JACK STRAW did it. He threw the poor old man off the fourth floor of the abandoned unfinished building by the pier. No, Mr. Prime Minister,
Sir, not him. 'Just a man with a name that was spelt the same. In fact,other than their names, they have nothing else in common. My Jack Straw howls at the moon whenever it is full. I don't know of any other man who does the same, and certainly, Mr. Prime Minister, Sir, not him.
"Jack Straw is not crazy," his mother would relentlessly argue, just superstitious. What superstition, his mother couldn't say. His father
avoids talking about it, never wanting to say one or the other. He had enough arguing with his wife.
When he was young, he was called 'Jack Strip'. So tall and so lean his friends likened him to a narrow piece of anything. Upon him did laughter often fall, he being lean, tall and all.
In his late teens, he was called 'Jack Strange'. It was at that time that he began to howl at the full moon. He would climb up the rooftop of the abandoned building and there he did his howling. I heard and saw, so I know.
"It makes me invincible," he bragged to me once, though I didn't ask. Perhaps he wanted to fill my heart with envy, believing me to be that easy. I said to him, "Invincible! Who would believe such drivel?"
Now that he has grown much older, no more funny names for him. No one would dare. Certain as the rotten apples fall to the ground; all two hundred and ninety pounds of him would fall upon the hapless man who would make such a mistake. No longer lean, he became mean. And, last night, that was what drove him to murder the old man.
He came storming up the building, shouting: "Who howled at the moon? ... No one howls at my full moon!"
I hid behind the empty oil drums by the wall on the spacious fourth floor. No one comes near that fat Jack when he's mad. He is bad. Even the pestering bugs scrambled to hide.
He found the poor old man on the same floor. The old man was sitting on the edge of the floor where there stood no wall. He was staring at the parking area down below; noticeably, he was sad and low.
"Who howled at the moon? No one howls at my full moon!" Jack Straw questioned the old man. I saw them through the narrow gaps between the oil drums.
The old man turned his head and then said, "Not me, 'twas Johnny Wembley."
"Johnny Wembley? ... I see here no Johnny Wembley!" Jack Straw once again raised his voice.
"Look around. He lives here too you know!" the old man raised his voice too.
"Don't you spin me around, old man. It was you. I know it was you!" Jack Straw insisted.
"Not meee! I am not that crazy!" the old man dared answer.
"Crazy you said?" Jack Straw asked the old man.
"Yes... that's what I've said!" the old man replied. That old man had guts.
"Crazy you said?" Jack Straw again asked. I'd say he was shocked, that big bad Jack. No one in recent past has dared to speak to him like that.
"Yeees! Crazy I said... And I'm sick and tired of all the craziness in this world!" the old man shouted.
"I'll show you who's crazy!" Jack Straw shouted back.
And then it happened so fast. He picked the old man up and threw him down the parking area. The last word that I heard from the poor old man was "Aaeya!"
Jack Straw swears that he never touched the old man. That the old man jump to his death on his own. So I am telling a crazy lie, is that what he is trying to imply? I tell no lie. If there were a man in this world who always tells the truth, that would be me, Johnny Wembley. 'A natural course of my invincibility. Ask the moon and you will see; he will confirm my side of the story.
Oh! Did I say that I don't know of any other man who howls at the full moon?... Oops.
--End--
