Surreal. A dream I can no longer wake from has taken over my very exsistance. All I can see, over and over, in some sadistic slow-motion film, is Grace and Stella in the courtyard and that man chasing after me. Running to and from at the same time, but it seems backwards somehow. Should I be running to the man, who I professed innocence? Why should I care what he thinks or even believes? Why would my saying,'I am not the madman' be believed by a total stranger?
In the instant our eyes met at the pub, we were locked in a kind of exsistance only for us, a few seconds was a lifetime and we had exchanged all our thoughts in one burst of feeling. At the time, I thought it was pure fear of being caught and he was my greatest enemy, so of course I had to run for my life only to be nearly run down by a horse cart. But his eyes told me something else... he was the one who was afraid. Was it his sense of duty, a blind reaction to chase me down? Glory of capture, ridding the streets of a mad killer? No, that much foreboding eats at your soul and living becomes a habit of motions, day after day. I understand that all too well. We share a living death that is far worse than that bastard we are both chasing can ever inflict.
I can't ignore it any longer... I have to find out if I can... trust him...it's nearly 10 p.m., time to go have a pint.
20150531
No Fruitful Leads
Nearly two weeks since the last killing and the only new information I see is in the paper, if it can even be called new. Fear and conjecture running rampant, only to fuel the public's vengeance for swift justice and the end of these vicious murders.
So many false leads to track and witnesses to question, only to muddy things further. I am exhausted and frustrated by this madman's amazing abilities to obscure the truth; maybe I am exhausted from my own obfuscation of the truth I may believe to know.
A small piece of luck with my private investigations in regards to the 'ghost' women. Several merchants in Miller's Court and Mitre Square remember a beautiful blonde lady, of strange pallor, recently in the early hours of the evening in the last week. She was alone when seen in Miller's Court, but with another woman in Mitre Square; no description can be given for the second one as she wore a large hat with a dark veil which covered her entire face. It seemed she needed help walking along, as she leaned on her companion as they moved down the street. Locating where they are living has proved fruitless so far. Money or fear could be the stumbling block here... or some kind of witchcraft?
I haven't given up on Jack. He will seek me out... he must, he has to know I said nothing about what happened in the courtyard or even being seen in The Britannia. Please, please be at the pub this night!
Once again I make my way, like a ghost myself, seemly invisible to all I pass as I make my way to The Britannia, a lonely vigil up to this point... let tonight be different.
So many false leads to track and witnesses to question, only to muddy things further. I am exhausted and frustrated by this madman's amazing abilities to obscure the truth; maybe I am exhausted from my own obfuscation of the truth I may believe to know.
A small piece of luck with my private investigations in regards to the 'ghost' women. Several merchants in Miller's Court and Mitre Square remember a beautiful blonde lady, of strange pallor, recently in the early hours of the evening in the last week. She was alone when seen in Miller's Court, but with another woman in Mitre Square; no description can be given for the second one as she wore a large hat with a dark veil which covered her entire face. It seemed she needed help walking along, as she leaned on her companion as they moved down the street. Locating where they are living has proved fruitless so far. Money or fear could be the stumbling block here... or some kind of witchcraft?
I haven't given up on Jack. He will seek me out... he must, he has to know I said nothing about what happened in the courtyard or even being seen in The Britannia. Please, please be at the pub this night!
Once again I make my way, like a ghost myself, seemly invisible to all I pass as I make my way to The Britannia, a lonely vigil up to this point... let tonight be different.
14 September, 1888
Alderley and Wilmslow Advertiser
The fearful epidemic of crime which has broken out in the East End of London seems to have afforded an opportunity for sentimental and gushing writers to pour the vials of their wrath on the unfortunate heads of the constabulary, and to charge the Metropolitan police with having allowed the first city of the world to lapse into primeval savagery. The frightful murders in Whitechapel indicate an assassin with the cunning of a madman and the heart of a brute, and reveal a nature so foul and so dominated by animal-ism that we can only hope for the sake of humanity the fiendish crimes may be traced to one irresponsible for his actions. A London journal is accountable for the statement - which we find rather a big pill to swallow - that a police official told a representative of the Press quite coolly that the police would never detect such crimes as the Whitechapel murders, and that the only thing to do was to let the man-monster go on murdering people till his homicidal mania wore off or wore him out. The same authority, in the most serious manner possible, expresses its regret that this individual only too faithfully reflects the spirit of fatalism and pessimism that is demoralizing the detective department. Surely it may be safely assumed that the police authorities are doing their utmost to find the author of the ghastly murders, and it is a pity that they should be hampered by the vapid nonsense indulged in by writers who seem ever ready to turn their pen in whichever direction the tide turns. They would have been the first, doubtless, had the murderer been caught, to load the captors with fulsome flattery.
The fearful epidemic of crime which has broken out in the East End of London seems to have afforded an opportunity for sentimental and gushing writers to pour the vials of their wrath on the unfortunate heads of the constabulary, and to charge the Metropolitan police with having allowed the first city of the world to lapse into primeval savagery. The frightful murders in Whitechapel indicate an assassin with the cunning of a madman and the heart of a brute, and reveal a nature so foul and so dominated by animal-ism that we can only hope for the sake of humanity the fiendish crimes may be traced to one irresponsible for his actions. A London journal is accountable for the statement - which we find rather a big pill to swallow - that a police official told a representative of the Press quite coolly that the police would never detect such crimes as the Whitechapel murders, and that the only thing to do was to let the man-monster go on murdering people till his homicidal mania wore off or wore him out. The same authority, in the most serious manner possible, expresses its regret that this individual only too faithfully reflects the spirit of fatalism and pessimism that is demoralizing the detective department. Surely it may be safely assumed that the police authorities are doing their utmost to find the author of the ghastly murders, and it is a pity that they should be hampered by the vapid nonsense indulged in by writers who seem ever ready to turn their pen in whichever direction the tide turns. They would have been the first, doubtless, had the murderer been caught, to load the captors with fulsome flattery.
