, and saw the wolf wearing the crisp uniform of the police.

"You boys! Stop right there!" he shouted at us as he blew his whistle.

We turned tail and ran, at first bumping into one another, as we tried going different directions. I let my arms fall back and the jacket slipped off. I didn't mind, of course, since it was full of holes anyway and would do us no good.

"Follow me, I know a shortcut!" Peter said over his shoulder, flashing a big, toothy grin.

"I ain't jumpin' in the river this time!" I shouted as the wolf boy in front of me skidded and almost slammed into a brick wall, using the change in direction. I reached out and grabbed him by his suspenders, using him as leverage and kept running. Behind us we heard the sound of a very big wolf hitting a very strong wall. Followed by a litany of profanities.

We still didn't stop. I knew the city like the back of my hand, but it was Peter who knew his way like a rabbit in a warren. He was always finding new passageways and hidey holes, new places to explore and find treasure (not always). He also knew how to get us into trouble (more often than not) but it was always so much fun!

We ran hard, jumping over trash cans, ducking under parked wagons, sliding through puddles like idiots, and then scurrying up the fire escape on the side of a building and into an open window. Peter fell onto his back and panted, his thin chest heaving up and down as he gulped down big breaths of air.

I flopped down and laid next to him. I was sweaty and tired, but I was enjoying the excitement we had. So was Peter.

"Say, Simon," Peter panted, his tongue lolling out of the side of his muzzle, "you ever thought you'd be doin' this when you came here?"

"What, you mean gettin' into trouble with an American bloke?" I sat up on my hands, swishing my tail behind me. "Never. But I can't say I hate it."

Our initial encounter was maybe just as sudden and unpredictable. Without too much of a sob story, Peter had found me wandering near the docks one cold wintery day. I had snuck aboard a ship leaving London and had managed to keep my head down the whole way over to the United States. I was processed through so easily I almost couldn't believe it.

I was twelve years old and on a whole new continent. I also didn't know a single person. I was just about to follow some older boys when Peter appeared, putting an oversized hat on my head with a smile. He said that he knew the bestest, kindest bakery in town, and that I should come with him.

We had been inseparable ever since. A pair of street urchins who didn't need anything but each other.

Peter got up from the floor and stretched his arms. He was always so thin; we were always hungry, but we made do with what we had. "You don't have to always stick 'round with me, you know," he said. "A kid like you, you could probably find a nice fox family to adopt you in no time."

I waved a hand dismissively. "No one in jolly-old London wanted a whelp like me, so who would want me 'ere?"

"Well, you do have that accent going for ya." Peter smirked and then puffed out his chest, standing taller with an arm behind his back like a proper gentleman. "I do say, you could be taken in quite proper and such, pip, pip cheerio and what have you!"

I rolled my eyes and got up onto my own feet and stretched. "Quit it! You sound silly and not in a charming way, Peter."

We were soon playfully tackling one another, rolling around in the dirt and the dust, and of course Peter winning just by virtue of him being bigger than me. He helped me up to my feet and we heard whistling.

Peter's ear perked and he walked over to the window, peering out and down into the street. It was still midday and things wouldn't get too exciting for a little while longer.

"It's that fox! Fizgerald! He's whistlin' and tossing that knife in the air!" Peter was hushed and motioned me over.

I peered outside and into the street, and sure enough, there he was--a black fox like me, but what distinguished us apart the most was that he had golden-yellow eyes as opposed to my green ones, and that the tip of his pointy right ear was missing a small piece at the tip.

Mr. Fizgerald was a city legend. Everyone knew he did knife tricks. He once threw a knife right into an apple on Peter's head, after which Peter's hat was sticky for a while. But what that fox did beyond that was anyone's guess. We knew he went deeper into the city and was sometimes gone all day, coming back well into the early morning, whistling and tossing his knife.

"I heard he works for the gangs," I whispered up to Peter. "You know, the Black Sock Gang? He's their...you know..."

