Chapter One: The Beginning

Midnight,

25th February 1888,

A beautiful blonde haired woman walks past me...She is average in height and wearing a green bustier and skirt that goes below the knees... She's a whore, well known.... It bothers me... Their kind roaming around the streets of London.... it’s a disgrace... Men, walking with their mistresses down the alleyways of Whitechapel getting there fill...

I follow her and regular Male customer. He has long black hair and brown eyes. His clothes are well kept for a man of his common stature... they go down an alleyway and I wait to make my move. His loud moans can be heard coming from the alleyway. There shadows moving in time with them as he allows himself to feel every inch of her. His moans become more rapid and faster. The wooden fence behind them groans against their weight and movement. After a while his final cry can be heard. Placing money in her hand he moves past me not even aware of my presence it seems. He began zipping himself up and walked back into the regular world. Calm and pleased he exits the Alleyway with a smile on his face and returns to his home satisfied. The Whore appears to be flushed a delicate shade of red, her skirt is still half up, and her breasts are squeezed in her tight green bodice. Pulling her skirt down she begins to walk down the alleyway placing the money into a hideaway pouch in her bodice and she walks towards the busy street. Slowly I sneak up behind her wrapping my arms around her neck and placing my hand over her mouth I stop her from screaming. Gently whispering in her ear and smelling the sweat smell of fear that seems to emanate from her. "You know you want this Whore...” Throwing her to the ground I watch as she becomes stunned her face terrified, frozen. Looking at her dead in the eyes, I fumble around in my pocket and a small glint of metal appears I my hand, my weapon of choice for tonight is a small silver Clasp knife.

Her frozen Blue eyes look up at me pleading not to end her miserable, pathetic life in this alleyway where she worked for her 'livelihood'. Taking pleasure in this a small but wicked smile appears out of the corner of my mouth. As I begin the first cut....






6am

26th February 1888

Whitechapel High Streets is bursting with locals walking around selling and buying their wares, many women are walking around busily chatting about the local gossip and news. The local paperboy shouts out the daily headlines to passersby. The Streets are lined with rubbish and waste and a strong smell of miasma fills the air.
Shouts can be heard by several different men. ‘Stop’ ‘Thief!’ … a small young boy runs down the street, dodging and knocking into several vendors and their wares sending bread and fruit flying down the busy street. Ducking into an alleyway the young boy slowly looks behind him then pulls out a small loaf of bread out of his bag. A small rumble can be heard from the boy stomach as he looks at the small loaf hungrily.
He carries on walking pay no attention to the surroundings around him, just licking his lips and looking at the loaf of bread like it was the most beautiful and expensive diamond. After taking a few more steps he trips on what he thought was a large brick or stone. Lifting himself up he realizes that he is covered in a red sticky substance. Standing up and looking at his now red hands. Something on the floor catches his eye. There in front of him is the body of the blonde unfortunate.

A resonating scream leaves the boys lips.




7am

26th February 1888

A crowd has now gathered to the alleyway, photos are being taken of the scene. The young boy is stood with a police officer next to a huge crowd of prying eyes. A young sergeant stands above a crouching inspector. "Ahhh Inspector Abberline... funny seeing you here at this neck of the woods". The Inspector looked up at the sergeant. He had a goatee and a tanned complexion. His dark brown eyes looked dull and dark with bags under his eyes. “Sergeant Godley, I have been transferred back to help with the work load. It seems I know the area well and maybe able to solves crimes faster”
Sergeant Godley was small and quite plump; the buttons on his sergeant’s uniform seem to be ready to pop. He had no facial hairs but his chin and cheeks were smooth. His eyes were a cloudy blue and his hair was more a mousey brown. He was stood a few steps away from the body. “Do you know the name of this poor woman?” Inspector Abberline questioned while moving the skirt to see where the blood had come from.
“Her name was Annie Milliwood. She was an unfortunate, a well-known one at that. She was last seen leading one of her ‘customers’ down this alley.” Godley looked at his notepad…. “She was last seen at around Midnight….’Av you found something Inspector?” Godley walked closer to the inspector and the corpse. The Inspector was closely examining Annie’s lower region. “She’s been stabbed repeatedly in the legs and lower stomach.” The Inspector raised the skirt so the sergeant could see more clearly. “I believe this to be done by someone who knew the victim. This was brutal and full of rage.”
While the police were scouting around for evidence and asking questions to the nearby people a man stayed amongst the shadows, He was polishing his clasp knife and a wide smile erupted over his face… How wrong the inspector was…. He didn’t know the victim well… He just knew she was an unfortunate, the scum of the earth of which he needed to eradicate.




