The Hopping Ghost

By Joel Rheinberger

After decades in a cage, Hepzibah the vampire finds herself suddenly free.
The beast inside her wants to ravage, rob and roam. But her human half wants to be a person again.
Can she minimise the murders and find friends, or will the vicious gang who owned her drag their pet monster back to the filthy cage in their basement?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joel Rheinberger
• Release date: Sep 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9780645295009

Book preview

The Hopping Ghost

by

Joel Rheinberger

Copyright © 2021 Joel Rheinberger

All rights reserved. Please don't reproduce this without permission.

Cover design by Joel Rheinberger

Starfield photo by Tim Grimsey

Silhouette by Mohamed Hassan

Second digital edition

ISBN:  978-0-645-29500-9

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Dedication

For all of the men and women who have instructed me or trained beside me in the martial arts. I am grateful for your company on the way.

Historical Note

Captain William Fairbairn was known as the toughest man in the British Empire. He lived and worked in Shanghai at the time depicted here.

A person in a uniform Description automatically generated with low confidence

I have taken a great many liberties with him for the sake of this story, but I have the deepest admiration for his courage and skill.

Typography

Standard quote marks like these denote spoken English.

This is a convention commonly used in comics, but only occasionally found in novels.

Chapter 1

Shanghai, 1922

The vampire was ruler of all it surveyed: a cage in a basement of dark stone. It was hunkered down, contentedly waiting for its next meal to be delivered.

It had been happy here for 37 solar cycles. The first few months had been annoying, as its human host had found the situation inexplicably distressing. But the vampire had bound the human’s mind into a sleep from which it rarely wakened, so now this place was a small paradise.

The room was permanently dark, so there was no agonising daylight for it to deal with. It was protected by metal bars, stone walls, and a small army of humans who fed it regularly. The vampire was utterly safe and fulfilling its purpose, so it was satisfied to remain here.

Tonight, something was going on in the building above. It could hear fighting and gunfire. Men were dying, their blood flowing onto the floor, their souls wittering off into the cosmos without the vampire’s guidance. A terrible waste.

The vampire watched the stairwell as five people came into its domain, four strange men and one woman it had seen many times before. The man in the lead pointed a pistol and fired several times. The vampire dodged away, bounding back and forth in the cage so the bullets missed and ricocheted around the room.

Steady on, Skipper! said another of the men. You’ll kill us before you kill that thing.

Dropping to the floor of the cage, the vampire folded itself into the smallest possible target.

Go get us a body, said the leader, we’ll give it something to chew on. Maybe it will sit still for long enough to get shot.

One of the men backed out of the room to drag in a dead body. There were many to choose from.

The vampire considered this new situation. The defensive mechanisms of this building had failed. Its army of servants was dead and this cage had suddenly become a trap instead of a fortress. It stayed absolutely still, but prepared itself for maximum aggression.

the leader said quietly,

The woman pointed to one corner of the cage, where hinges could be seen.

The cage door had a clever latching system, controlled by a long rod in the floor which had a handle six feet away from the cage. The vampire could not open the door, but someone outside could do it easily.

The man returned with a body and the leader barked out directions.

Grainger, Mooney, put the body in. Singh and I will try to get in a shot.

Grainger carried the corpse over to the door, while Mooney took hold of the mechanism. The vampire watched, unmoving.

Jesus, whispered Mooney, I’m shittin’ me breeches and no mistake.

It couldn’t smell any worse in here, Grainger replied.

Mooney gave the latch a pull and Grainger opened the door, hefting the body inside. The door swung mostly closed but the corpse’s foot was jammed in there. Grainger nudged it inside with a toe, but the vampire was suddenly there, gripping his foot and dragging him forward, forcing the cage door open.

He was yanked onto his knees in the doorway and the creature lunged up his body. The others heard the crisp noise as its teeth met in his neck, then it reared back and spat a neat mouthful of flesh onto the floor. It buried its face in the wound and held his shoulders in an iron grip.