"What?" my friend said, frowning. When I drew a line across my neck to indicate murder, Pete's eyes widened. "No way! He's too nice for that!"

"He doesn't say much, though."

I looked down some more. Mr. Fizgerald was not heading into the city it seemed. Did he have the day off? He vanished into a shop and came out with a package not too long after, no more knife-throwing, but we could see it tucked into the sheath on his hip.

"He's just odd...his brother, too," Peter continued. "The one who works at the patent office."

"What's a patent?"

The wolf shrugged. "Iunno. Something to do with patting things down, I guess? I never talked to him much. They're quiet except during block parties."

I was about to turn away and go deeper into the building when I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. It was a tiny wolf cub and a stocky coyote boy...they were sneaking down the road, hiding behind this and that, trying not to be seen...they weren't terribly far behind Fizgerald.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in!" Peter muttered as he cupped his hands around his muzzle.

But I beat him to it.

"HEY GAVIN AND AVERY!!! WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING?!" I shouted at the top of my lungs. The two boys below jumped in sudden shock, Avery falling down and Gavin whirling around with his fist up. When he saw us, giggling, he scowled.

"YOU DAMN MUTTS!"

"I ain't no mutt!" Peter shouted back, still laughing.

The taller coyote boy, Gavin, and the shorter wolf boy, Avery--who still looked a little spooked--quickly hurried over to the side of the building and were up the ladder and inside the abandoned room quicker than you could blink. Gavin growled and Avery was staring, wide eyed.

Avery, not Gavin, was the one who spoke up first: "You could have got us caught! And on a day like today? C'mon Simon!"

I was trying not to laugh anymore than I had, but it was hard not to. Gavin and Avery were two friends of ours from the neighborhood. Peter had told me, at one time, he and the coyote had gotten into a lot of fights and hated one another. Those days were long gone.

Gavin sighed and lowered his fists. "I swear, you mutts, you're gonna be the death of me."

"Why you followin' old man Fiz?" I asked, plopping my rump down on the floor.

"It's Halloween," Avery said matter-of-factly.

"There's a rumor," Gavin continued, leaning in closer and speaking quietly, "that Old Man Fiz is a cold-blooded killer. He also plays with his victims, if you know what I mean. Heh-heh. But, on Halloween, people say he works for free because he can 'cut loose' so to speak."

"What do you mean?" I asked, gulping hard.

"He's a demon. From the depths of hell itself. He only acts like a regular mortal because his 'brother' has a curse on him, keeps him bound you see. But tonight? No chain. He'll sprout wings and fly into the darkness, and tomorrow there will be a ton of dead bodies all over the city."

"And why on Earth would you want to be close to him if he turns into a murderous demon?"

Avery dug into his pockets and pulled out a rolled up sheet of paper. He held out to Peter and I. It was a cutout of a newspaper advertisement that was large enough to cover half of an entire page of the paper. On the top of the cutout was the name of the newspaper--Crossbell Chronicles--and right underneath were the following words:

----------------------------------

ATTENTION!

Good citizens of Manhattan, please be advised that while this Friday, October 31st, is Halloween, we have had many unfortunate accidents these past few years.

Please be on the lookout for any suspicious characters and report anything odd to your local constabulary. Be on the lookout for the following character----

Name: Spring Heeled Jack

Species: Fox

Fur Color: Believed to be Black

Eye Color: Red

Appearance: Black with a cape and razor-sharp bladed fingers.

Suspect has been believed to be able to leap as tall as a building while slashing at his victims. Do not approach if seen.

Anyone with any information to the whereabouts of this masked figure will be entitled to the reward of $ 50 dollars.

----------------------------------

"Fifty bucks..." Peter said softly.

Avery grinned from ear to ear like a fool. I had never seen so much money. If they could catch Fiz...

"We'll help!" Peter said, putting his arm around my shoulders and hauled me in close. "Split it four ways, even stevens."

