Dr Demontig - Serial Killer Read online

  The night continued on in its seemingly infinite way. The cold cut through unabated, and insects crawled over the poor man’s body and face. There was nothing that he could do about it, except to focus his mind elsewhere. He took no heed of Demontig’s warnings, and instead he worked tirelessly, trying to get his body to move. To twitch in anyway may be his only saviour. At one point, he felt that he was making progress. He couldn’t be sure, but he believed that he was able to twitch his face at will. He was aware that he also needed to gain some rest. When the opportunity came, he would need all his strength in order to move at the right time. He thought of songs from his childhood, in order to keep his spirits high and also to help the night pass. Eventually, the morning started to break and the room began to lighten. He could now see above him more clearly. Layers upon layers of dirty cobwebs hung from the ceiling like ashen chandeliers. The room was still and quiet, but on occasions, the light from the window would be blocked out and a shadow would cross the man’s line of view. He remained waiting for a further hour or so, until, in the far reaches of the building, he began to hear the muffled sounds of a conversation. The voices were getting closer. The door to the room finally whined open once more. This time a number of people were heard walking in. They came close to the man. Then the face of an old gentleman leant over and peered into the coffin. This old gentleman had silvery grey hair, and was dressed like a priest. He leant in close to Demontig’s victim.

  “Ah, so this is him then, Mr Demontig?”

  “It is Dr Demontig,” replied a familiar and irritated voice.

  “Ah, yes. I am sorry. So Mr Demon……ahhhh………Dr Demontig, are these the clothes you found him in, or are they some of your cast offs?”

  Demontig sniffed. “They most certainly are not my old clothes. I have bought this poor wretch some new clothing, so that he can at least be buried with some dignity. Really, the things he had on when I found the poor soul were only fit for the furnace.”

  “Oh doctor, you are a fine fellow when it comes to looking after the poor. I mean, this is the third……”

  “Forth!”

  “…….Yes, forth poor unfortunate you have taken charge of. The lower orders do seem to do well if they drop down dead in your vicinity. Yes I am sure that the good deeds that you do will serve you well when the sad day occurs and you are taken to meet the Good Lord and be judged.”

  Demontig gave out a small childish chuckle. “I do think I will need all the help I can get, should I get chance to meet the….. Good…… Lord.”

  “Oh yes……well let me have a look at this poor fool then.”

  The priest leant in close to the man in the coffin and started to move his hand towards the deceased. Just before he came into contact, a gloved hand darted in and grabbed the vicar by the wrist. It moved quickly, but the man could see that this small dainty hand had on a silk glove, and a purple velvet cuff. But, in less than a second, it was gone.

  “Please, your reverence,” said Demontig.

  “It’s pronounced Reverend,” said the priest.

  “Sorry?” said Demontig.

  “What’s that now? Uhmmm, nothing Mr…….Uhmmm……I mean, doctor.”

  There was an uncomfortable pause, before an obviously annoyed Demontig broke the silence.

  “I am aware that this man now looks like a normal human being, in his new and fine suit, and he has also been cleaned. But please remember that this is still a wretch from the slums, and he is not clean enough for your reverence to be handling him. I am just thinking for your welfare. Whilst Dog, my servant, was cleaning him, we noted fleas.”

  “Fleas?”

  “And lice.”

  “Lice too, eh?” said the priest. “Well, I guess my mother did always say to look with your eyes and not with your hands.”

  “She sounds a wise woman, your reverence. Now, may I interest you in a Sherry before the service?”

  “Well, I make it a rule not to drink before ten o clock in the morning, Sir.”

  “Oh come now. Just a small one will help the soul on this sad occasion.”

  “That is true, doctor…… You say it’s a sad occasion, but of course, this fellow is getting a better send off than most. You are surely saving him from dissection. What a strange occurrence, just turning up in your garden like that.”

  “Yes, quite. Now please make your way to the drawing room, and I shall be with you in an instant.”

  The priest suddenly gasped. “Look at him twitching. Did you see him twitch?”

  The man in the coffin had been working as hard as he could to try and make his face move.

  “Yes I did,” said Demontig. “Is it not awful? Unfortunately, Dog has been twitching like that for most of his life. He was dropped on his head as a baby, and has been ‘not right’ ever since. It does so infuriate me to have him flicking around behind me all day long, but what can I do? He is a family heirloom. My mother loved his deformities so, and made me promise to treat him as well as any master would. So I have learnt over time to turn, what you English call, a blind eye.”

  Once the priest had left the room, Demontig turned his attention back to his victim.

  “Well then. We have our priest for the service, and after a quick drink, we will be on our way. You have obviously been very determined overnight. I saw your nose twitching then. It is a pity for you that the good reverence did not see…. How sad….. Now I must say goodbye. Dog, the lid!”

  The lid of the coffin was lifted onto the top and nail after nail was driven in deep, so that the man inside was now enclosed from view. He felt the coffin rise and lean and be lowered, before being wheeled around, taking various turns and stopping often. It was pitch black inside the coffin, and every little bump was painful as the wood was rough and the fit was tight. The coffin was again bundled about and lowered onto the rear of a carriage. The horses’ hooves clip clopped down the cobbled streets and the coffin bumped around with every pothole and rise. After a short journey, the funeral party arrived at the cemetery. The coffin was once again lifted and shuffled around until it landed with a hard bump onto the ground. Inside the coffin, the man could hear the muffled voice of the priest beginning to read prayers and verses from the bible. His words were distorted by the wind that hissed through the cracks in the coffin joints. The man started to feel the coffin being lowered into the pit. He had been trying desperately to move all through the journey. His mind was in a state of panic, but his body remained at rest. Until, his fingers began to tingle. He felt sensation in the tips. He concentrated hard and managed to make his hands move. Only slightly, but they were moving. His mouth then started to tingle as well. His breaths deepened and he started to feel his heart racing. His body was coming back to life. He tried to scream, but all that came out was a quiet slur. He worked his hands more, trying to free them enough to bang on the lid. His progress was slow, and before long, the priest went quiet. Time was running out. The man’s body started to go into shock and panic. His whole being was desperately trying to force himself into action. Then a cascade of noise gently pelted the lid of the coffin. This noise grew and grew until it became heavy thuds, thundering down. The grave was being filled in. His hands and arms started to jolt up and down, dragging his knuckles against the rough sides of his tomb. The wooden splinters impaled themselves into him and tore the flesh from his hands. Blood trickled down to his wrists and his mouth began to froth. His chest pounded back and forth, trying to build up the power to scream. In an explosion of energy, he let out a blood curdling shriek and drew his bloodied fists up with force onto the lid, banging it with all his might. But the sounds, and desperate pleas for mercy, were soaked up by the now four foot of mud and clay which lay over him. The one person who could have saved him was walking back off to the church to prepare for his next sermon. The only one that remained, watching his men filling in the grave, was a small wiry character, who leant against a thin black cane. He was dressed in a purple tailed coat and top hat, and stood with a contente
d smile on his face.

  2.

  Upminster, Essex, August 1883