Jesus! screamed Mooney. He pointed his gun but the creature moved Grainger in between them, gulping his blood all the while.

Grainger drew his knife and stabbed the vampire, which screeched and backed away. With a lightning movement it grabbed his arm and bit his wrist, worrying at it. The knife dropped from his hand and the creature went back to the neck wound in an impossibly fast movement.

The leader, on the other side of the cage, aimed his pistol through the bars and fired, punching the vampire in one side. It boiled through the open cage door and charged at Mooney, who fired wildly, hitting it in the leg. The vampire paid no mind to the flesh wounds, leaping at Mooney. It clung onto his upper body and bit a chunk from his neck. Mooney screamed, his arms windmilling, staggering backwards onto the basement’s single electric light. The bulb shattered and a spray of sparks shot out. The vampire shrieked and spasmed, dragging its last victim with it to the floor.

Chapter 2

Hepzibah awoke from decades of dreaming with a mouthful of meat and something heavy on top of her. She knew what the meat was and spat it out.

The vampire inside her was making a fizzing noise. It seemed injured somehow. It made a huge effort and gave her a picture of their situation.

They were still in the underground room, but for the first time in decades they were out of the cage. Men had come to kill them, but the vampire had fought back and escaped, killing some of the men before being struck by lightning. The vampire fizzed again and went silent.

The heavy thing on top of Hepzibah was a fresh corpse. Someone dragged it off her, for which she was grateful.

An angry Englishman with a neat moustache was standing over her, pointing a gun at her face. She was even more grateful for that. An ending, at last.

Suddenly a huge brown man wearing a turban came into view, leaning around the Englishman and pushing his gun to one side. The pistol barked and the bullet went through the huge man’s hand, hitting the stone floor, pinging away into the room.

No, the huge man said, clutching his hand, she is not a monster now!

screamed a woman at the back of the room. She collapsed to her knees and began to sob.

No Captain, please, said the huge man, cradling his injured hand. She is safer alive than dead. Trust me.

The Englishman looked at her for a long moment, the gun pointing right at her.

Yes, Hepzibah croaked, please kill me. While you can.

The Englishman looked troubled. Then stern. He aimed at her head and she closed her eyes, accepting, waiting.

Some seconds later she was still waiting and she’d never been terribly patient.

Come on! she cried. For God’s sake, do it!

She gritted her teeth and hoped. But someone took her hand. She opened her eyes and saw it was the huge brown man.

If you can get up, we should go, he said firmly.

He pulled gently and Hepzibah stood. She looked down at herself. Naked, as she had been for decades. And utterly filthy. Her skin was blackened and her hair hung past her waist in ropey dreadlocks.

You should bandage your hand, she said to the big man. You dinnae want to bleed around me.

He nodded and took out a huge curved dagger, bending to one of the dead men and cutting a long strip of his shirt away. The leader finished checking on the other dead man and came to his aid, wrapping the injured hand.

I’m William Fairbairn, he said. I’m a policeman. And if you’re not a monster, then what are you?

Oh, I am a monster, Hepzibah replied. But my name is Hepzibah.

Lakhbir Singh, said the brown man. Also a policeman. And the girl over there is Ya, she was a prisoner here too.

Where are we? said Hepzibah.

In the basement of the Green Gang’s fortress, said Fairbairn.

Right, but where on earth is that?

Shanghai.

And where is that?

China.

hissed Ya from the back of the room.

Hepzibah said.

You speak Shanghainese, but you don’t know that Shanghai is in China, said Fairbairn. Go on, pull the other one.

It’s not me, said Hepzibah, it’s the monster. If I’m around people who speak another language it just sort of... takes it from them.

Fascinating. said Fairbairn. But we’ll have to discuss it later. For now, we’re leaving.

He led the way to the stairwell and up the stairs. Ya stayed up front, right beside Fairbairn, sometimes glancing back in fear. Hepzibah held herself back to a human pace, with Singh watching solicitously from behind her. She turned to him.