3pm

28th February 1888


Its pouring down with rain, an open grave can be seen in the middle of Christ Church Cemetary. There is only a few people at the graveside of Annie Milliwood. The Unlucky Unfortunate who met her untimely end at the whitechapel high alley way. Stabbed by a clasp knife in the lower torso and leg area.

It was a quick ceremony for no one wanted to stay out in the rain. In the distance under a large willow tree is a shadow of a man. With a silver knife in his hand, shimmering in the daylight. His smile is charming but deadly. As quick as a flash he is gone leaving nothing but 2 undistinguishable footprints behind.

An evil laugh escapes my lips, as the casket with the unforunates body is cast into the pits of hell. It was from this moment i knew that i was doing the right thing helping god cast out the devil and his sirens. It's funny how nobody cares of this unfortunates murder. Seeing as the only people who turned up were friends of hers. Siren's who's bodies i would multilate and send them into oblivion.

I will return later to place a rose over the grave. A signiture if you will of my claim to her death... Its a shame no one will notice these trival little matters. Its these matters that makes the kill more thrilling. Knowing you still have the power of them even though they are gone.

The next thrill will taste even sweeter...







5pm

30th February 1888

The air around me was cool and crisp, a soft breeze stirring up the final leaves of winter while the green on the trees was just starting to bloom. The soft glow of the street lamps lit the path of Hanbury Street like a small controlled sun. There were few people left upon the street, mostly workers making their short pilgrimage back to their residence. An elderly lady was struggling her way down the street, a heavy looking back in her hand. As she stumbled gently I was there in a flash to catch her. “Please allow me to help you miss” she looked up softly as I resting one arm upon her shoulder and the other under the hand that held the bag. A bright smile lit her face clearly delighted by the help. Her voices was a testament to her age, soft and quiet barely an audible whisper over the sound of heavier footsteps passing nearby, “why thank you dear, I only have a few more houses to go yet the help would be much appreciated”. While we walked the woman spoke of her day, while it may have been a short journey she was slow in pace and able to fit a great deal of story into those few doorways that we had to pass. As we reached her home I placed her bag inside the doorway and bowed my goodbye. My good deed done for the night I went in search of my original task. In the beginning I was not bothered by what I might seek, that was until the laughter reached my ears. High yet soft. Clearly it must have come from a child and then my eyes locked upon her. Flaming red hair in soft curls framing her face, her cheeks a rose red colour that gave her the appearance of a small china doll. She could not have been more than five in age yet once I had seen her I knew I had to have her, it was all a case of waiting for my chance which, luckily for me was not too long. Skipping down the pavement behind what I assumed were her parents a single ally caused her to stop, the soft barking of a dog had caught her attention and she made a move towards it. I refused to wait any longer, rushing up behind her I wrapped my hand around to cover her mouth, any hint of a scream muffled from existence. Without hesitation my hand pulled her head to the side, the taught skin and the increased heart-rate made her veins look like rivers of life, and to me that is what they were. My mouth came down breaking the skin effortlessly. Pure innocent life, untainted by time and the world, it was the perfect accompaniment to what had been transpiring recently. As her heartbeat grew weaker and her time began to end I released her, dropping her softly to the floor and cleaning her up. Her blood not making a difference in colour to the red of the handkerchief. With the handkerchief came a small blade, where her cheeks were still slightly rosy I pressed the blade against the skin, letting it easily break skin and leave a simple cross on her cheek. By this point her parents had begun calling for her, I moved her into a more suitable and comfortable position and made my exit, leaving the night to claim its new victim.