"Why would we do that, mutt?" Gavin scowled at Peter as he crossed his arms over his broad chest. "Better to split the reward two way than four."

I pushed my way in front of Peter and glared up at Gavin, smirking. "Fine! But when we catch him and get the reward I don't wanna hear a lick of whinin' from you, Gavvie."

"You two couldn't catch a cold," Gavin said with a smirk and a hard slap on my shoulder. "But may the best canine win!"

---

It was cold and foggy, enough to make a boy shiver under his coat. It reminded me of London as I brought my hands up to my muzzle and blew warm air across the pads, giving myself a moment of warmth. It had been nice and warm for months but now winter was coming and that meant being very cold. Peter was tucked up nice and tight in his coat as well.

We had decided to follow Mr. Fiz. He had been hard to find at first...he seemed to be going to random places, double backing on routes and once, I swear, he jumped across the roof of some buildings.

Thankfully Peter and I were expert trackers (don't argue with the boy telling the story!) and we were able to stay close enough to keep an eye on him but not too close that he knew what was going on. By now the sun had long set and we were in a part of the city that I hadn't been to often. Peter was looking around, tail twitching as we stopped at a corner and peered around it. "This is the bad side of town, Simon."

"I mean, it's New York. How bad can it--"

"Bad 'nuff that I don't come here 'less I got a good reason to." Peter crouched down and watched the people. They were drunk, or rather well on their way to drinking. These were older buildings and we were far from anyplace someone would live who didn't sleep on the street.

We had been following a very simple plan, follow close and wait a few moments before turning any corner Fiz took. It wasn't the best idea, but we were street brats, and no one would care two licks where and what we were doing. We were sneaking up to the next corner. It made me gulp in hesitation.

"Don't like this dark alley, Peter," I whispered up to the taller boy. "You go first."

"You coward," my friend teased and turned to walk down into it, stopping and then slipping back toward the corner where I was still crouched against. Peter looked like he had seen a ghost.

"What's wrong...?"

"He's uh..." The wolf gulped. He then peered around the corner briefly and snapped his head back. "He's there. But...it's not Fiz...Spring Heeled Jack...Simon...let's go."

"What, no way! We need proof that he's Fiz, and if we can't get it, Avery and Gavin will never let us forget that we ran our mouths." I sighed and crouched closer and peered around the corner. "Besides, you probably are just seeing things..."

You know when you're talking about something and you know you should just stop but you don't because you feel like you couldn't be wrong but you end up being wrong? That was me. I did not expect to see what I saw and to this day it still sends shivers up my spine.

Cloaked in shadows was a man. He stood in the darkness with some beams of moonlight hitting his form. He stood tall and proud with his chest puffed out. His shoulders were wrapped in a cloak of some kind and on his head was a top hat. What really stood out was the metal claws. Long, sharp, razor like talons glittered from his hand, catching the light as he wiggled his fingers. His face seemed to be made of metal with glowing red eyes. I had never seen anything like it. It was like a demon had burst free from hell and stood in the alleyway.

I pulled back but my foot hit a bottle. When it broke I saw the...thing...turn its head. Has it seen me?! I felt Peter pull me back and slam me against the bricks, my breathing heavy but he put his hand over my muzzle.

We heard the sound of feet running toward us. I felt a chill shoot up my spine. This was stupid. No amount of money was worth this! I looked about in a panic, heart thudding in my chest. I was preparing to die when Peter let me go and grabbed a discarded coat. He put it on me and then bent down...

We were really going to try and scare him?!

I was lifted into the air with the coat pulled up and the hat tucked down as far as it could go. Peter was shaking. So was I. But I stood (or sat) as tall as I could with my chest puffed out.

When the man...the demon turned the corner he was looking down where Peter's head was and took a step back as if confused. It worked! The thing had expected a boy, but instead a very tall man was standing there. I didn't hesitate and slammed my foot as hard as I could into its face. I heard a groan of pain as Jack staggered backwards.