If we’re in this gang’s fortress, where’s the gang?

We killed the ones in here. But they are like rats, there are many more.

And you’re allowed to just kill folks?

We’re not policemen tonight, said Fairbairn from ahead, we’re soldiers of the King.

We are here to kill the Red Monster, said Singh, that would be you.

But I’ve been in my wee cage. What could I have done?

Fairbairn glared at her and turned to stomp up the stairs.

Ask me later, whispered Singh, it has been a difficult night.

They continued upwards. At the first floor, Ya dashed out of the stairwell and into the main room.

Fairbairn said.

But she ignored him and the rest had to follow her into the room. It was very grand, with rows of statues on each side leading towards a large chair, almost a throne. Two men were splayed on the floor, freshly dead.

Ya was struggling with a chest on a table. The chest wouldn’t open, so she picked up a small statue and bashed the lock open. There was a pile of cash and jewellery inside.

Fairbairn was a very straight-laced copper, so thievery was usually an affront to his nature. But after breaking into this fortress and killing most of its inhabitants, this particular crime seemed like very small potatoes. Ya had been a slave here, so she probably deserved whatever she could carry.

Fairbairn said.

Ya opened some drawers and found a shirt. She tied it closed at the bottom, stuffed the goods inside and knotted the sleeves together so she could slip it over her shoulder like a large purse. Hepzibah appeared beside her and Ya gasped, falling backwards and scrambling away.

The pants in the drawer were ludicrously huge, so she abandoned them immediately. But she found a silk shirt which was long enough to be a baggy dress. She tied a knot in the middle to take up the excess cloth and rolled up the sleeves.

Fairbairn led them up the stairs. At two points they had to step around corpses and Hepzibah could smell the blood of many more. These policemen had been busy tonight.

They walked up several storeys to the roof. A grapple was attached to the wall, with a rope leading over to the roof of a nearby building. Fairbairn tested the grapple, finding that the hooks were still solidly in place.

Sitting on the ledge, feet on either side of the rope, he leaned forward to grasp it with both hands. He gently eased himself onto the rope then let his weight fall to one side, so he ended up dangling underneath it, legs wrapped around it and hands gripping tight. Like an inchworm, he began hunching and pulling, dragging himself back up the line. It took a few minutes for him to cross, as he had to stop to rest on the way.

Ya’s breathing became heavier and heavier. As Fairbairn climbed up onto the building at the other end of the rope, she was positively hyperventilating.

she said.

Hepzibah spun around and smacked her on the side of the face. Ya was instantly unconscious and sprawled to the ground.

I hope I didn’t break her face, Hepzibah said. She picked up Ya effortlessly and slung her over one shoulder, then stepped up onto the rope and began walking across.

Singh watched her balance with admiration. At the other end of the rope, Fairbairn was open-mouthed.

Hepzibah made it to the other side and hopped down lightly. She waited beside Fairbairn for Singh to inch his way across. With only one hand in action, Singh needed to rest three times. He couldn’t quite heave himself up from the rope onto the building, so Hepzibah leaned down and grabbed him, pulling him easily up and over the ledge.

By silent mutual assent, they rested for a few minutes. Then Singh untied the rope at this end and retrieved the grappling hook from the other side, a complicated procedure which required much whipping of the rope and considerable cursing.

They walked down through the building to a truck waiting outside. Singh bundled himself and the unconscious Ya into the back as William climbed into the cab.

Hepzibah considered her options. This was clearly a big city and she could easily disappear into it. But these people had rescued her and seemed willing to have her along, even knowing what she was. She hopped into the back and sat down on the bench next to Singh, as Fairbairn pulled smoothly onto the road.

So what did I do to poor Willy? she asked Singh.

You have murdered many. How can you not know?

I’ve been asleep and my wee beastie’s been running the show. She tapped on the side of her head. Singh nodded his understanding.

