Spring-Heeled Jack by Wyll Andersen Page A

a bit before
answering. “To be honest, even to this day I’m not sure. I guess it
was Fate. She is such a lovely lady after all.
    “ Anyway, Peter saw promise
in me, something no one else did, so he put in a good word for me,
and then low and behold I got a job as an investigator for
Zebulon’s New England division. I made sure to work harder than I’d
ever done before. After only a year, I was promoted and moved here
to Zebulon World Headquarters. Not long after that, Peter resigned
and I became the new head investigator and chief of
security.
    “ You see lad, Zebulon gifted
me with a better life than I could ever hope for. Without ‘em, I’d
still be a nobody wandering the streets of New York, and for that I
am eternally grateful.”
    “ That’s amazing
detective.”
    McCloud smiled. “Thank you,
lad.”
    The detective pulled a small pocket
watch from his coat and clicked it open. His smile turned into a
frown as he stared at the clock face. He slipped it into his pocket
and got up from the bench.
    “ It’s been wonderful talkin’
to ya lad, but sadly, I need to get back and run some
errands.”
    “ I understand.” Atticus
yawned. “I should probably hit the hay myself.”
    McCloud laughed. “Lad, if you ever
want to talk, business or otherwise, don’t fret to stop by the
police station. Simply ask for me and I’ll let you right
in.”
    Atticus’ eyes shot open. “A-Are you
serious?”
    “ But of course!” McCloud
smacked Atticus’ shoulder and said, “you, my boy, got promise. I
see a little bit of me in you, and I think with the right push,
your skills could one day surpass even my own.”
    Atticus was dumbfounded. He felt so
honored he almost fainted, but that could’ve just been because of
how tired he was.
    Detective McCloud gave Atticus one
last smile, a hand shake, and then left. As he faded into the
distance, Atticus felt his eyes get heavy. He’d had a long day and
it was time he clocked in for the night.
     
    Back in his room, Brock was sitting at
his desk studying; probably for algebra. He wasn’t the best with
numbers. He hadn’t even noticed Atticus walk into the
room.
    As Atticus made his way to his bed, he
slipped off his red plaid jacket and plopped it on the floor. He
collapsed on the bed with a thump and closed his eyes. He began to
slowly drift off to dream land when he heard Brock mutter
something. He assumed it was just a, “How did your investigation
go?” or something of the like. Honestly, Atticus wasn’t
listening.
    He gave his best attempt at a thumbs
up to say, “Everything is fine,” but he got the feeling it came off
as, “Eh, it’s okay.”
    Atticus’ body felt heavy and
everything went numb. He felt his mind drift to sleep.
    And then the nightmare
happened.

Chapter 8
     
    Atticus was back in the darkness. The
same darkness he dreamt of earlier that day. It was still just as
earie: no temperature, no light, no floor, no anything. Nothing,
except for the squeaking. That same terrible bicycle squeak he’d
heard before still sent shivers running down his spine. But this
time it was so much worse. It was closer. It wasn’t just an echo in
the distance. Whatever was causing the squeak was closer to him
now. It wasn’t just a sound with no source. Atticus felt the sound
from behind him getting louder and louder, little by little. Every
squeak made his hairs stand on end and his heart race.
    Then, just as the squeak sounded like
it was right next to him, it stopped. Atticus couldn’t move. He was
too afraid. The now lingering silence was driving him to a new
level of terror that he’d never imagined. Atticus knew this was all
just a dream, but that didn’t make it any less
frightening.
    Atticus began to turn his head to the
source. What he saw was something that left him completely frozen
with fear. An old man with dark gray skin and greasy jet black hair
stood before him. He wore a tattered old black suit, a destroyed
top hat, and oddly enough rode a rusty