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Problem was, I had no idea where the Chapel was. Whitechapel itself was already big enough and I didn’t know it well enough to find it on my own easily, especially since it was so different now. Maybe I should have asked that old man where it was? Sadly, I had already been traveling for nearly an hour. If I tried going back now, he might not even be there. I had no other choice than to keep looking.
After a good while, I finally found the Chapel. It was dark, and the watch I had showed 10:38 in the bloody morning. Despite that, it was night time in London, and I had apparently arrived in this time period towards the end of the day. The chapel, which I originally assumed to have grey-ish white-coloured bricks, had turned a disturbingly darker shade by the lack of sunlight. Despite this, it seemed like a beacon of hope in the otherwise awful-looking district. Its pyramid-like roof, sitting atop the rectangular building with a bell tower in the front, sat among all the other buildings with great contrast.
All around me were beggars who were attempting to stay somewhat warm with whatever they could find. Some of which dogpiled together in the alleys, while others were bundled up under layers of stuffed coats similar to my own under shopfronts. Prostitutes also hung around the street, attempting to seduce any drunk that passed them by. The Chapel seemed so much nicer since no one dared to do anything on their front stoop. It was hard to tell if it was out of respect, or fear.
Since I had come this far, I climbed up the stone slab steps leading to the Chapel’s big plain wooden door and knocked upon them as hard as I could. After a few moments of me standing in front of the door, it opened just slightly. A man who was so old he didn’t look like he should be alive anymore, let alone moving around, peeked his head out of the crack between the doors. Drool hung from his chin like a spider's thread, as he eyed me up and down with an unimpressed look.
“It’s bloody ten, what do you want?” He asked me harshly.
“Sir, I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour but I could use a place to stay the night and I was told you could house me. It just doesn’t feel safe out here at night,” I said. He eyed me up and down with a judgemental glare.
“You’re right about it not being safe, but that isn’t my problem. Ye have a penny as donation?” he said as if looking down on me. This money-grubbing geezer, he just wanted to extort me.
“No, I haven’t, and I do not yet have the means to do so. Someone has stolen my wallet, and I am new to London,” I lied, as I knew he probably wouldn’t believe that I was from the future. Though most of it was the truth.
“Well, then we have no rooms for you. Begone with ye.” he said, slamming the door in my face.
“Well, that’s not very Christ-like!” I yelled from the other side of the door.
I was ignored, so without anything better to do, I set off to find a bridge or alleyway that might serve as a temporary shelter. My luck, which I thought was getting better, ended up not being good at all. I had no home, no job, no friends, the list could go on and on. I was starting to feel rather depressed about all this. Nothing was coming as easily as I thought it would, but you live with what you got. Now that I think about it, am I even alive? Could this be hell?
With nothing else to do, I just kept wandering for what seemed like hours, but my watch only showed 11:27. Hearing what sounded like a metallic thump, I looked down to see a small cloth pouch resting next to my foot. Picking it up carefully, I looked inside to see five coins that I recognized from old coin collections. I considered going back to the Church but it was so late that I didn’t care. Deciding that I shouldn’t wander any longer, I found a random alley and laid down on a stack of old newspapers underneath a tarp-style roof, hanging from the top of the alley. It was starting to get damp from the natural fog that had been coming in all day, and neither the papers, nor the tarp did anything to prevent it.
Right when I finally found a comfortable position to sleep, I heard the yelling of a young woman, followed by her screams. Getting up from my spot in a panic, I began running towards the screams. After a few seconds of running, I arrived at the place the screams had come from, an alleyway that was slightly bigger than the one I had chosen to rest in. In the shadows of the alleyway was a woman, laying on the cold, wet ground, in a pool of her own fresh blood. She was still breathing and had lost consciousness, but what quickly caught my eye was the three men standing above her.