The Shanghai Municipal Police thought you were a local legend, he said, invented by the Green Gang. They would threaten their enemies and underlings with being fed to the Red Monster. But then they fed two of William’s men to you and left the bodies for him to find.

Och, I’m so sorry.

You will need to tread lightly around the Captain, said Singh.

Of course, said Hepzibah. Now pardon me a moment.

With inhuman suppleness she reached under her makeshift dress and around to her back, incidentally exposing herself. Singh looked away politely. Hepzibah pulled her hand out and dropped a blood-soaked bullet on the floor.

Better out than in, hey? she said.

She squeezed at her leg for a moment and pulled a bullet from there too, flicking it out the back of the truck, then wiped her hands on her dress.

Singh watched her knowingly. Hepzibah leaned back and closed her eyes, uncomfortable with the close scrutiny, waiting for the ride to be over.

Fairbairn drove them to the red light district, stopping behind a brothel called Delicate Flowers. It was closed this late at night, but a lantern burned in a kitchen window.

He stepped down from the truck and gave the door an authoritative knock.

The madam, an older Chinese woman, opened it a crack and peered out. She recognised Fairbairn and turned back to speak with someone behind her.

From her vantage point, peeping out of the back of the truck, Hepzibah could see Daisy. She was tall and athletic, holding a gun of some sort, which she now put away in a drawer.

The older woman opened the door and Fairbairn signalled the others to follow him inside. They clambered out of the truck and slipped into the brothel’s kitchen.

The madam looked at them sadly.

Where are you other men, Captain?

Dead in the line of duty.

With the calm of great experience, the madam went into triage. She asked Singh to lay Ya down on a padded bench. From a jar she scooped a brown paste that smelled like death, applying it to some rags. With gentle efficiency she bound it to the bruised side of Ya’s face and covered her with a blanket.

Have you got somewhere we can clean up? asked Fairbairn.

Daisy will bring water and take your clothing to wash. She pointed to Hepzibah. She needs a bath more than you.

Sounds like a wee slice of heaven, Hepzibah sighed.

So you’re not a monster for the moment, said Fairbairn, but how will you be tomorrow?

I’ll be okay. And for the next week or so.

I want to leave you with the ladies. Do I have your word that you’re safe?

For what it’s worth, you do.

You can trust her, said Singh, her kind do not lie easily or well.

Then goodnight, Hepzibah. Sleep well, we have a very long conversation coming tomorrow night.

I’ll be here, William.

Daisy beckoned to the men, leading them into the warren of rooms to sleep for the few remaining hours of darkness. On the way out, Singh stopped briefly to pat Hepzibah’s head.

"Good night, little pisaca. Let me know when you get hungry. And do not wait too long."

He ambled off after the others, leaving Hepzibah under the madam’s stare.

Hepzibah said.

Moli stoked up the fire in her stove and put a large pot of water on it to boil. She took Hepzibah to a nearby bathroom. It had simple grey tiles on the walls and floor. A large pipe rose from the centre of the floor, sprouting half a dozen taps around it, allowing many girls to wash up at once. There were several stools in the room, each with a shallow metal bucket on top.

While Hepzibah took off her makeshift garment and hung it over a stool, Moli took a bucket and filled it from the tap. With the bucket full, she retrieved some clean rags and a rough cut bar of soap. Hepzibah gratefully took them and began to clean herself.

She started with her hands, rubbing them until the white skin and freckles began to show. Next her face, wetting the cloth and soaping it, scrubbing off years of grime. After five lots of soap, the cloth came back clean, so she ventured a look in the mirror mounted on the wall.

Her face was a stark whiteness amongst the grimy blackness everywhere else. She remembered happily that she had always liked her face, it was wide and heart-shaped with a generous mouth and upturned nose.

But as she inspected it, the filthy water from her hair leaked downwards, stripes of foulness creeping across her forehead and dripping to her cheeks. She cringed, showing her teeth, which were perfect despite any amount of neglect, the canines slightly longer than human.