The high pitch squeal of a broken heart rang out upon the sleepy night. Accompanying it like the deep base of a soft song came the cry of a broken man. Combined together they formed the chorus of death and pain that was to become familiar to the nights of London. The scene that was witnessed currently is a scene no parent should ever be forced to lay eyes upon. Nestled gently and looking as though a china doll had been discarded with the trash from local homes, were it not the pure hearted mother and father that were already searching for her then there was a strong chance that she would have been left for the night to welcome her soul alone. Were anyone else to have found her then it was possible that upon a simple glance they would have thought nothing of her. Upon looking further they would notice that what lay there was not an oversized doll but that of a child, only noticeable by the blood that trailed softly down her cheek. As the parents cries rang out more and more through the night local members of residence and last minute passers-by had begun to gather near, the continuous chorus of “fetch the police” was the final sound that rang through many ears that night until the police made their way to the scene.




8am

3rd March 1888

Rose Dawson, by any other name she still would of been the Dawson's first beautiful girl. It was a crime against nature for her life to be taken so drastically at such a young age. As her small white coffin was laid into the ground of a private cemetary a stones throw away from the parents house.

As her coffin was lowered a loud scream came from her mothers lips, tears streaming down her face. She was holding on to her husbands coat tightly. His arms wrapped around her; he himself holding back the tears for his little Rosie had left this world. He would never forgive himself, for not keeping a closer eye on his beloved daughter. 2 seconds was all it took for her to be taken and killed in the most unusual and mysterious way. The Police were baffled by her case and and promised that the case will remain open until the sadistic killer was caught.

Walking away from the grave, many sobs and words of comfort are muffled. While the graveyard men slowly fill up the whole.

This funeral was better than Annie Milliwoods, there was a lot more sadness a lot more tears for the beautiful china doll. Well now she will remain as beautiful, Time will not be able to touch her delicate features and turn them into hideous wrinkles. I slowly walk up to the grave and place a single white rose upon it. Smiling down i touch the tombstone and trace over the letters of her name 'Rose' I could feel strings in my body being tugged. I would remember her name. I would remember the distraught parents faces, there cries of pain. oh how it turned me on.

5th March 1888

A Man's body is laid over the grave of Rose Dawson a hand placed near the tombstone and a letter clutched in the other. The pain was too great for him to take. He had failed his daughter and he had failed his wife.

The letter explained to his wife how much of a failure he was that he could not save her from her grief as a mother. A few feet away from the man's feet was a large bottle of arsenic that he bought from his local apocathary earlier that day.

London seems to be taken over by a plague of death and this was only the beginning.




10pm

10th March 1888

William was a small boy he couldnt be much more than 12 in age. He was small for a boy of his age he and cropped mousey brown hair and piercing blue eyes. He was stubbling all over the place. He been at his masters gin all night to which he'll surely get a beating if he finds him. Stumbling on Commercial Street he walks right into a strangers path. A path he would wish he never have stumbled upon.

I wasn't looking for a new victim. I'd just found out that 'Rose's' Father had commited suicded 2 days after her funeral. It was moments like these that made me proud. Not only had i killed the little girl i in turn killed her father. This brought great joy to me. How one life affect another and then another in turn. The domino effect.

As the peasant boy stumbled into me, he muttered a small sorry before stumbling into an alleyway behind the Commercial public house. Annoyed that he had stumbled into me and gave the most appauling apology i follow him closely behind. There he was laying against the rotten woodern fence



12am

10th March 1888

The Master of the boy was extremely pissed. Not only had is gin been taken the boy wasn't around to get his usual punishment. Wrapping the leather belt around his hand he walked furiously through the alleyways, his eyes scanning every alleyway, every doorway for this brat of a boy that cost him 10 shillings. The boy would be in for some serious beating that would cripple him for life. Turning onto Commercial street the man grew even more frustrated. The boy was rightfully his, and his alone...