One held a blunt bat-like object covered in blood, and each of the men were somewhat muscular. They could definitely do far worse than the boar-like men that pummeled me earlier. Each of them was dressed in worker's clothes with thick coats over top of them, and two of them were wearing newsboy caps. Two of them were also older looking and had dense bushy beards, but one was bald, and the other had short oily hair. The youngest of the three looked like he was in his teens, with a soot-covered hairless face and short blonde hair. He turned and saw me staring right at them. He clicked his tongue and, as if on cue, the other two turned to look at me. The white in their eyes shone like daggers in the moonlight amidst the gory dark backdrop.
Without hesitation, I ran as fast as I could, but I wasn’t someone who ever did cardio by choice, so the three attackers began gaining on me quickly due to my lack of exercise. I began wanting to buy them off with the little money I had so I reached into my newfound moneybag and began throwing two of the coins at them. Although the money didn’t exactly have the effect I wanted, it did something upon hitting their skin. Each of the coins burned two of the attackers' skin as it hit their faces, causing them to slow down as they winced in pain. What exactly was in these coins?
Seeing their reactions, I grabbed the last three coins and started stuffing them between my fingers so that they were sticking out just a little. I didn’t know why they burned them, but I didn’t care. It was the only thing I could think of. As the youngest of the men was closing on me I leapt forward, wrapped my arm around a lamp post, spun around it, and struck him right in the jaw. To my surprise, rather than knocking him out, it knocked him back and there were burn marks across his face from where I hit him. The other two watched eagerly as we fought with entertained looks. They obviously thought I was going to lose and didn’t mind not lending a hand.
He lunged at me again, so I quickly dodged to the left and with a right uppercut, and struck him in the chin from below. He held his mouth and cried out as burn marks had formed on his chin. His mouth started dripping blood as he opened it up, letting out a pained yell, before I struck him in the mouth again. When I did, one of the coins in my fingers, upon making contact with his mouth, slipped from my grasp and into his throat. He cried out in agonizing pain as he choked on and then swallowed the coin. Clutching his chest, he began to vomit a blend of char and blood before falling to the ground. The other two men and myself watched in horror and surprise as their friend's body turned into an ashen-dust.
This was definitely hell. The others were no longer surprised, as they were both now rushing at me with pure rage. With both of them coming at me, I couldn’t block or dodge them. I was as good as dead, but before I could accept my fate, a new player entered the ring by kicking them both as he fell from the top of a nearby building. Upon landing, the man stood with an aura that made you want to back off due to his mere presence, or at least he did, until he pulled out a flask and took a huge swig.
Now he didn’t seem any different from any other drunks that roamed the street other than that he was clean-shaven. His body was rather toned from what I could see, and he wore similar clothes to what I was wearing, except his coat was brown which clashed with his black leather gloves. Strangely, his gloves seemed to reflect glints of moonlight every so often. The strange man had short golden hair except for in the back, where he had a long ponytail that stretched down most of his back, and was tied with string every twenty or so centimeters.
The two men quickly got up, as Mr. Ponytail put away the flask and raised his hands in a classic martial arts position. Both of them rushed at him, throwing a heavy fist each toward the ponytail man’s face, but before the attackers could touch him, he dodged out of the way and in one fluid motion launched both opponents into the air.
Landing on their backs with a loud thud, they couldn’t comprehend what had just happened to them, before the bald one received a swift punch to the throat. Now, most of the time this would just knock someone out cold, or crush their windpipe, but his strike beheaded him and the man turned to dust just as the other one did. The last one left alive saw this and ran off as fast as he could, causing the ponytail man to give chase.
“Wait,” I called out, but he didn’t listen. I was alone once again. Remembering the woman who they attacked, I ran back to her. She was still there, unconscious. I began to see if I could wake her, only to be called out from behind, by two cops.
“Come out of there, kid!” one of the officers said.
“It wasn’t me I swear. I heard a scream so I came to check it out and she was like this,” I replied as I came out of the alleyway.
“A likely story,” the officer said, cuffing me as his partner ran up to the girl.
“She’s still alive,” the other said reluctantly.
“Get her to a doctor. I’ll take this one in for questioning,” the officer replied as he led me away.