Hepzibah turned on a tap and sat on the floor under it, scrubbing handfuls of soap into her scalp. After ten minutes of work, she began seeing glimpses of her proper orange hair colour in the mirror, but it was matted beyond any hope of redemption.

Moli came in with the pot of hot water. She pulled down a tin bath and poured the water into it.

said Hepzibah.

Moli went to the cupboard and retrieved a pair of scissors. She patted a stool and Hepzibah sat. One by one, Moli took each dreadlock, cutting them off at the nape of Hepzibah’s neck, throwing the long ends into the corner. Then she hesitated, wondering how to handle the mess that was left.

Hepzibah said firmly.

Moli saw the wisdom of a clean start and cut off the worst clumps. After a minute she got up.

she said.

Hepzibah obediently soaped her head again while Moli took the pot back to the kitchen. She refilled it and put it back over the fire, then went to her own room and fetched some of her precious private bath stock.

She returned to the bathroom and poured a small measure of jasmine scented almond oil into Hepzibah’s hair. Massaging it in firmly, she teased apart the knots where she could. Hepzibah cried silently under Moli’s fingers. Her humanity was returning and it hurt.

Moli took out a vial of eucalyptus oil and added some drops into half a bucket of water. Helping Hepzibah up off the stool, she handed her the bucket.

Hepzibah kept washing, marvelling at how light she felt. When each rag grew too dirty, she threw it into the corner with her soiled hair. Moli returned with a scrubbing brush, some more soap, and a blessed bucket of warm water. Hepzibah plunged her whole head into it, lifting up to feel a flow of clean warmth trickling down her body.

Moli sat her on a stool again and cut off the last resisting clumps in Hepzibah’s hair. She had a little bit of English style shampoo, so she washed the remaining inch of hair with that, finally able to run her fingers through it.

She put some more eucalyptus and the last of the shampoo into the bucket of warm water, then dipped the scrub brush in it and went to work on the girl’s body. Hepzibah obeyed like a well-trained mare, lifting her arms, turning around, putting a foot up on a stool. Moli noted a round pink spot on her leg and another just under her ribs on one side. She thought perhaps they were scars from a recent beating, never considering that they were bullet wounds only a few hours old.

Rinse yourself, Moli said. I think you are clean enough for the bath now.

Moli went to fetch more hot water, while Hepzibah poured buckets of cold water over herself, cleaner than she had been since the turn of the century. There were still stains of ground-in dirt on her feet, her hands, and down her sides where she had slept on the floor. But the rest of her wouldn’t have looked out of place in any orphanage.

Moli poured some very hot water into the tin bath, then a bucket of cold, then a few drops of orange blossom essence. Hepzibah stepped in, shivering now, and sat herself down. A wave of pleasure swept through her and she groaned, slumping backwards and luxuriating.

Moli left her there and went back to the kitchen. She wanted to heat one more pot of water, then she’d have to begin making breakfast for her delicate flowers.

She was amazed at Hepzibah’s resilience. The girl must have been a slave in a pit to be so filthy, but she was very calm. And though she was way too thin, her joints were supple and her skin was lovely. It was a puzzle.

She checked on Ya, who was now deeply asleep, rather than unconscious. The water began to steam and she took it into the bathroom, pouring it carefully into the end of the bath so it wouldn’t burn her guest.

said Hepzibah.

Moli weighed her words. Her language and culture required a convoluted response, which would suggest to the keen observer that perhaps this house had a pleasant secret. To any well-bred Chinese person it would be clear as a bell, but this pointy-nosed waif with her startling carrot-coloured hair wouldn’t know what to do with a polite answer. Moli sighed.

she said finally.

said Hepzibah.

Moli smiled. Maybe this girl wasn’t as white as she appeared. Moli left Hepzibah to soak and went to the kitchen, chopping radishes for her charming nieces. She came back half an hour later with rags for Hepzibah to dry herself and an old green dress she could wear.

Hepzibah asked as she wiped herself down.

Moli helped Hepzibah to put on the dress, showing her how it tied together.

she said.