Turning into the alley there the boy was, stone cold, asleep against the wooden fence.
"Get up you lazy brat" The man slapped him with his leather belt across the left cheek making his head bang onto the fence and move around to face him. Where there was a cut on his cheek of a cross. It was a clean cut. "Didn't you hear me boy get up" He grabbed onto the boys chin and made him look up at him. The boy's hair moving from his now cloudy grey eyes. The man moved back quickly and looked the boy all over. 2 marks about an inch and a half apart was on his neck. His clothes bloodstained.

The man just stood there in horror, this was not what he had in mind for this poor boy and he couldn't somehow feel responsible for his death. He just stood there in horror, with some blood on his hands. An unfortunate and her fare walked down giggling into the alleyway. Her eyes glimpsed the man standing there frozen, then she spotted the young boy a scream echoes around the alleyway the fare looked closer at the boy and then the man. "you murderer"




9pm

13th March 1888

It was a cold and stormy day, The only people who attended this young lads funeral were his master who was chained to 2 constabules beside him and the unfortunate and her client. They felt that the master presence was disrespectful to the boys memory. But all in all he wanted to be there to apologise and wish that the boy had never suffered a horrid death. The client gave the master and evil glare he wanted to make sure he suffered for all eternity for what he had did to that young boy. Not only that but he has been connected with other murders. Like the 5 year old Rose Dawson. He has not only her death on his head but her father too as he committed suicide. The master was not at all pleased. He felt set up. Framed. He'd never commited any murders and had alibi's for all of them... Well was supposed to the stupid unfortunate won't come clean... He knows his time is up and he will be sent to the gallows for his supposed crimes.. Tears began to fall as he was led away and the dirt to fill up the small hole that laid the murdered boy.

Its getting exciting, leaving my mark on the victims, not only does it message the police i'm here but it also give them the oppertunity to frame innocent men. i laugh heartedly at the thought of him being hanged for his supposed crimes. I will have to be there to watch, i hope its painful and he suffocates to death. Its a amazing a life i have not yet touched with my bare hands but yet.. i can affect that life with my none excistant breath...




Four AM

22nd March 1888


The air was thick on the quiet streets of London. Cats made their way through the alleyways in search of rats to feast themselves upon. It didn’t matter if they were well fed or not, a predator’s instinct will never be squashed. Just as my life of hunting will never be over, or placated. I made my way softly and easily over the rooftops of the streets surrounding Whitechapel, a predator amongst the weak. Not one single soul could be seen in sight, yet within earshot to those who are able a soft voice carried along the winds.

Dropping from the roofs i thought it would be better to approach on foot if i were to obtain this prey. Mild fog had crept its way along the deserted streets hampering the sight of any that were to look out of their windows at this ungodly hour. I followed my way to the noise and it came to be an apparently senile old lady. She was walking around the streets just opposite the Manor of Whitechapel. Listening closer i could make out some of what she was saying. "mine...should be mine...they wont understand....don’t remember....should be mine..." i thought that it would be safer to make some noise so i began to purposefully make my footsteps heavier, a wise choice it would seem as the old lady finally turned to look at me.

She was small, hunched over as though the very force of the upper half of her body was too much for her spine to hold. Long silver hair that hung ragged and unkempt to her waist so that when hunched it acted as though a veil was pulled around her to hide her from the world. When her eyes met mine they were the blackest of starless nights. Like pools of black oil never seeming to end. I dropped my voice as low as possible hoping that she would still hear me. "Greetings m'lady, are you quite alright?" More incessant mumblings from her, again repeating about things being hers and that they should remember. I stopped listening and subtly started to lead the woman away. I was not about to take my time with her, the hour was getting on and i could feel the dawns power weakening my very being. "Allow my to take you somewhere warm for something to eat." shock struck her face briefly but she nodded. Clearly even in her depraved mental state she could still enjoy the typical things of us English folk.

We hadn't made our way past the Manor that she was roaming outside of when i took my chance. I wrapped my arm around her neck and pulled her off of the dimly lit street. Before any essence of sound left her lips i clamped my hand over her lips and parted mine before sinking my teeth in to her neck. The life force that filled me was tainted with her memories. She was once the proud owner of the Manor, running it with a grace and elegance that would rival the royals themselves. It was deep seated scandal that brought her down, a scandal seated deep within the family. It ruined the name of her family and drove her to the streets where she lost her mind, yet never gave up the hope of gaining that life again.