***
The cold hard bed of the London police station left me groaning with displeasure, as I couldn’t seem to get comfortable. However, it was better than the cold and damp alleyway. Of course, this whole scenario was stupid. After getting arrested I was questioned for several hours without rest. I ended up telling them everything that happened short of how I thought I was from the future, and how I got beat up.
They, of course, assumed I was insane and locked me up. Although there was no proof, I had been discovered with the unconscious woman, and was assumed to be her attacker. Mainly because my story was too insane for them to think it was true. It’s not like I blame them, they’re just being rational.
Stretching out once more, I had hoped to get comfortable but to no avail. The officers did believe one thing about my story, but at the mere mention of it, they groaned. The man with the ponytail and flask. They refused to tell me anything about him, but they wouldn’t deny that I saw him. The possibility of them believing the rest of my story wouldn’t rise even if that man gave testimony to my claim, he just wasn’t a reliable source, as they'd put it.
I wasn’t even sure if what I saw was real either, and I sure as hell wouldn’t believe me had I been hearing the same story. I had killed a man by punching him with coins and having him accidentally swallow one. What made even less sense was the fact that he faded into dust directly thereafter. It was definitely something that you wouldn’t consider normal.
The same thing happened to the other man who faced Mr. Ponytail. How? I don’t know. Maybe the coins and the guy's gloves were magical and shit. All I knew was that they died. Because of that, I was now under arrest, and suspected of attacking a woman. I had too many questions, but the more I thought about it, the more depressed I became.
It was now about three in the morning, and I couldn’t get any sleep because of what happened. The police were kinda weirded out by my watch as it was digital and digital watches weren’t created for a long time but they confiscated it. It might be the only thing I have from the future that could be considered useful.
It was then that I noticed the sound of footsteps on creaking wood coming towards my cell. Rolling over, I sat up just in time for Mr. Ponytail to stop at the door of my cell, followed by one of the officers that interrogated me earlier. “You’re free to go,” the officer said, as he reached the door and unlocked the cell.
“Really? And what about all that about me being insane?” I asked sarcastically.
“The woman we thought you attacked woke up briefly and said that she was attacked by three men that matched the description you gave us to the letter. She also said she never saw a man matching your description,” the officer apologized.
“I told you that I wasn’t lying,” I said with a tired but prideful smirk.
“Well, we still think you’re insane but this man here…” he groaned, as he gestured at Mr. Ponytail, “said he requires your assistance with a matter of importance that goes beyond our paygrade, as he put it.”
“I’m standing right here, ya twit,” Mr. Ponytail said, giving the officer the stink eye, before pulling out his flask and taking a swig.
“Alright, as long as it gets me off the street, I don’t care what you need me for. My name is Lou Barrett,” I said with confidence before standing up and outstretching my hand for a handshake. He eyed me up and down for a moment, before finally accepting the handshake with a grip that made me want to writhe in pain. He kept holding it until the pain started showing on my face.
“Scott Langston, and don’t be so cheery,” he said as he released my hand from his gorilla-like grip. I had plenty of questions about what happened earlier that night, but something told me that asking him in the police station wasn’t the best idea. The officer gave me my watch back and apologized for the inconvenience before I left.
After we left the police station, Scott Langston heaved out a heavy sigh before trudging down the foggy London street with me in tow. Then, he began to speak. It caught me completely off guard as I wasn’t ready, mainly due to my lack of sleep.
“Ya want to know what happened? I know that you’re curious,” Scott said confidently.
“...” I couldn’t say anything, not because I had nothing to say, but because I was surprised that he knew what I wanted to ask.
“Cat got your tongue, or did you forget everything that happened?” Scott asked sarcastically.
“No, I just am not sure where to start. Someone turned to dust after swallowing a coin, then you came in and turned the other one into dust as well, and before I could get a word out, you ran off after the third dude,” I spurted out.