Moli asked.

Hepzibah shuddered. A look of panic came into her face.

Taken aback, Moli took her through the house to a store room with no windows. Hepzibah stepped inside with a shiver of relief. Moli fetched a blanket and a pillow, watched while the girl cocooned herself and curled up. She had seen such reactions before, from the beaten and starved. A quiet dark corner often seemed safest to such poor creatures.

Hepzibah whispered.

Moli shut the door and went to the kitchen. She moved in semi-darkness, only a flickering lantern to light her way, but she knew every inch of the place and was smoothly efficient. She started her big water pot boiling again and cleaned out the teapot. There was a bin of rice at one side and she scooped out enough for breakfast into a pot, adding water and allowing it to soak before cooking. As she was chopping up some spring onions, Ya began to stir. Molly squatted down beside her and patted her hand.

Ya murmured.

Ya struggled to sit up. She felt the compress around her head and gently inserted a finger under it. Her cheek was taut and hot, tender to the touch. She recognised the medicinal smell of the compress and silently blessed the woman at the stove.

Looking around, she found her bundle of cash and jewellery on the floor next to the bench. She hefted it, considering how far it might take her if invested wisely.

Moli handed her a bowl of rice porridge with flakes of dried fish in it. A perfect soft breakfast for a woman with a sore face. Ya took up a spoonful and let it cool for a moment.

she said.

Moli laughed and went on with her cooking.

Ya insisted.

Ya was trembling, crying, her bowl slipping from her fingers. Moli rescued it and got her to lie down again, patting her hand until she was still. She brought over a cup of jasmine tea and helped her to drink it.

Ya turned away and curled up. Moli gave her a final pat and went back to her cooking. She had many mouths to feed.

The girls on the early shift started drifting in for breakfast over the following hour. Each one was handed a bowl of congee and sent quietly on her way, with no lingering in the kitchen. William stopped in long enough to doff his cap and then was gone, heading back to the Academy for morning exercises.

Moli had to roust a couple of slackers, but that was nothing unusual. And she checked in on Singh, who was fast asleep in his room. She would send a girl to wake him in the nicest possible way before lunch, as the room would be needed soon afterwards and men who had pleasure for breakfast were pliable for the whole day.

Over the next few hours she prepared dumplings. She bickered with the laundry man over the price of sheets. Two girls began name-calling and then fist-fighting, so she ordered the instigator of the fight to wake up Singh.

The doors opened at 11am and business was brisk with the early risers. She handed over the front-of-house duties to Daisy and got the late shift girls out of bed in time for lunch. By now Ya had woken up properly. She was quiet, but happy enough to join the crowd in the staff eating area, listening with great interest as the girls discussed clients and strategies for making them part with more money.

In the afternoon, Ya caught a rickshaw to the Bund, the bustling main street of the International Settlement, by the banks of the Whangpo River. She bought a new dress, shoes, undergarments, and toiletries. It was expensive, but worth it. Chinese stores might provide better value, but nothing like the impact of a European outfit.

She found a bath house and got herself clean, attending carefully to her hair and makeup, then dressed herself in her new clothing. The old dress she gladly threw away, like shedding a skin.

Ya visited an apothecary and bought a few more items before returning to Delicate Flowers late in the afternoon, where Moli was at the front desk. Presenting the madam with a silver brooch in the shape of the crescent moon from her stash, Ya bowed deeply and gave Moli her most formal thanks. Moli was very pleased.

Hepzibah slept through the day, calm and dreamless. She woke at sunset as her vampire stirred itself inside her. It was somewhat recovered from whatever had hurt it the night before and was ready to go out and have a look around.

Hepzibah unwrapped herself from her blankets and opened the cupboard door, feeling the world expand out in front of her. She stood on the threshold, centreing herself, breathing deeply, listening to the noises of the house and smelling fresh air. She walked towards the kitchen, stopping outside the door when she heard Moli and Ya deep in conversation.

said Ya.

Moli countered.