I must sleep, it is the only thing that keeps me from the knives. In sleep I am unable to use the key to open the case that may spell my doom. It does spell my doom. The knives of my father and his father before him. Blood drenched and despite all efforts to quiet them, still call out for more. Enough! Enough I say, let be, let me be.

The darkness that permeates my soul leaves me vulnerable to the knives and their deeds. It was in darkness that my grandfather struck down those women. It was in darkness that my father struck down the Black Dahlia. It is this very same darkness that I carry in me, in my blood. The remnants of whatever sanity I possess must be held onto at all costs. I will not add to the list of victims if I can help it, but can I help it? Am I strong enough to overcome the pull of the bloodlust these knives contain?

In daylight I go about my business as silently and as unobtrusively as possible. I do not socialize, it could be dangerous. I am considered strange by some and outright weird by others. This is good, this keeps those away from me that I could harm. I have always lived and worked in silence hoping to simply get through one more day without doing something that my heart would not stand.

My grandmother died with her heart broken by the knowledge that she had been married to Jack the Ripper and that her son was tainted by that blood. Oh, he was no direct offspring of Jack, thanks to my great grandmother, yet he received the seed through Chastity. My father and his father before him fought and lost to the siren call of the butchers knives. Now me, I am descended from madmen and prostitutes, what chance have I?

I never met my grandfather. He was locked away when I was born. I only know what my father told me and he only knew what his grandfather told him. We know the bare facts but do we know the man? Who was this madman who mutilated these women so horribly. How did he do it in such a way that he was never caught? Well, not by the authorities he wasn't. His family knew by the apron and cloak he wore when he would go out to hunt for his sister Chastity. Clean when he would leave and bloodsoaked when he returned. The next day the news would be all about the latest Ripper victim. Yes, they knew, and did nothing for a month.

What happened to the body parts he removed from the crime scenes? Why did he remove the uterus? What did he expect to find contained there? How many steak and kidney pies were made from the missing kidneys? These were the questions that tormented my father and now they torment me. I need sleep, I need to sleep or else I shall......

"Nurse Kelly, I see that Mr. Chapman is very restless this evening."

"Yes he is Doctor, he's been pacing and mumbling now for quite some time. It appears that his session today upset him, he's been like this since sunset."

"I see. I expected that there would be some repercussions from the session but I didn't think he would be quite this upset. He presents an interesting case for us here. I would assume he did a remarkable amount of research regarding the Jack The Ripper crimes from the late 19th century, how he ever came to the conclusion that he was the grandson of that man I may never know. He must have studied in the field of psychiatry in order to have such an astute grasp of a possible motive behind the crimes of the Ripper.
His narrative was quite impressive. It was also extremely plausible.

Lucky, for the young lady whose throat he tried to cut, that he was interrupted and captured. This will be a very difficult case to treat and I don't see him leaving this hospital any time in the near future, if ever.

I'm going to order something to help him sleep. I think it best if you wait for Stuart to return from his break before you administer the shot. Do not go into that room without Stuart, I shouldn't like to lose so excellent a nurse to the mercies of a madman. He believes himself to be the grandson of Jack The Ripper. Strange thought that, but either way he is dangerous and we must treat him accordingly. Ahhh, here comes Stuart, at least we can quiet the patient down now and hopefully he will get some sleep."

I dare not tell the story to any living soul. They would not understand why I have kept this secret. I couldn't tell this sordid story in it's entirety lest it free the demons I live with onto an unsuspecting population. Better that I keep it close to my chest and live with it through these long interminable dark nights when I cannot sleep.

I never knew my great grandmother, she died in a mental institution before I was born. She was placed there following an unsuccessful attempt at castrating her only son. She was determined that no son of her's would do to a woman what was done to her. She was a stern and uncompromising woman by all accounts. Not one to spare the rod lest it spoil the child. Unfortunately for her children, this sternness was never tempered with loving kindness. Life was pretty miserable for my grandfather and his two sisters.

Is madness inherited? I don't know, but I suspect it can be sparked by just such behavior as my great grandmother showed her children. By all accounts the three of them were strange to say the least. After the attempt at castration when granddad was 13, his behavior went from strange to something more. I've heard it called evil. I don't believe his intentions were evil then. There was much that he did in the right way for the right reasons. He became the man of the house at 13. He had to, with his mother gone to the asylum for her ailment, his sisters would have no protection.