“I was actually wondering how you managed that, most people wouldn’t have been able to kill a changeling… Especially armed with only the silver coins you had in your hand. Also, the one I gave chase did look like he had terrible taste in clothes, now that I think about it,” Scott said, as he placed his hand on his chin and looked up in thought.
“Did you say, ‘changeling’?” I asked with a surprised tone while ignoring that last part.
“Yes, what you fought were not one but three changelings. They are capable of taking the form of any living being. Their weakness, as with all monsters, is silver, but a few are sensitive to iron. This is precisely why they reacted to some of your coins. The monarchy is slowly reducing the amount of silver in coins... You’re lucky you had some of the old ones,” he blurted out as if he were an English professor that was making a point. I was muted by what was just explained to me. How should I respond? It’s not like I didn’t just show up in this time period with no warning whatsoever. Noticing my obvious silence, Scott continued.
“Monsters and other supernatural phenomena are in fact real, for the most part. I work for the Table, a group created to keep the peace between beings of supernatural origin. We also hunt down and exterminate supernatural beings that want to destroy the peace. I had been hunting those three that you encountered for several days, and one is still on the loose as of now, since I could not keep up with it,” Scott explained further.
“...” I still didn’t know what to say. Either he’s insane or everything he’s saying is true and I can’t tell which.
“That’s where you come in. You were able to kill a changeling, a feat that would require at least some training to pull off, with just your fist and a few coins,” he explained, before grabbing his flask and taking another swig, only to realize there was nothing left for him to drink.
“Funny, I could have sworn I filled this earlier… Well, want to get a drink?” I was surprised he still wanted to drink more. The closer I got to him, the more I realized he stunk of rum. He must be one of those lost causes with an iron liver. Knowing that I couldn’t really say no, I agreed and followed. Plus, I wanted to learn more about this so-called Table. It seemed rather interesting.
The place that Scott had led me to was probably the only tavern in all of London, with all its majestic size, that was open at three in the morning. The walls were made of old wood that would have rotted away years ago had they not been on the inside of the building. The whole place reeked of alcohol in an unsettling way, and half of the tables and chairs were partially broken.
There was even a loft, but I wouldn’t be caught dead up there, It looked as if it could come crashing down any moment. The only good thing about it was the fact that, other than us and the bartender, the only people here were passed out in strange sleeping positions. Scott seemed unfazed by any of this. He only really seemed to care about the alcohol that he was drinking. The moment we arrived here, he even had the bartender go ahead and fill his flask.
I assume he might have the ability to never get drunk no matter how much he drank. That in itself was a scary thought to me. Once he’s had his drink, he should start telling me what exactly was going on, as he refused to say any more until he was back at drinking. Yet, he still wasn't saying anything, so I decided to initiate the conversation.
“So… monsters exist. Can you tell me more about this Table, and what the hell just happened?” I asked awkwardly. He looked up from his drink, and stared into my eyes for a second with a kinda dumbfounded glare, before finally turning back to his drink.
“I told you before. What you fought were changelings, one of many kinds of supernatural beings. I remove them if they get violent because that is what the Table does as a whole,” he reiterated.
“...” He saw my silence as me waiting for him to elaborate, I guess, because that’s what he did.
“Monsters and other mythical creatures have existed since the dawn of mankind, maybe even before. By studying them or mating with them, some humans received magical abilities, creating witches and sorcerers. I can introduce you to a few of the nicer ones later. The group I belong to is known as the Table, and has hunted violent creatures since the time of King Arturius, better known as King Arthur. Merlin, Arthur's aid, was a sorcerer, and many of his knights were creatures or sympathizers that he had befriended. Together, they were known as the Round Table. Since then, the Round Table has changed names and spread throughout the world, coming to be known today as the Table. Although there were people, mainly religious zealots, who hunted the violent creatures, the Round Table was the first organization gathered for that single cause, to protect the peace between the two sides,” Scott elaborated with a tired and bored expression.