"Let's go!" I yelled and leaped off Peter's shoulder, running down the alleyway at breakneck speed. We rounded corners and alleys, skidding and almost falling, hearing something following us. When we came to a dead end that feeling of uncompromising dread flowed through me.

Peter, though, was brave. He saw what I didn't, a small window barely big enough for a person...and us being skinny little things, it was just enough. He leapt up and hauled himself into the window. I watched as his tail flicked and swayed and vanished into the darkness. For a moment I was left in the alley with Spring Heeled Jack and I turned around. I could see his shadow beam down across the street from the moonlight.

"Psst! Simon!"

I leaped up and took the wolf's outstretched hand. I scrambled up the wall and was pulled into the dark building. It was long abandoned--the smell of mildew and cold was everywhere. It looked like an old factory of some kind. We tumbled to the ground and sat there as still as can be, Peter holding me close with a hand curled over my muzzle again.

It was so quiet I could hear our hearts beating. I wanted to take deep breaths, but I knew that if I did I would make too much noise. I had to be quiet. I had to be still. I had to hold myself as steady as I could lest I give us away.

We heard footsteps outside the window, the shuffling of fabric and the growl of someone angry. There was the sound of claws across the bricks and a snarl of rage. "Gone!" was all we heard, followed by the sound of heavy steps walking away shortly afterwards.

We remained in place for a few more minutes until we were certain he was gone. Finally my friend let go of my muzzle and gulped, wiping his nose with his hand. "Eheh... maybe we shoulda gone with Gavin and Avery."

"This is stupid, Peter!" I shuddered, looking into my friend's eyes. "We gon' get our tails cut off!"

"Relax, Simon," Peter said with a calming tone. "Have I ever got us in so much trouble we couldn't get out of it?"

"Yes!" I answered without any delay.

The wolf shrugged. "Well...this time I think I got what we need."

"You hit your head? We didn't get a lick of evidence."

We were slipping back out through the window, Peter helping me down first and then himself. He dusted his shirt off and fixed his suspenders and straightened up.

"I saw something flash under his cloak," he explained. "It looked expensive."

"Let's get out of here before we start talkin' about it, okay?"

I took Peter's hand and started to lead him down the alley. I was starting to relax as we got back onto the public street and hearing the light noise of life even at this hour. I felt my chest finally start to unclench.

"I am going to sleep so well. Do you know of a good place to--"

The sentence was cut off when I bumped into someone and fell down on my rump. I groaned and looked up.

"Oy! You should see where you're--"

It was Fiz. Standing there with, of all things, a churro in his hand and looking passive while he ate it. He stared down at me with those golden eyes of his that looked like two full moons in the dimness of our surroundings, slowly chewing and taking lazy bites.

I was up on my feet and turning to run, along with Peter, but Fiz grabbed us by our suspenders and shirts to hold us back. When he turned us around we saw he had put the churro completely in his mouth so he could use both hands.

"Stay" was all he said.

We damn well stayed.

"Why follow?" he asked, plucking the churro out of his muzzle. I gulped and looked at Peter. I was about to open my mouth when Fiz cut me off. "Been following for hours. I know."

"Well, you see, sir," I gulped, looking out of the corner of my eye at Peter. We were standing ramrod straight, nervous, shaking, but I had to fake it. I took a deep breath and exhaled and pretended to be far more calm than I had any right to be. "We know you're a master knife thrower."

Fiz tilted his head to the side.

"We...we wanted to learn how!" I nudged Peter with my foot. He nodded rapidly and grinned.

"Yeah! Could you teach us, sir? We're really good students!"

"Dangerous," Fiz said when he finished the churro and dusted his hands off his pants. He looked between us. "No throw at people. No throw at animals. No throw at anything but what Fiz tells you."

"Of course!" I said with a smile. A nervous one.

"Good!" the black fox said and then stretched his arms up. "Dinner, you both come. But first we get brother. Come!"

And like that we were either in the company of a very nice man or someone who would kill us before the sun rose.