Once i was finished with her i lay her down slowly and carefully in a manner which one might lay don a baby child. Marking this poor woman’s face seemed an atrocity too far so I wiped her blood with my red handkerchief and set it within her hands. Placing my hand softly upon her head I whisper softly "crave not that life you had, and gain it wherever you may be" With this I turned and left, a strange satisfaction filling me, yet also an essence of slight sorrow that angered me. Tomorrow I would feast again. Only this time I would take one that would be noticed more, one that would be missed, one that is younger and sweeter that what I have filled myself with this night....




Mid-day

30th March 1888

The air had a strange crisp-ness to it. Sunshine spread through the scene like rays of the heavens shining down upon the earth to bring happiness. But this was not a happy event; this was one of sorrow and sadness. Brought on more so in the essence that the scene before my eyes was a lonely one. I had hidden myself within the openings of a nearby crypt, entirely invisible to any around me yet within sight range of what I wished to see. A group of 5 men stood around a simple wooden box, 4 men to control the box on its descent to its final resting place, and a Priest reading softly and quietly from his bible. “The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. The last enemy to be destroyed is death.” It was a reading from Corinthians 15. I had developed a small penance for bible verses in my line of work. Not one to be obsessed with, but one that simply allowed me to read to my victims as they died should I see fit.

The box before me held the body of Joyce (So the papers say). The four men lifted the cords and began lowering her body in to the earth itself as the priest continued to read. "In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken: for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return."

“Indeed we shall sweet priest, indeed we shall” Smiling I turned and entered the crypt again, tunnels connected it to wherever I needed to go. It was not that I could not be in the sunlight, I would just prefer not to be weakened by its energy should trouble arise on my return home. “until my next kill, this city I call home can remain quiet, but once I am ready for my fill, it shall be mine” A soft chuckle escaped my lips and resonated through the tunnels I walked, my mind already racing at the thought of that next kill.




8pm

3rd April 1888

April showers seem to have set in the streets of London.
The streets are lined with puddles and small streams.
The metal fence work seems to glisten as the moonlight touches the little drops of rain water. The rain doesn't seem to lift although it has slowed down greatly. Instead of the torrential
downpour that London has seen for the past few days it just seems to be a light shower. London smells nice when it rains. It has that nice clean smell.. Which says alot about this city considering its dirty and full of soot and other bodily excrements.
I love the rain. It gives me such a rush, a high to dirty the city again once more. To make the city run with rivers of blood. My eyes become wide and glisten with pride and excitement... I would have to kill tonight and tonight i would make it my masterpiece, the ultimate master piece..... It wouldn't be hard to find them down these streets...

Turning down one of the side streets i see her... My victim for the night.... She looked first class, Jet black hair and Piercing Green eyes. She was wearing one of the finest dresses from the London main street. Emerald green with Gold decoration on the bodice. It would be ashame to ruin such a dress with her blood.

"Excuse me Miss"

As she turned around to greet me i could not but help fall into a trance with her bright green eyes. her perfect porcelain skin. This truly was a woman who's beauty needed to be preserved and not aged away or worse... Decompose in the ground... No i had much better plans for her.. Smiling at her hiding my vampyric fangs, i graciously bow down to her. "i'm so sorry miss but i can't help if we had met before.... i'm useless with names but i always remember beautiful faces". The young girls face flushed red as she simpled bowed her head back in respect and her cheeks flushed a pale red. I knew she was embrassed as she could not or will not recognise me for this is the
only moment we seemed to have met.

