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The Oxford Constable’s Tale

“I was the first to find the babe,” he said with an Eastend accent. He had hair the color of  burnished sunset, rare in these parts. His green eyes held tears at bay as he blinked them back furiously. His pale hand swiped one that got away down his cheek, “She were just lyin’ there like she were asleep, all curled up. When I tried to rouse her to go ‘ome, she was cold like a side a’ beef. I thought she might ‘ave died from the cold, but she were strangled she was. A little piece of ribbon around her throat tied tight. I wonder if you could find ‘er spirit…let me talk to ‘er to find out who did this to ‘er.”

I looked him up and down for a short while. “You’re a constable then? One of the new ones from the Met?”

“Erm, yeah, that’s me job,” he said. 

“Did you know the babe?” I asked.

“Saw ‘er in passin’,” he replied, “I’ve walked the streets for a few months now. I know some of the faces.”

“I’ve noticed you walking ‘round,” I said. Better to say that then to tell this poor man that I could see his life in my mind running like a stage play. A pretty boring one at that with just work and home and no sweetheart to make things interesting. “I can try to call the child. If she is willing and able, she will speak through me and I will remember nothing she says afterward. Now be silent so I can call her.”

He sat with his hands in his lap, emerald eyes wide and mouth shut. I placed my hands on the table between us with my palms down and I closed my eyes. I’ve been able to speak to the spirits for as long as I can remember. It isn’t hard. Harder it is to keep them at bay then to call them. The trick is to find the one the client wants to talk to. They aren’t mail order types. They’ll come or not in my experience. I am looking for the child this man found I said to the spirits and then waited. One gentle tap on my mind told me a spirit wanted to take control of my body. I entered the trance and let her in. My mind drifted timelessly until I felt her move away. When I awoke, I raised my head and shook myself to get used to my body again. I focused on the young man’s face and saw disappointment there.

“She didn’t help?” I asked.

“Nah, she didn’t see anythin’ worthwhile,” he said, “I thank ya’ for tryin’ though. She told me she were at peace now. At least there’s that I can tell her mother.” 

“At least there’s that,” I said rising from my chair. 

“What do I owe ya’?” he asked.

“Ten pence if you please,” I said.

A few weeks later, I was sitting in my store where I sold talismans and sage when my son showed me the newspaper. I had him read it to me while I worked on tying the sage bundles. 

“Mam, the circus is in town on Saturday, can we go?” he begged.

“Aye, we’ll go but not on the first day. I should see if they have a need for someone with my talents. Is there a request for labor?” I asked. We went on about the circus and other articles of interest when my attention was caught by the photograph on the front page. A fuzzy picture of a child lying on its side, knees brought up to its chest with thin arms wrapped ‘round them. Coppers were kneeling next to it. 

I pointed to it, “What’s that about?”

“Mam, you told me I’m not allowed to read those stories,” he protested. 

“I know, I know. I give you permission this once,” I said. 

He read slowly and with the occasional error about the third child found strangled in the city. 

The newly formed Oxford Constabulary has asked for the assistance of Scotland Yard’s  detectives in finding the fiend responsible for ending the lives of three young children. Parents are strongly encouraged to keep their young ones indoors until the culprit is caught. Anyone with information leading to the capture of the murderer may receive a reward if the information leads to a guilty conviction. 

“That’s enough,” I said to my son, “I don’t want to know any more. But you need to heed the warnings and stay indoors after school now until the man is caught, you hear?”

“Aw, mam, I’m much too big and fast for him,” he argued.

“No. You stay indoors for my sake. Otherwise, you’ll wish he found you if I get my hands on you first!” I swatted his behind for emphasis.

“Ow! I ain’t done nothin’!” he said.

“Just a reminder you heathen. Now if you want to go to the circus, mind your p’s and q’s.”

There are no coincidences. The newspaper article was brought to my attention to prepare me for the constable’s next visit. 

“I had to try again,” he said. His pallid complexion was colored by purple semi-circles under his eyes. His hands shook as he removed his cap. 

“Come in and sit. We’ll see if anything comes of it,” I said, “Can I get you tea?”

“I would be grateful for a cuppa’.”

“Sugar? Milk?”

“Two lumps if ya’ please.”

The tea had the calming effect needed to center myself and the fretting constable. Death did not bother me but a life cut short by heinous means was an altogether different matter. 

“I didn’t find the next two…another girl and a boy, but I knew who they were,” he said, “The grocer just down the street, it was ‘is youngest son, John and the girl belongs to a neighbor two streets over from me flat. She would be playin’ outside on nice days and I would give ‘er sweetmeats while I waited for the omnibus. Like an angel she was.” He cast his eyes downwards staring at his hands squeezing the life out of his cap. 

“I hope we can learn something from the babes if they come to me,” I said, “but it won’t be easy for you to hear constable. Prepare yourself for what evil men can do to another.” I thought him awfully sensitive for a copper. As I opened myself to the ever-present spirits, I asked for the girl and the boy recently slain. Quietly, I waited for the knock on my mental door not hearing the constable across from me shift in his seat. The boy’s spirit came to me and I let him have control for a time.