Grandpa was a butcher's apprentice. It was a common practice to start the male children to work at the age of 6 or so. He lived with the butcher's family, only coming home on his days off. Once his mother was gone he tried to keep his sisters together in their house. The girls were older. Their names were Charity and Chastity. They took in laundry to supplement the income he provided. They didn't live well, but they managed. Then Chastity took up with a coachman when Grandpa was 16. Once that happened Grandpa changed.

He could tell, by the growing of her belly that she'd been doing what Mama said was a bad thing. Bad enough that she tried to remove from him the instrument by which the seeds were planted. The butcher, with whom he lived planted those seeds as often as possible, and his wifes belly grew until there was another addition to the family. Another squalling brat with a hungry mouth to feed. He'd lost track of just how many were living in the butchers house, but he knew it was too many. Now Chastity was going to have a squalling brat to feed and no husband to support the two of them. It was his duty to his family to take charge.

As much as he hated what his sister had done, he would do what he had to do to make it right. So, to that end he married the butcher's oldest daughter even though she was quite a bit older than he was. At 26 she was considered a spinster by the standard of the day. She had no prospects of ever having a husband and a home of her own. By then, Grandpa was a full fledged butcher and capable of running his own business. He had a knack with the knives they said.

When Chastity gave birth to my father, Grandpa and his wife adopted him. Chastity, relieved of the burden of a hungry mouth disappeared into the slums of London, somewhere near the Whitechapel district. No one knew for sure, as she was never seen again. Not at all an unusual occurance, the streets of London weren't safe for anyone in the year 1888, let alone a woman on her own. Grandpa spent many nights hunting in Whitechapel for Chastity. Given what happened, it was probably a good thing he didn't find her.

Some say there were 5 victims of the Whitechapel Ripper, but there was one more. The first one actually happened in April of that year, and Grandpa wasn't alone when the attack took place. He and some friends attacked a woman on the streets and during the attack he inserted the blunt end of one of his knives into her womanly place. She died from the rupture a few days later.

For awhile that seemed to assuage his anger towards his sister, nay, against all women if truth be told, but soon the evil surfaced and he again set out to find Chastity. I guess he found her in some manner in all of the 5 victims, but not being able to find her in truth seemed to fuel some need for progressively more and more violence towards his victims.

"Polly" Nichols, Annie Chapman, Elizabeth Stride, Catharine Eddowes and lastly Mary Jane Kelly. All testaments to Grandpa's skill with his knives, all dead and expertly mutilated. All prostitutes and all of the age his mother was when she was locked up in Bedlam, which of course, ended her life as a prostitute. Quite the tribute to a worthless, crazy mother don't you think?

After Mary Jane, Grandma and her butcher father couldn't ignore their suspicions that Grandpa was the Ripper. They paid a doctor to commit him thereby ending his reign of terror in Whitechapel. Although there were 11 victims laid at his feet there were only the 6, the others being of the sort called copycat crimes these days.

Grandma did her best to raise my father to be a fine upstanding butcher just like her father was, however the seeds of criminal insanity were there and drove my father to murder as well. Although his first murder was my Mother after having found her with another man. He escaped England with me and moved to America where he lived his few remaining years. Did he kill again? Oh yes, and with far more spectacular results than his father had.

The year was 1947. Dad was 59 years old when he met this young woman. She was beautiful but troubled and caused trouble wherever she went. Some thought she was a prostitute but she wasn't, just a free spirit living her life in the fast lane. Taking up with one man or another in an attempt to keep body and soul together. I don't really know what happened but again Dad snapped and Grandfathers knives did the best work they'd ever done. I am the only living person that knows who killed Elisabeth Short, more commonly called the Black Dahlia.

These deeds, and the blood of my ancestors keep me awake at night. I live in fear that I too shall snap someday and take the life of some undeserving woman. No matter who they were, nor the life they lead, none of these women deserved to die. It is the result of a madness in our family, one that I too must carry. Pray for me. Pray that I find the strength, the purpose of will to end my own life before I shed the blood of someone else. Pray, before I too succumb to the power of the knife.

