Upward he shoots by the springs on his boots, like an inverted angel. We've been afraid of this terrible, strange, elusive monster for years. It seems to be superstitious lunacy but in fact when things go black old Spring Heeled Jack appears. I hear the sound of him bounding around on the rooftops of London, leaving the people bewildered and stunned and, on occasion, aflame. No sooner than unsuspecting Englishmen turn their backs, the wretch attacks, and Spring Heeled Jack's his name. I doubt that it's those clever brats in college. and the Marquess of Waterford denies all knowledge. And people in the area reek of mass hysteria... But, admit you must, that it is just enough to scare you. And you scream when he draws out a handful of claws and a blue breath of fire, then disappears leaping higher and higher, as if lighter than air. Time marches on, now it seems as though he's gone. This day lacks tales of his acts but don't relax for Spring Heeled Jack's still there.