---

"You were doing what?!"

A white fox with purple eyes glared at the black fox with gold eyes. We had walked down to the patent office where Fiz's twin brother worked. The whole way we had been anxious about it--what if this was where he planned to kill us? What if this was where he hid the bodies?

Instead we were in the back office on a darkening Halloween night. There were desks everywhere, and so much paper. Books and ledgers and drawings of things I couldn't explain if I tried. I had never been inside an office before and when the white fox, whose name was Ruttiger, or Rut for short, saw us he glared at his twin.

"What are you doing, picking up street urchins?"

"They follow me," Fiz said with a smile and a wag of his tail. "Hard to do. Also want to learn to throw knife."

"Fiz..." Rut rubbed the bridge of his muzzle. "You can't go around teaching young kids how to throw sharp knives at things. It's dangerous."

"We promised to not throw them at anyone," Peter said with a grin. He had helped himself to some of the sweets that he found in a bowl on a desk. A bit of chocolate was stuck on his fur near his upper lip.

Rut looked at Peter, then me, and finally back to Peter. "Don't touch anything in here. Just...sit down while I finish up my work. Are they coming with us to dinner, Fiz?"

"Uh-huh!" Fiz nodded excitedly. "Rut cooking so good!"

"Uuuugh," the white fox groaned and dramatically let his head fall to the desk. He looked up when he saw both Peter and myself sitting in office chairs. These were the kind that could spin! So that was what we were doing. I could see my friend the twins pass by as the chair went 'round and 'round and 'round. I was stopped suddenly by Rut, who reached out and grabbed the back of the chair I was on. He looked me over.

"Are you also looking for a mini version of yourself? He looks so much like you, Fiz." Rut then spun me around again, not too fast, but it was a clear sign he had lost the conversation.

"Handsome," Fiz said with a nod as he sat on the edge of a desk. It made my ears turn warmer and Peter giggled at the idea.

"So what were you doing, my dear brother?" Rut asked. He picked up his pen and began to write something.

"Gambling!"

The pen snapped in half. "WHAT?!" The white fox was on his feet and in his brother's face, nose against nose, one hand around the buttons of his shirt and keeping him nice and close. "How. Much. Did. You. Spend?" The words came out slowly, one by one, through his gritted teeth.

"Uhm..." Fiz tapped his chin and then snapped his fingers. "Oh! Everything for the week!"

Rut's eyes looked as though they could pop out of the socket any minute. "WHAT?! WHY?!"

"Good hand!"

"It's obviously not that good if you lost!"

And so they started arguing. Peter and I slipped out of our chairs and walked down the corridor of the marble-floored office. It was odd--so much stuff in this building, but none of it seemed very useful. I mean, sure, I guess "patents" were important, but you couldn't really wear it. Or cook with it. Maybe it could keep you warm if you burn all these stacks of paper, but I doubt that was what these "patents" were used for.

Peter was thumbing through a book on a desk and shook his head. "This stuff is boring. I wish they would hurry up and stop arguing."

I peeked into a desk drawer and saw some pencils but nothing else. No food. "We could always go, you know. And go get some candy."

Peter turned to me with an expression of mock shock. "What? You're crazy! They're making us DINNER, Simon, a big home-cooked meal! I can't pass that up. You shouldn't either."

"Yeah..."

Of course, I was wary. People generally weren't nice without wanting something in return. Or at least they had some kind of ulterior motive. I wanted to just slip away and get lost in the streets like usual but I didn't want to go alone...not with Spring Heeled Jack outside.

We were walking back over toward the twins when a knock came to the back door from which we had come in. Rut got up and smoothed down his vest before opening it up. Standing there was a tall, odd-looking cat. He had these funny little tufts on his ears and fur colored like wheat--I knew that this type of cat was called a "caracal," although it was the first time I saw one in person. He was wearing a green suit and carrying a cane.

