The wind screeched through the fence carrying dust and leaves between the slats and into the hard, clay street. The sky was black and only a few lamps were lit, apparently it was done by a courageous lamplighter who had dared to climb the poles earlier that evening. The street was stained by long shadows of disorder. A lone dog howled in distress at night, its voice reverberating along the carriage less road.

Ocillia Panabaker was out alone in the streets, with her muffler wrapped around her face which was turned all blood red with the intensity of cold winds and dry, harsh weather, her eyes peeking over the top as she leaned forward leaning into the blustery weather. The day had been a soothed warm and easy to function kind of a day, but the night had increasingly cooled rapidly with the darkness.

No one else was visible – which was not surprising as the winds were blowing fearlessly. Word of Jack the Ripper had spread throughout the village.

People were clueless and were speculating things regarding the chilling incidents which took place suddenly and out of nowhere. With no arrest, literally everyone became a suspect by the police for the gruesome murders. Ocillia was out, not a welcome choice, but she was returning from taking evening soup and tea to her sick sister. Emily, her sister, had a touch of fever and she had left her tucked under a heavy comforter fast asleep as soon as she had her soup and some medicines. Now, that she was so tired and exhausted,

she was dreaming of her own bed. As she passed the alley next to the haberdashers, she heard someone behind her, but when she stopped to look, there was no one to be seen behind or even near her.

It was her first touch of fear. Only three more blocks; she turned and pushed on. She should have worn her heavier coat. The weather was getting colder and she was feeling quite distraught.

As she passed the alley,

the wind roared like a banshee tossing her muffler about like a lively fox tail. Only two more alleys to pass and she would be home safer.

The storm was increasing heavily and the gaslights were beginning to flicker. She quickened her pace, afraid that the wind would snuff the lamps before she reached the house; a normal occurrence in strong gusts. The sputtering lamps cast jiggling images across the storefronts making her feel like the buildings were alive. She was past Herrington's fish market, the blacksmith shop and the solicitor's office. Her progress was painfully slow. And then she heard it again – a sharp sort of clump, like someone was literally dragging a heavy foot, she felt that the voice she heard came from very near. She turned again and peered over her muffler, but no one was visible. The street was deserted as far as she could see. She turned and trudged on. The hair on her neck was tingling now and she was definitely feeling chilly.

Fear was growing like a slow climbing vine tree, encircling her body and entangling her mind. She tucked her face down to rebuff the brunt of the wind and urged herself to hurry up a little. It was only one more block to her warm little and safe house. And just only one more alley to cross. Just one! The lamp next to her unexpectedly blew out. She was startled, but she realised there were still two lamps between her and the house. She somehow picked up her pace. By now she was cold and huffing from the strenuous effort. She could feel her heart pounding heavily under the coat and the muffler was warm and damp from her breath.

She thought she saw a light at the back of McGregor's apothecary and she stepped into the alcove and knocked on the door. Maybe she could get warm before she continued to going home. No one answered.

She hesitated a bit, relishing the break from the wind – then braved it again.

She held her breath, knowing that the next alley would attack her with vigor. Suddenly all of a sudden the street turned dark in front of her as one more lamp was snuffed. She adjusted her muffler and leaned into the wind. Only that one lamp before her house lingered. She hurried past the remaining alley. The gust grabbed her coat ripping at the buttons, but she held the coat closed to her firmly.

She labored on, exceedingly aware of the man who was already the most infamous criminal of her age.

She tried to convince herself that he would not want an old hag like her, but it was an abortive effort. She was truly frightened by then and her wheezing increased. Another three hundred yards left to cover and she would be home safe and out of the squally weather. The thoughts of her warm house comforted her to the core of her heart.

It was a tiny house with a thatched roof.

The front porch was surrounded by shrubs and vines, framing the white door like a holiday wreath left too long. She had left a candle in the window. She only had two hundred yards to go and she will be home then safe and sound.

The clump sounded again. This time, rather than turn around, she started to trot. The light on the last lamp fluttered and went out. It was totally dark and she slowed to regain her focus. A hundred yards and she would be safe. She felt troubled and anxious. The sidewalk ended and she stumbled down the final path toward her house. The candlelight spilled across the lawn like a beacon. She angled off the path toward the house.

Fifty feet.

With each step that she took she felt much safer.

Thirty feet.

Her shoes were damp from the night dew, but she didn't care at all. All she wanted was to get inside her house. She would soak her feet in a warm bath and relax.

Twenty feet.

The porch was visible to her now and she altered course. She was just a few steps away from safety and comfort from the shrill night.

Ten feet.

She was on the first step, preparing to open the door as soon as possible, when an unseen figure suddenly jumped out of the bush. "Awwrrr", she loudly screamed at the top of her voice.

Ocillia Panabaker's heart stopped in that instant.

She dropped down in the same moment, never hearing the voice shouting at her, "Trick or treat Ma'am."