Do you ever wonder what lurks in the darkness? Look outside at night, and the light from the window shines out only to meet this expansive wall of blackness. What if there's something beyond that? Some evil that we can't see? Something that we can only imagine? What would you do if you knew that there was something out there and it was coming to get you? Is it your imagination, or did the dark beyond the circle of light become darker?

You sit in the comfort of a well lit room, in your favorite reading chair. Your favorite drink by your side. The room seems so cozy and warm, yet something in the darkness beyond the window just moved. You saw it didn't you? Just there, yes, right where you're looking. See the darkness begin to take shape and something is coming towards the window. 

You are on the edge of your seat, aren't you? I wonder why? You are inside your comfortable home, the doors and windows are locked against the coldness of the fall evening. Nothing can harm you here unless you open the door and allow it to. Yet your palms are beginning to sweat, your heart is beating more rapidly and you are breathing in short shallow breaths. Anxious are you? What can hurt you here except possibly your own imagination?

Is it the shape you see at the edge of the light? Are you tempted to open the window for a closer look? I wouldn't do that if I were you. Evil cannot reach you unless you open the door. Maybe you should just make yourself another drink. That should calm your nerves. After that, there's that book you were reading before I interrupted you. Maybe you were engrossed in a television program? It might be safer to return your attention to that. Just pull your eyes away from the window and occupy your mind with something else.

Something that will allow you to forget your fear. Something that will allow you to forget that evil exists in this world. Something that will remind you that you are safe here in your humble abode. Anything so you can forget that you were frightened by something you saw out there a moment ago. Just let it pass, just let someone else deal with whatever it is and whatever may happen. After all, it won't happen to you, not while in your sanctuary. You aren't out on the streets inviting trouble, you are safe and sound.

Almost ready for bed are we? One more round of drinks and then make sure everything is locked up tight. One can never be too sure, rather a second look than a sorry situation in the morning. Ahh, did you remember to lock the french doors in the conservatory? I should hurry and check if I were you. We wouldn't want anything to happen would we? Still a wee bit anxious? What could harm you? You are here not out walking the streets in the dark of night.

Who am I? Why, I'm your subconscious, who else would I be? Obviously there isn't anyone else here, now is there? What do I want? Why...a moment of your time is all. Just long enough for you to understand the story. It is after all a part of you, as you well know. A deep dark family secret regarding someone quite famous...in a way. No one ever actually knew his name, but they knew who he was and what he did. They don't know why he did it, nor what happened to him. They don't know why he stopped either, but you do. All the members of your family knew, and they kept it to themselves as one by one the secret took them to the grave. They didn't take the secret with them, the secret took them to their final resting place, as it will take you...unless...unless you decide to share the secret with others.

Maybe you should share the secret. What harm is there now in doing so? He's dead along with his victims, and maybe bringing this sordid story into the light will ease your troubled mind. Maybe it will keep the fear away. Maybe it will help you.  Maybe if you tell the story, it will allow you to sleep nights instead of...well...you know what I mean. Think about it while I sit quietly and enjoy a snifter of brandy. Let your mind convince you, let me convince you that the story must be told. Step out of the darkness, Jack, and into the light. Tell the story of your grandfather, and who he was and what he did.

 

"It was rare to find me outdoors at any time let alone during the heat of the day. I can't stand to be too warm, it makes me light headed and I suppose you'll tell me that my experience was a combination of sun and too much heat producing exertion, but it was as real as I am standing here before you. Yes I was light headed, but mostly from shock rather than the heat because once I was inside the gate it was cool, almost too cool.

We had recently moved to a new location, my husband and I. Days were spent packing and rearranging while he was at work. I was doing my level best to restore order to our new surroundings when I just couldn't stand it anymore. I had to go and investigate the abandoned property down the road. The cab driver that brought us from the station when we arrived had seemed uncomfortable when I asked about the place. The two stone pillars, the wrought iron gate slightly open, and all those flowers. Those lovely flowers just begging to be picked, yet when I said this the driver averted his eyes and said that they'd all grown over with weeds. Weeds, I saw no weeds, just this well kept and inviting patch of beauty. The type of beauty that I myself will never manage because I'd have to be out of doors to care for them. I did say I seldom went outside didn't I?