"Ah, Mr. Perry," the man said with a warm smile. "I wasn't sure who was still here. I was closing up shop and saw the light on so I wanted to check. It seems that I got mail that's addressed to your office by mistake. I wanted to drop by earlier but it's been a very busy day today that I forgot until just now."

An envelope was in his gloved hand, which he extended toward Rut.

Rut smiled and nodded, taking the envelope. "That's very kind of you, Mr. Crossbell. I was just finishing some work and my brother and his...friends...are just waiting for me to finish up."

The cat turned and looked at us, smiling, and I felt an instant chill of worry. Those were not kind eyes. His gaze drifted back to Rut. "Burning the midnight oil. Your work ethic is a testament to your devotion to the job, Mr. Perry. I hope you have a splendid Halloween."

"Who this?" Fiz asked, poking his head from behind Rut.

"He's Mr. Mordecai Crossbell," his brother answered. "He owns the newspaper called 'Crossbell Chronicles' and his office building is right next door, so sometimes our mail gets mixed up."

The caracal chuckled. "On the upside, it's convenient when I have an invention to patent. All I need to do is walk a few steps and drop off my documents and--"

"Sweet!" Fiz shouted, cutting him off.

"I beg your pardon?" The cat turned and looked at Fiz, who was now stepping closer. He sniffed the air and wagged his tail.

"Sweet! Sweets and Treats bakery!"

The caracal frowned and let go of the door knob. Peter gasped and grabbed my arm. I looked up at him but he didn't take his eyes off the cat. He stared intently and held my arm so tightly it hurt. "I'm sorry, I don't understand...are you saying I smell like a bakery?" the man asked.

"Sugar! Bread! Yup!" Fiz nodded excitedly. "Churros, best in city."

"I think you may be mistaken, my friend," the caracal straightened up and fixed his tie. "I generally avoid sweets, as a rule."

"But smell like bakery down alley. Met friends there." He motioned to us, and I understood that we were the "friends" he was referring to.

"I have business to attend to. Mr. Perry, I hope you and your friends have a wonderful Halloween. It was a pleasure to meet you all." The caracal stepped outside and Peter started dragging me toward the door.

"Hey!" I groaned and tried to wrench my arm away. "I can walk, you know!"

"It's him," Peter said quickly, his eyes wide as saucers. "He's Jack!"

"The foppish cat? Piss off. He's harmless."

"He had that gold chain from his vest to his pocket. And Fiz says he smells like the bakery we were near. It's him Simon, I know it is. I can prove it!"

While the twins were going back to arguing about gambling, Peter and I slipped outside just in time to see the green suited caracal. He was walking toward the building with the sign "Crossbell Chronicles" located at the end of the alley.

Peter cupped his hands over his muzzle and shouted: "SPRING HEELED JACK!"

The cat froze.

He turned.

He glared.

"That is a dangerous name, boy," the caracal said and stepped closer to us. "You shouldn't go about shouting it. Not at this hour or on a night like Halloween."

"It's just a name!" Peter puffed out his chest. "And you're him! You're Jack!"

The cat still stepped closer, ever so closer, lazily and calmly, and stopped when he was less than three feet between us. "And you are the two boys who were following me in that alley. I owe you one for kicking me in the face."

"If you do anything to hurt us we'll--"

"What?" he cut us off. He purred and lifted the head of his walking stick up, putting it under Peter's chin and making him tilt his head up. "Tell the police? You don't have any evidence."

Peter gulped and trembled. I wanted to run, but when your friends were in danger you didn't run. Sometimes you took the lick with 'em. So I did a really stupid thing and grabbed the cane in one hand and glared.

"We'll make your life miserable, you demon!" I growled. "We can't turn you in but we can make it so everyone thinks you're Jack. We can make it so no one wants your paper! I know every newsie in town."

"M-me too!" Peter said with a quick nod. "No one will sell your papers no more!"

"Then they won't get paid."

"Neither will you!" Peter growled. "No one will buy your papers!"

