Alastor's Old Acquaintance

Ch 7 The New Arrivals

The group, finally, reached the Manor, and after Jack put Hearth to bed, they all sat down, while Anne made everyone lunch.

"Hey, Anne, what do you want to call the tiny hell spawn when they hatch?" Pike asked.

"It'z called a child, Pike, now never call it hatching again." Anne responded, cracking another egg into the pan.

"And if you must know, male, Doc Jr, and female, I haven't quite decided..."

"Why not Ella? That name certainty has a ring to it, wouldn't you agree Anne?" Kate asked, a calm smile on her face.

Anne pondered the name for a moment, before nodding. "Ella it iz then!"

Anne then set out the lunch, an English breakfast, onto the five plates, before bringing the plates onto the table.

Everyone began eating until Dedmin started talking. "Do you think Hearth will be OK?"

Pike swallowed his egg before speaking. "Well, I'd assume so, granted I never knew Hearth had PTSD, but I'm sure it'll be fine."

"I agree with Pike on this one. Though, if You-know-who shows up, we all grab a rope and restrain Hearth from slaughtering the whole of Hell." Kate added.

The table broke out into laughter and everyone went to do what they wanted.

Pike went to buy alcohol, Jack went to perform at his Funfair, Anne went to her store, Dedmin went down to a nearby pub and Kate went up to her room.

As soon as Kate entered, she closed her door as fast as she could. Then turned away from the door and scoped around the room.

It was just as she left it. Her queen-sized bed with black covers was still made, with her journal on the bedside table, her wardrobe was still closed, the vanity still had the box of red eye-shadow resting on it and, most importantly, the newspaper articles and letters still hung on the walls.

Kate walked over to one of the articles and read through it.

The article about leather apron's victim, the Whitechapel Butcher's work, the first known of the Canon Five, Mary Ann "Polly" Nicholas, found brutally butchered in Buck's Grove, now known as Durward Street.

Kate J. Chripper sighed, hoping Polly Buck wasn't the prostitute she crossed paths within the 1880s, as Kate's life practically depended on it.

"Arthur Doyle and Oscar Wilde couldn't figure it out, no one in the vigilante committee worked it out, even now, with the help of DNA testing, no one can figure it out! Suppose I'm safe for a little while longer..." Thought a voice, who had been sitting patiently, watching the game they had set continue.

The nameless and nocturnal,

Jack The Ripper.

◕◕◕

It was a new day at the Hazbin Hotel, and Husk was about to start drinking. "It's five o'clock somewhere." He thought to himself, before opening a bottle of cheap booze.

Though before long, he started wondering if Angel had spiked his drink, as a rubber hose cartoon character, around 6ft 3, with two large black wings, entered the Hotel.

They had Pacman eyes, shaggy black hair and seemed to be wearing black and white clothing, similar to that of Bert from Mary Poppins, a white long-sleeved shirt, black trousers with suspenders wrapping over his shirt, a black blazer and shining black boots.

Then, the cartoon character looked at Husk. "Look bud, you're obviously in the wrong place." Husk groaned.

"Is this not the Hazbin Hotel?" Asked the cartoon, in a male New York accent.