I found myself taking an old hat down from the peg, putting on my sturdy walking shoes and without any thought, set off down the road. Oddly it hadn't seemed, while in the car, that the property was that far away. By the time I reached the gate I was sweating heavily and not sure I could go that much farther. Just inside the gate, underneath the oak tree was a bench. Just what I needed and not a moment too soon.

The flowers were well tended but the grass had been allowed to grow so tall it was impossible to push the gate open so that I wouldn't have to squeeze against the pillar to get in. Odd that the flowers should be so beautiful and the rest of the property so unkempt. Once inside I wandered over to the bench and sat down. By then I was needing to sit so strongly that I never even cleaned the seat the way I usually do. I am deathly afraid of spiders, and would normally have checked my surroundings more carefully , I just needed to sit down before I fell down. I don't know how long I actually sat there, I may have fallen asleep. It didn't seem that I had been asleep, felt as if I had barely closed my eyes when I noticed how cool it was there. I began to shiver a bit, like you would when first diving into cold water on a hot day.

Then I began to notice little things that just didn't feel exactly right. It's difficult to explain. Warm muggy air feels heavy on the skin, while cooler air tends to feel damp. This cooler air felt very heavy, almost as if it had a substance to it. It felt like a blanket oozing over all of me. A blanket made of a substance similar to slime. My eyes tried to open and couldn't. I couldn't see what was all over me. I could just feel this coolness, this ooze of something that grew progressively colder and colder until I was quite uncomfortable. I was wishing I had brought with me a sweater or a warm wrap of some kind. I couldn't hear the buzzing of the bees anymore. Everything was still and I could hear the rapid beating of my heart. Oddly I wasn't frightened, just curious, and then I could open my eyes.

I was still seated on the bench with my back against the oak, but things had changed. The path was clearly visible where I had trod through overgrown grass. The path led through the trees to a house so beautiful that, in my eyes, it qualified as a mansion. A stately Victorian with wide front porch and tall windows, and curves common to the homes of the era. I lived there. It was my home. No husband was waiting for me in the library, it was getting near dinner time and we were expecting guests. Who are "we"? My sister and I. We live together in this house, a house so beautiful that the neighbors are envious that we own it. We are important now, women of substance Emma and I.

I must hurry, it is getting late, Nance will be arriving from Boston soon. I am excited as we have not seen each other in a month or more. Can't have her come too often, my beautiful Nance. Emma will be suspicious and we can't have that. We shall have to ply Emma with wine so that she will sleep well tonight. I can't have her catching Nance and I in the act. It wouldn't do, then she'd believe that I did have something to do with that other thing.

Emma with her mousy ways and her friends in Boston that she could escape to when Father was so abusive. She left me there to deal with it on my own with no one but my darling Bridgette to keep me sane. Father nearly caught Bridgette and I one night but I convinced him that the scream he heard was not one of delight, but from a nightmare I was having. He took my word for it but it was a close call. The penny pinching bastard and his shrewish wife. We could have had a house like this if he wasn't such a miser, but no...we had to live in that dump on Second St. How I hated that house. How I hated him for being so mean.

The bitch that he married was making my poor Bridgette wash the windows, and her just out of a sick bed. Food poisoning my foot. They were trying to get rid of the only friend I had in that hateful house. She knew it...that's why she never said anything. She helped me wash up afterwards, she burned my clothes in the kitchen stove, they were stained with blood. She hid the axe I used to do the job and she never said anything, nothing at all about who killed them. I loved her for that. After the trial we sold the house and purchased this beautiful mansion on the hill here. I gave enough to Bridgette to keep her in style the rest of her life, I owed her that. Sadly she chose not to stay here with Emma and me. I understood, Emma might have caught us and then Bridgette would have had to help me again. It's better this way. The townspeople don't accept me very well, but I don't much mind. It would have been nice to be a part of society but I have my beautiful house and Nance. Oh! I must hurry I hear the train whistle, Nance will be here soon.

All of this was going through my head, and at the same time I knew clearly that I was still me and yet I was...her. I could see that the cab driver was right, there were no flowers there in front of the gate, just weeds. The stench of rotting leaves was overpowering and it was no longer cool there. I know it was 100 degrees out and I hurried home in that heat as fast as I could go, but I was still not home before my husband came. He was so hateful. I had only gone for a walk I told him, but the house was not yet in order, and the dinner was not cooking in the kitchen and he was so angry. I had to, don't you see?