"Oh, I'm sure I could come up with something to get around that pesky problem. Street urchins are so...easy to misplace," the caracal--Jack--grinned and brought his cane around, grabbing the silver head and pulling so a glinting sharp blade shined out from the shaft.

Remarkably, Peter and I didn't back up. We stood our ground and stared intently at the sight in front of us. This man wanted to kill us. Really kill us. Sure, I'd had a knife pulled on me before, been threatened a lot, but this was different...this man wasn't mugging me...he was enjoying this.

"No! You won't!" I said with a gulp. "You kill us and our friends inside'll wonder what happened, ask questions..."

"I could kill them, too," Jack countered.

"Spring Heeled Jack isn't known for killing, just scaring," Peter said. "You start killing now...things change." His gaze was locked with the man's cold, calculating eyes. "You're doing this to drum up sales of your papers, aren't you?"

The caracal stared at Peter and then laughed. He put the blade back into the scabbard of his cane and clinked the metal end onto the ground. He was still chuckling. "Clever boy. Though I am not above killing you or anyone. I am still considering it."

"Then let's make a bargain!" I stepped forward again and exhaled a shuddered breath. "We...we keep your secret as long as we don't find out you murdered anyone and you...you...pay us the fifty-dollar reward money for finding Spring Heeled Jack!"

"Are you blackmailing me, boy?" Jack sounded none too happy. He clinked his cane with the metal tip hard on the ground. "Impudent!"

"No! Smart! You keep your tricks and your secret, and we get the money we want."

"And what's to stop you from turning me in?"

"If you're as deadly as they say," Peter began, "you think you'll just let us go while they hunt you down? No...you'll kill us before they capture you or drive you out of the city."

Jack looked at us, contemplating. "At least you aren't so dimwitted as to expect revenge should you be so devious as to turn me in against our bargain."

The man's hand tapped the silver feline head on his cane as he thought about what to do. Finally he tucked it under his arm and reached into his suit pocket. He came out with a wad of money...more money than I had ever seen. He pulled out a crisp $100 bill. He held it out for Peter to take.

Peter tried but the cat didn't let it go--at least, not right away.

"Remember, boys, your word is binding in this situation. Do not force my hand that I have to make two clever street urchins vanish because they could not be trusted. As a reporter I often leaned on your ilk to get information one would not always come across in usual means. So the extra money is to show how serious I am about this matter and how angry I will be should either of you break our bargain."

Peter yanked the money away and shoved it into his vest before the caracal could do anything. I was standing there, glaring, and trying to look bigger than I was. I must have looked ridiculous because Jack just smiled and tipped his hat toward us.

"It was a pleasure doing business with you, gentlemen. Remember our agreement and remember my anger should you break it." Jack then did something I know sounds insane but...it's true! He crouched low and jumped...and jumped so high that he was able to land on the roof of the two-story building with ease. He then walked off and out of sight. I would learn, later, that caracals are incredible jumpers and that going that high wasn't a struggle for him. But it explained a lot about the nickname...

"Boys," a voice from behind us sounded. The door opened to the patent office and the twins came out. "What was all that about?"

"OH!" I grinned and put my hands behind my back. "Mr. Crossbell lost a ring. We returned it to him, and he gave us a righteous reward!"

"Yup, yup!" Peter added after a moment of silence. He was still thinking about the amount of money, no doubt. So was I, but I didn't want to have to explain too much about it to the two in front of us.

"He's not a nice man," Rut added and hoisted his messenger bag over his shoulder. "He is all smiles and kind, but he is as deadly as a razor and twice as sharp. I advise that you don't talk to him. Ever."

"We won't," my friend and I both said in unison and started to walk after the white-furred fox. His black-furred twin brother was lingering back with us and peered down, speaking quietly under his breath.

"Deal with the devil," he whispered. "Scarier than any ghost or goblin."

"Mr. Crossbell?"

Fiz shook his head slowly.

"Spring Heeled Jack. Whatever promised, never betray. Ever."