Under a Midnight Moon
“Some see me here, some over there. Some see me everywhere.” The gaunt-faced man perched on the rooftop watching his quarry staggering down the street.
He dropped silently to a balcony. “Some see me not at all,” he whispered, leaping onto the man’s shoulders, “Because I like to make ’em fall.” He picked the man’s pockets, leapt back up to the balcony and sprung from rooftop to rooftop.
The bells of St Mary’s, Whitechapel chimed midnight. He paused and sniffed an iron-tinged scent in the air.
“Spring-heeled Jack ain’t the worst monster prowling tonight,” he muttered, fading into the shadows.