She whispered her name as the wind carried it to my ears. 'Jade Smith' I was mezmorised by this astounding child.... or should i say woman seeing as the dress showed of her curves perfectly and provocately. This child would have many men lining up to be her husband and make her to be the perfect little housewife she would no doubt become... No... i cannot allow this... I cannot allow this beauty to be taken by one man and be used shamelessly until her beauty became no more.... I began to walk with her for awhile and spoke to her like a true gentleman should until we came to a beautiful park. The night was so clear and the stars were shinning brightly and the moon was
full. This would of been the most romantic night of her life. Leading her to a bench i smile at her and suggest she sits for awhile. Being the lady that she is she sits down and looks at me with her mesmorizing eyes. They appeared to be burning with desire. This drove me mad... i wanted to take her there and then and make her mine for all eternity.
Leaning forward Jade smiled and looked at me and whispered 'I know what your planning on doing kind sir and believe you and me you are more than welcomed to it... Many men have played with my innocence but none were men enough to take it in my eyes.... but you kind sir.... you have taken me by surprise and i will gladly allow you to take my innocence away...'

I was shocked that this young girl seemed to be seducing me. Talking about her innocent and her allowing me to take it away. All the other guys not being man enough for her... But yet i'm man enough for her and im not even a man im a monsterthe kind of monster who bumps around in the night. But yet, she awoken a demon in me that i had long forgotten.
Jade began to undo her blouse allowing her cream corset to show. The top began to fall onto the floor.

A small growl escaped my lips as i smell her sweet scent as she edges closer to me and takes of her skirt and underskirt in the process. Edging closer to me still i feel a slight pull on my trousers. The demon wanted to be released and soon. I had heard many lores that Vampire males are able to bear children with Humans but the human mother never survived. if i were to do this i would have to do it and turn her.
I don't want her beauty to end and i certainly don't want it mutilated when she gives birth to an immortal child of darkness.
Jade smiles as she edges towards me undoing the laces on her corset allowing for her breasts to breathe in the night air. This was when i decided enough was enough, growling i pin her to the floor and slowly run my fangs lightly over her neck and breasts while allowing my hands to wander elsewhere to feel every inch of her body. Soft moans were coming out of her mouth, soft moans of pleasure seemed to awaken me more and more.. i felt more alive at this moment then i ever did when i was a human.

I looked deep into her eyes and asked her if she was sure about her decision, was she consenting for me to do what i needed to do to her. Her deep burning green eyes screamed out to me and before i knew it she alreadied answered by undoing my trousers and allowing myself to bury inside of her.
A loud moan escaped as her back arched away from the ground. Upon hearing this i let myself go....
As the passion increased my fangs began to elongate and thats the moment when she had realised what she had done she had awakened a demon....
My fangs dug into her breast as began to take in her blood, it was fresh, still pure, its was pouring into my mouth i just couldn't resist taking her life aswell as her innocence... When i had finally had my fill, i looked into her dying eyes and began to hear her heart slow as the terror of her face began to look peaceful. Cutting my wrists with my fangs i dropped my own crimson blood into her mouth. And allowed her to drink... Not only was i going to turn her.... but she would also become my mate... This night of passion would happen again and again... she was my drug and i was hooked.




3pm

11th April 1888

The funeral procession started to walk towards the Smith's masoleum. All were dressed in black, Many were holding on to each other for support walking with there heads down and wiping there tears from their eyes. Their were people of all ages from the elderly to the newborn babe. Jade was stood next to me in a red dress that seemed to tight for her and showed of her marvellous curves.

When the casket went into the masoleum, a small blood red tear dripped from Jade's Eyes...

"I can never be with them, give them the answers they truly deserve"

"No, My love our world must remain a secret to them, they would never truly understand the gift you have been given come child.."

Jade just looked on and watched as her family passed her by not even knowing or sensing her presence amonge them. She looked to her younger Sister and her Father and Mother. The tears and the look of sadness etched into there faces would forever be burned into her mind. She always imagined being married, giving birth to children of her own and now she could never do that. Never become like her mother, soft and loving.

She watched as the vampire who turned her placed a single White rose in front of the masoleum doors. They were now alone. Taking her by the hand he walked her into the Masoleum and stood in front of her name plate.

Jade Smith -

Beloved Daughter and Sister

1872 - 1888

Missing

Grabbing her by the shoulders and throwing her against the wall next to her name he began to kiss her hard and slowly take off her clothing... As sickening as it would seem he wanted her here and now....

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 23.11.2011

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Dedicated to all those who know me