I was frightened of Andrew. He was always Andrew, never Andy. I wish I could have called him Andy. Maybe it would have made him less frightening, more human and not so mean somehow. Andrew Borden and his lovely wife Elizabeth. That was us. Never Liz or Beth, always Elizabeth, just like he was never to be called Andy. He just kept screaming at me and pushing me and pushing me. Finally he was tired and went to sleep on the sofa in the small room. His den he called it. I was fixing his dinner in the kitchen when I saw the axe in the woodbox just outside the kitchen door. As soon as I saw it I knew what I had to do. I couldn't let him hurt me any more. I had to Your Honor, I just had to. "She" took over me again and I took that axe and swung it at his head while he lay sleeping and I just kept swinging and swinging. "She" made me do it, my husband Andrew Borden was killed by the ghost of Lizzie Borden. I swear it wasn't me. Lizzie Borden took the axe and she gave my beloved husband forty whacks."

Enter through the gate
The path will take you there
Heed not the sound of music
Walk quickly but with care.

Fear the world of dreams
That thrive in darkness deep
Inhabited by dragons
To rob you of your sleep

Until you see the light
From out of darkness shine.
You may begin to think
That you have lost your mind.

Dragons don't exist
When comes the light of day
To illuminate the shadows
And keep your fears away.

"Teacher" asked Senset, "What does this mean, dragons don't exist? That is what we are and we exist, don't we?" "Do we?" answered Teacher. "What does exist mean?" "It means to have real being, to have life" answered Senset. "And are we alive as you understand life? Do we breathe? Do we sleep? Do we eat?" asked Teacher.
"I....well....no, we don't" answered Senset. "Teacher, what does this all mean? If we don't really exist, how are we here?"

"We are here, because Mankind believes we are here. It is their nature to be fearful of that which they don't understand, they need something to save them from themselves young man, and so they imagined dragons. At least this time it was as instruments of good rather than of evil." "Evil?" "Yes my son...evil" "But...but..." "Hush my son, I shall attempt to explain."

"In the Middle ages Dragons were man eating creatures of evil. The power of good was necessary to slay them and rid the land of their destructive powers. They breathed fire, burning villages and fields, kidnapping fair maidens and generally behaving in a manner designed to bring terror to the hearts of man. It was as if man needed a personification of all that he viewed as evil around him. An evil that he felt powerless to control. When a young knight of pure heart began to enter manhood he would undertake a quest, the result would be to find the evil dragon that they were being cursed with and then slay him so his feifdom could prosper and thrive. He would then win the heart of the fair maid being held captive by the evil dragon, they would marry and live happily ever after. Of course you must understand that these dragons did not exist then anymore than we do now. The tale was nothing more than an analogy of good triumphing over evil.

Over time, the evil became more prominent in the world and no longer was the service of an imaginary dragon required. It was, after all, an accepted fact that evil existed in the world because the devil exists and provides a strong temptation to man to do his bidding. So, one by one all the evil dragons ceased to exist, and became the subject of folklore. They joined other creatures like unicorns, fairies, trolls and ogres and became tales told to children to make them mind. Eventually they found their way into written lore as well. Thus giving substance to the fiction with descriptions of how we are to look. Just as we are now, we have always been in the minds of men all over the earth.

The difference being that now mankind views itself as evil and we are the good that keep them from harming each other. We will exist and help mankind thrive for as long as we are needed. When we are not needed in great numbers, or when it is convenient we fade into memory. Centhra apparently was no longer needed by her human, and you see what happened to her. That is the fate that awaits all of us when we are no longer needed, but I shouldn't worry anytime soon. As long as the earth does not thrive then we will be needed as the symbol of good that keeps man striving towards the light of day and a better life. Who knows? That may never happen and we will continue to exist for all eternity. The earth sustained tremendous damage at the hands of man. Someday someone will come along with the knowledge needed to heal that damage. He may exist all ready and we will know soon enough. In the meantime, we will continue to be and do what we are created to do, and that, Young Senset, is the truth about Dragons."