Through time; The ripper

What did he say?

*Lily*

My instincts scream for me to run, a primal urge clawing at the edges of my consciousness, but something in the way he speaks holds me still. The shadows wrap around him, shifting like dark smoke, swirling and twining as if they have a life of their own. For a fleeting moment, I feel a strange pull toward him… a magnetic force that defies reason, drawing me in like a moth to a flame. Honestly it is like something out of a sappy book.

This is the moment… the clash of reality and fantasy, where fear and curiosity intertwine like tangled vines, weaving together to create a tapestry of confusion that makes my life feel like a dream… or perhaps a nightmare. The air is thick with tension, electric and charged, as if the universe is holding its breath.

“Who are you?” I manage to gasp, my voice shaky but defiantly challenging. I can’t let him see how much his presence unnerves me. If he is dangerous, I can’t afford to show fear.

He pauses, just a few feet away, his dark eyes locking onto mine with a piercing intensity that feels like it could see right through to my soul. “I’m here to help you,” he says, his voice low and smooth, like velvet draped over steel. “But you need to trust me.”

“Trust you? You’re a stranger and the one following me!” I retort, my heart pounding in my ears like a war drum, each beat echoing the urgency of the moment. “Why should I trust someone who looks like they stepped out of a gothic novel?” My tone might be rather skeptic, but beneath my bravado, a flicker of curiosity ignites. Who is he really? What lies beneath that enigmatic facade? I can’t help be curious.

A flicker of amusement crosses his face, and for a moment, the oppressive tension in the air lightens, as if the weight of the night has shifted ever so slightly. “I assure you, I’m not a villain, though I might look the part,” he says, his voice laced with charm and an edge of urgency that sends shivers down my spine.

But to be honest, he resembles more of a romantic hero from a classic novel than a true villain. Yet, I remind myself, real-life villains rarely look the part; they often hide in plain sight, their masks woven of charm and deceit.

Just then, a distant sound echoes through the night… a low, ominous swooshing that makes my skin crawl. It’s foreign yet oddly familiar, like when you have a Word just on the tongue but can’t remember it. I shiver involuntarily, and suddenly, the unsettling truth dawns on me: we aren’t alone… someone is making the sound. Shadows begin to converge around us, dark shapes materializing from the depths of the alleyway, their intentions unclear and undeniably sinister.

“I don’t have time to explain,” he says urgently, his voice slicing through the night like a knife… and somehow that makes me recognise the sound in the the distance… A knife being sharpened. “Not here and now, but you are in danger.”

His words hang heavy between us, omnious in a way that makes me feel like I have ended up in some horror movie, and I wrestle with my i aginative thoughts again. How can I be sure he’s not the actual danger? But as I look into his eyes, I see worry mixed with determination, a raw urgency that tugs at something deep within me, igniting a flicker of belief. There’s no sign of deceit… just honesty… or is that something I am simply telling myself?

“Please, come with me,” it is almost a command, as he extend a hand toward me, his grip promising warmth and strength amidst the chaos that threatens to engulf us.

I hesitate for a heartbeat, weighing my options like the scales of fate. The sound grows louder now, a sharp scraping that raises the hairs on the back of my neck. The shasows seems to creeps closer, the shapes shifting ominously, and instinct kicks in. With a mix of fear and a budding flicker of trust, I reach for his hand. The moment our fingers touch, his warmth anchors me, grounding me in a reality that feels like it’s about to unravel.

Together, we take off down the street, racing into the unknown. The world around us blurs, the familiar streetlights flickering like distant stars in a dark sky. I can feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins, a heady mix of fear and exhilaration. The sound of footsteps echoes behind us, and I can’t help but glance back over my shoulder. The shadows are alive, swirling and shifting, as if they’re chasing us through time itself.

“Where are we going?” I manage to ask, breathless, as we dodge into an alleyway, the narrow passage closing in around us like the jaws of a trap.

“To a place where you can be safe,” he replies, his voice steady despite the chaos swirling around us. “I know it sounds strange, but there’s more at play here than you understand.”

I want to press him for answers, to unravel the mystery of who he is and what danger lurks behind us, but the urgency in his tone quells my questions… for now. We turn another corner, and I can hear the sound of heavy footstep again… closer now.

“Who is that?” I ask, panic creeping into my voice, tendrils of fear coiling around my heart.

“Just keep running,” he urges, and I can hear the desperation beneath his calm facade. “We can’t let him catch up to us.”

As we sprint deeper into the night, I feel the line between reality and fantasy blur, and I realize that everything I thought I knew might just be a facade. Yes, I am scared, but there’s a strange thrill coursing through me too. It’s as if I’ve stepped into the pages of a book or the frames of a movie, and I’m starting to feel a bit detached from reality… perhaps it’s the surge of adrenaline doing it.

Suddenly, he pulls me into a small alleyway, pushing me protectively against a wall and placing a finger to my lips, urging silence.

A shadow moves past the alley, and it sends a chill down my spine, it is very much reminiscent of a vampire in an old film, stalking its prey.

We wait in tense silence, my heart pounding in my chest, the world outside fading into a distant murmur. After a moment, he removes his finger and takes a step back, his expression serious. “He is gone now.”

“Who was that?” I whisper, glancing to where the figure disappeared, my mind racing with dread.

“Jack the Ripper,”