The Thief of London

Jack woke up late, he always did. Having made the remnants of an old, abandoned bell tower his home, he leant across from the rafter he had rested on to look out of a hole in the clock face.

London was busy. Jack could see boats zigzagging up and down the Thames, he could hear the engines of cars stop starting in the maze of roads, and the whine of motorbikes. Jack hated the vehicles, he hated the roads, he hated the people, he was much more comfortable on the rooftops.

Jack's appearance was, shall we say, not the prettiest. His eyes were different shapes and heights, the nose he was born with looked broken despite never having been, and his mouth was lopsided, poking out one of his front teeth, on top of that he had stunted growth and never grew above 5ft tall, earning him the nicest nickname he'd been called, Little Jack. He had always been bullied since he was young, and was discarded by his own parents when he was just a baby, this solitary life being thrust upon him, as opposed to him choosing it. It was however the life he loved, and he wouldn't change it for the world. He sighed deeply, and then rolled to the side off of his rafter, dropping the 15ft down to the rotting scaffold boards that marked the top floor that always intended to be fixed.

His canned foods stocked high after last night's haul, he grabbed a tin of baked beans, opened it, and spooned some into his mouth. He might consider heating it up if he'd had any kitchen appliances to help with that, but he'd never seen the need for it, he got all his nutrition from the unopened cans he found bin hopping every few nights.

Jack let the day drift, last night through tradition he'd picked up a couple of newspapers, and he spent the afternoon flicking through them and ticking off each of the crosswords and sudokus that came with them. The sun was falling slowly as his western view elongated into shadows, the darkness stretching into night, lending Jack his playground for another few hours. Not once had he seen any mention of him in there, not that he would particularly expect to, but at the same time, had no one seen him leaping from the ground up to the rooftops and jumping between them?

The darkness fell, and Jack saw fit to head outside, his cloak donned and hood pulled down low, obscuring the atrocity that he called his face, he left via a window he always left ajar. The city streets bustled below him, the street lights blinking on as the darkness took hold of the day, the uncertain light was the perfect time for him to be out. The ledge beyond the window was a handy one foot wide, just wide enough for Jack to walk along. He easily skirted it, and without pause he sprang off the end, turning two full forward somersaults before gracefully landing on the roof opposite, bending his knees and rolling to absorb the impact.

The jolt of impact he felt sent a spark through him, like an electric shock awakening his muscles, the thrill of it bursting through him giving him the energy to jump again. It wasn't that he could, he must, he held pent up energy that needed to be released. He ran, quickly, reaching full speed in just seconds and he launched off the roof, the energy flowing up through him from the balls of his feet. Involuntarily, he let out a woop of exhilaration as he flew through the air, somersaulting with ease, and spending much more time airborne than should have been possible. He landed, street level now, in an alleyway, unseen, absorbing the impact again by tucking and rolling.

He could feel the energy pulsing through him, itching to get out as he walked to the end of the alley, each step taken with a bounce as his leg muscles spasmed. He could hear the crowds of people on the main streets shouting, laughing and singing, where Jack was happier in the shadows, with the hood of his cloak, coming down low covering his face, almost becoming part of the shadows.

As the night progressed, he had moved far from the bell tower, and figured that here was as good a spot as any to try and have some real fun. Where he got a real kick wasn't only from jumping and leaping between buildings, but thieving as well. He'd picked up these tricks early in his life, having to buy food to keep him sustained when he ran out of what he called his bin food. The night was truly dark now, and the people in the nearby streets were loud and rowdy, which usually meant they were drunk and less receptive to those around them.

As smoothly as he could, he exited the comfort of the dark alley, feeling the rays of the streetlight bursting into his eyes, breaking the mask of the shadow from his hood. No one looked his way, but despite that he felt so exposed and seen. The streetlights and lights from the screens above every theatre dazzled Jack, spotting his eyes with dark marks, making it harder to see. He pulled his hood down even lower which made him less conspicuous than he thought, as half the men around him wore hoods. Not only that but he noticed a lot of people staring at their phone devices in their hands, he could be hiding in plain sight without even trying.

He bumped into a few people to get his timing and his feel for pressure. No one batted an eyelid, so his fourth person as he bumped into them, he slipped his fingers into his suit pocket and pulled out a wallet and slipped it into his own pocket, quick and clean as you like.

Never hit the same street twice.

He rounded a corner, more flashing lights, loud noises, theatres either side of the road and taxis buzzing their horns trying to be the quickest to pick up passengers and move on. Jack used the same process, he bumped into a few people first, getting a feel for it. It was three or four people again before his fingers lifted another wallet, another perfect take.

The issue he had found recently is people tended to not carry much money around with them, he'd noticed people getting cash out of machines in the wall, but hadn't figured out how they worked. What this meant was he tended to need to slip a few wallets before he got what he needed.

Five streets later, his pockets were almost full, he'd get one more and then head back home. It wasn't his ability to pick pockets that gave him away, nor was it a mistake he made, but it was just pure bad luck, and the first time it had ever happened. He was mistaken for someone else.

A man was looking for his friend, and thinking he'd caught up to him in the busy, crowded street, he pulled on the hood that covered Jack's face. Jack recovered quickly, pulling the hood back up, but it was too late, at least two people screamed at the sight of his face, and the man who pulled the hood down recoiled in horror. At the same time someone from further down the road shouted at the top of their lungs; “THIEF!”.

Jack turned and ran, he sprinted quickly, using his shortened height to his advantage as he dodged and weaved through the people of London. He could feel the energy again wanting to escape, and he knew he was being pursued, by how many he didn't know. He couldn't find an alley that was empty, so he just turned down the next smaller road. It had a few people down there that would see him jump, but that was better than being caught. So he jumped. He hurled himself through the air, leaving gasps of shock and shouts of outrage behind him.

Tears were streaming down his face, he didn't realise until his vision became blurred. But he wasn't sure why, it could have been the shock of being seen, or the reactions of people seeing him, or that he had finally been spotted jumping, or that they labelled him, correctly, as a thief. It was probably a combination of them all, he could have dealt with each individually, but all together it hit him like a train. He climbed up to the ledge that led to his open window, without knowing how he'd got there. Jack closed the window behind him and scattered the wallets onto the floor, before climbing up to the rafters.

Spring-Heeled Jack was all over the news the next day, with reported sightings all over the city, even including places Jack had never been to. There were a handful of blurry photos, but there was no other evidence of him apart from the eyewitnesses, of which there were few, and they didn't seem to agree on most things like his height, which way he went, what he was wearing and what, if anything, he said.

Jack learnt to embrace the novelty of being an urban legend and played into it, he even started to enjoy it, almost as much as he enjoyed thieving. Due to the outing which publicised his activities, as well as never hit the same street twice, he made himself a new rule.

Never hit more than 3 in one night.