I wasn’t exactly surprised that King Arthur had been brought up in this conversation, but I had no real response. So instead, I spat out the stupidest thing I could have said, but the only thing I could think of. I asked him about every mythical creature I could think of, and whether they were real or not,“So… vampires are real?”
“Yes.”
“Changelings?”
“One tried to kill you earlier.”
“Fenrir's?”
“Only in Italy and Denmark.”
“Leprechauns?”
“They run all the banking systems in the British Isles.”
“What?” I asked, stupefied.
“They can remember anything related to currency. And like dragons, they hoard wealth. And they also live three times as long as humans do.”
“Werewolves?” He Kinda paused for a moment before answering, as if he was having a horrid flashback.
“They are nearly extinct, partially because of me,” he said with a solemn look. I decided he had some kind of vendetta with werewolves, so I didn’t pursue that any further.
“Booze Sprites?”
“If there is a Sprite in my booze, so help me God, I will lock it in an iron-silver cage and shake it around until it dies,” after he finished his threat he set his drink down, and a small glimmer rose out of the cup and sped off with lightning-like speed. He had turned away just in time to not see it, but I nearly spat out my own drink. Noticing my reaction, Scott swatted out his arm and caught the ball of light in his hand. At some point, of which I had only noticed now, was that Scott had removed his gloves. Bringing his closed hand closer to his face, he whispered something into his hand. Then, with what looked to be a nod of agreement, he opened up his hand, and the light flew off.
“I’m surprised you could see it as it truly was. Most people can’t see supernatural creatures that want to blend in,” Scott said with an intrigued look.
“Why can’t people see them?” I asked.
“Most intelligent supernatural beings have a second form that allows them to blend in with the human world. Changelings are some of the few that can have as many forms as they want. Though forms can be either flesh, which causes physical changes to their body, or mimicry, which alters people's perception of them. That sprite was the latter,” Scott explained.
“I could never see that before,” I said with a genuinely confused look.
“That’s strange. Either people are born with that ability or they learn to see them. However, you do not seem to know how you came to be able to see them. That is interesting. Were you, perchance, possessed at any point recently?” he asked, though his face showed that he was joking.
“Alright, what about this Table? How do you function? Is it government-run or independent?” I asked, brushing off his question. In the corner of the bar, one drunkard who had been sleeping got up groggily whilst holding his head, and meandered out of the bar. Scott waited to speak till the man had left, admiring the natural foam of the drink until the drunk had left.
“There are a couple thousand agents worldwide, but we are not everywhere, only where we are allowed to be. Some governments would rather deal with monsters themselves. But because of a lack of personnel, I am the only true agent in all of London. Thus, it is entirely my district. There is also a sorcerer and a witch that I am on friendly terms with, and they help me from time to time… Otherwise, it’s just me. That is why I would like to recruit you,” he said, without a care for the fact that I had brushed off his question.
“So.. you want me to join this Table and help you fight monsters and protect London?” I asked.
“In a way, yes,” he said, before taking a sip of his drink.
“Dope,” I replied with an eager attitude.
“There will be no drugs,” he stated sternly.
“No, it’s an idiom. It means awesome,” I tried to explain.
“I don’t see what this has to do with religion,” Scott said with a slightly confused look. I was starting to realize that some terms had changed over time. I can tell him that I’m from the future, right? He deals with the supernatural all the time, so he might not think that I’m crazy, right? He did save me as well, so I think I can trust him.
“It’s a term from the future.” I said matter-of-factly.
“What?” he retorted with a dumbfounded look. I kind of felt as if he were looking at me in a different light now.
“The future, I’m from the future, and those phrases are commonplace in the future. Specifically, the twenty-first century,” I explained further
“The future, huh… Guess I really have to take you to that sorcerer I mentioned, to see if you’re telling the truth,” Scott said calmly.
“Great, I can’t wait. Though, I’m still trying to wrap my head around the idea that monsters exist. Perhaps the alcohol will make it sound more believable,” I said, before gulping down my mug. Scott and I drank for a good while, before I blacked out.
ns 15.158.61.5da2