Once I became aware of my own body, I looked at the constable, “Anything?”

“The murderer talked to the boy,” he said, “but John didn’t recognize ‘is voice. John said the man knew him, though. It weren’t a random thing. Treated him tender-like, even stranglin’ ‘im was gentle, John said. He didn’t want to die, but he wasn’t terribly scared, he just…died. Do you think you could call the little girl next?”

Though I tried for several minutes, the girl did not appear to me, “I’m sorry constable, but she ain’t here, or she ain’t in a talking mood.”

“That’s alright,” he said jamming the cap on his head, “I need to get back to me dad. He’ll be expectin’ supper.” He placed ten pence on the table as he got up to leave. 

I felt a strong desire to hug my son at that very moment. Hug him until I felt he would be safe from evil forever. 

A month passed and two more children found. The city was in a fever-pitch of panic. A crowd had surrounded the city constabulary demanding blood and got some by smacking a poor sargent over the head with a whiskey bottle. A young Oxford University student was suspected for a time, even the grieving grocer was pulled in for questioning. Several arrests later, the city went back to itself but the spirits stayed restless. Their whispers led me to think of the young constable and I knew he would be coming ‘round again.

My son was with me after his schooling was done. I was saying my goodbyes to my last client, a well-dressed highborn lass, when the constable darkened my door. Thinner and older by years though it had only been a month passing, he removed his cap and shook off the rain from his thick coat. 

“I ‘ope you can stay a while longer,” he said, “I’ll pay extra for your time.”

I waved my hand, “I want to do my part.” I said.

He said no more, just took his place at the table while I prepared myself. My son sat in the corner to read his new pulp fiction book, a concession I made for forcing him to stay in the shop instead of out with his friends.

Spirits of the slain children, I ask for your help. I called out to the spirit realm. Their reply was deafening so I raised my mental walls up again. Please be calm, I cannot understand you! Carefully, I lowered my defenses and immediately, a small presence took me over. 

My own spirit was pushed about by the jangling nervous spirits surrounding me and I knew something was terribly wrong. I tried to return to my body but the little boy’s ghost was hanging onto it and moving it all over. I suddenly feared for my own son. Let me back in! I screamed at the child inhabiting my body. He screeched past me as my own spirit slammed into my body which lay on the floor next to the table. When my eyes could focus, I took in two pairs of shoes, one set large, the others were my son’s, only the tips touching the floor. I looked up to see the constable, but not the man I knew, holding my son up by the neck with one hand. I moved faster than I had ever in my life, grabbing my small Derringer pistol from the hidden spot under the table. I screamed to bring the house down, “Let him go, NOW!” 

My son dropped like a heap onto the floor choking, crying, and grasping his neck as he scrambled away from the creature with the constable’s face. The stranger stared at me and then at the gun in my hand.

“The boy’s spirit was so angry with me,” he said, his voice lower and more cultured than before, “The ungrateful little wretch. I am doing them a kindness, can’t they see that?” 

My hands shook as I kept my aim on the stranger in front of me. The childrens’ deaths came clear to my mind as if I had been a spectator to the evil deeds. 

 “Who are you?” I asked.

“An odd question,” he said, his head cocked to one side, “Let’s just say, I’m here to send the poor sods on to a better life.”

I got to my knees still holding the gun on him. I was beginning to shake with fear and anger. He saw my weakness and lunged toward me. I squeezed my eyes closed as I squeezed the trigger falling onto my back. I cracked open one eye. The constable, the one I knew, held one hand to his ear which was gushing blood.

“What’s happenin’? Did you just shoot me?” he asked indicating the spent Derringer in my hand.

At first, I had no idea what to say to him, “You weren’t yourself,” came to me finally. My son crawled to my side and we held each other breathing hard and wondering what would happen next. A banging at my shop door made us all jump.

“Madam Shyla!” a man’s voice yelled, “Oxford Constabulary. Your neighbors heard a gunshot. Do you need assistance?” 

“Yes,” all of us yelled, including the constable.

A few weeks later, my son slammed open the shop door pointing at something in his hand, “There’s a story about us in the newspaper, mam,” He plopped down on the stool behind the counter as I carefully wrapped a parcel in brown paper and string, “Want me to read it to you?”

“If you must,” I said.

Constable Huggins has been remanded to the care of Dr. Eigner of Bedlam hospital in London for the heinous murders of the six children in Oxford. Mr. Huggins claimed innocence despite the testimony of Madam Shyla and her son also of Oxford who claimed he admitted the murders to them, “That’s us mam!” he said excitedly. 

“Go on you,” I said.

Dr. Eigner, using a new technique called hypnosis (my son struggled with the pronunciation), was able to obtain Mr. Huggins’ admission to all six murders. “Mr. Huggins suffered from profound mental trauma as a child causing his personality to schism.” The doctor said, “One personality, the constable, was unaware of the murders while the second one was acting out a mad fantasy.” Dr. Eigner has yet to release Mr. Huggins for trial claiming that his patient is not fit to stand in his own defense.

My son’s eyes shone with excitement, “We’re famous, mam!”

I grabbed him up into my arms, and rubbed the top of his head with my knuckles.

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