Silent Witness
An asylum... that's where they'll put me if I tell the Superintendent what I saw and heard the other night. A great place for ol' Det. Gasbag himself. Damnation! I suppose I could leave out the fangs and hissing, it could have been the strange glow of their skin and my rush of fear that caused me to see otherworldly visions of demons... I thought I was chasing one after all!
I can't seem to reconcile my thoughts on this matter. My duty is to report my findings on this investigation and to help prevent further murders. Yet, there was something in the way Jack... Jack... said "he wasn't the one" that still makes me feel hesitant in telling what I think I know. If I could find out more on those two women and their potential connection with the killer, I might have a better idea on how all this fits together. Tracking down two living ghosts should be easy, since they won't blend in well with the locals. Their clothes were tailored and looked like expensive fabrics, not to be found in common Whitechapel shops or on the inhabitants for that matter. I must also contact Jack and get him to meet me somehow... a notice in the personals could do the trick. I'll have to be very careful in my wording or I could end up on the suspects list as an accessory.
My work is cut out for me; I just hope I don't get cut up in the process.
J-
Tired of chase.
Believe you, meet at pub 10 p.m.
Friend
I can't seem to reconcile my thoughts on this matter. My duty is to report my findings on this investigation and to help prevent further murders. Yet, there was something in the way Jack... Jack... said "he wasn't the one" that still makes me feel hesitant in telling what I think I know. If I could find out more on those two women and their potential connection with the killer, I might have a better idea on how all this fits together. Tracking down two living ghosts should be easy, since they won't blend in well with the locals. Their clothes were tailored and looked like expensive fabrics, not to be found in common Whitechapel shops or on the inhabitants for that matter. I must also contact Jack and get him to meet me somehow... a notice in the personals could do the trick. I'll have to be very careful in my wording or I could end up on the suspects list as an accessory.
My work is cut out for me; I just hope I don't get cut up in the process.
J-
Tired of chase.
Believe you, meet at pub 10 p.m.
Friend
20150527
Complications
Stella and Grace return to the death scene of Dark Annie on Hanbury Street. In the courtyard they use a special sensor to attempt to locate the KEY. Its a slow task, due to the small size and transparency of the component, and the sensor has a very limited detecting range.
Taking close to a half hour, the very tense situation erupts with an argument during the final stages of the search; distracting the sisters from keeping watch. The KEY is finally located when two unexpected visitors arrive on the scene. Seeing both Jack and Det. Warren has enraged Stella and badly frightens Grace. They are not alone in the shock of the situation; it seems a twist of fate has complicated an already bizarre and macabre chain of events into a whirlpool of certain disaster for all present.
Taking close to a half hour, the very tense situation erupts with an argument during the final stages of the search; distracting the sisters from keeping watch. The KEY is finally located when two unexpected visitors arrive on the scene. Seeing both Jack and Det. Warren has enraged Stella and badly frightens Grace. They are not alone in the shock of the situation; it seems a twist of fate has complicated an already bizarre and macabre chain of events into a whirlpool of certain disaster for all present.
Death Threat
What is it Stella? What has happened?? Silence. How am I to help you if you refuse to tell me what's wrong? Tear stained face looks up. I lost the KEY Grace... if I don't find it, we are all stuck here and something very bad will happen... to me and probably you. A wild look forms across Stella's face. Jack may have it by now... I would be happy to take it from him and just for fun, sink my fangs... Stop it! How can you say that, to me of all people? He is kind and helped us, even knowing what we are and still you want him dead.
Fine. Let's just forget it. I need your help and I need it now Grace. We must go back and search the last zone, it has to be there. Or else? We are the next victims. I see. No, you don't... I am not ready to die!
Fine. Let's just forget it. I need your help and I need it now Grace. We must go back and search the last zone, it has to be there. Or else? We are the next victims. I see. No, you don't... I am not ready to die!
20150525
Sisters Forever
My sister Stella and I are both Nosferatu, with one significant difference, I never gave into the blood-lust. At puberty, when the affliction manifests itself, there is a choice, faced for life and it can never be altered or so they have told us. Stella made her choice by ripping the throat of our older brother and sucking his cruel body dry. I can't blame her completely, as he repeatedly raped her since we were young and its possible I would have done it as well, although he never touched me; I felt her pain and hated him for what he had done to her all those years. Our parents disowned her and was going to have her exiled, but we ran away together before she was taken. I vowed to take care of her and try to protect others from her vengeance. We thought we had found a safe and accepting sanctuary for our kind, even meet two men who befriended us. Jack was sweet and kind, always making sure we had food, protection, and a safe place to live. His friend, ironically thinking back now at their friendship, was different. Stella latched on to him immediately, some strange bond between them, and I knew she would never attack this man. She began to change; her outbursts increased and the beast began to rage more and more, changing how she looked when the blood-lust was on. Everything changed then and bodies started turning up... drained of blood. I new it was Stella with that madman controlling her. Jack tried to stop them and Stella attempted to kill him. I knew then we had to leave. If anything happened to Jack... I would have to destroy my sister, only to become a wild, vicious creature like her. I couldn't let any of that happen. I made a deal with the 'devil' and the three of us left. I never realized we were going to a hell that had no escape for anyone and Jack was still in grave danger.
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