My mother was one of those retched whores who plagued the streets of London. They would sell their bodies for a mere shilling. She taught me to loath and despise those beneath me. I learned all that I could about anatomy while attending the best schools in the country. One day, I decided to put my skills to the test. It was a Tuesday in early August, the 7th if I am not mistaken. Her name was Martha Tabram according to the papers, I simply called her test subject number one. She was a plump middle-aged woman, approximately 5’3”, dark hair and complexion. It was 2:35am in the George Yard buildings. I waited until she lifted-up her skirts, as if I would give scum such pleasure. I proceeded to strangle her until her feeble attempts ceased. I laid her on the ground, fitting for a vagabond like her, and began my experiments. First the stomach, 6 slashes; next the liver, 5 in total; later the spleen, so delicate only 2 would do; the lungs received 7; finally, the heart, 1 to finish.

      The first time was exhilarating and made me realize that I had much to learn. Who better than prostitutes? No one would mourn them or even care. I spent the next few weeks studying the local populace, looking for my next specimen. I traveled throughout Whitechapel, Spitalfields, Aldgate, and London proper for my prey. 24 days after Tabram I finally found my next victim, Polly.

      Mary Ann Nichols, Polly, was wearing her black strawed bonnet trimmed with black velvet. Her two petticoats, one gray wool and the other flannel, were both stenciled with “Lambeth Workhouse” on the bands. Her boots, obviously made for men, had elastic sides with he upper part cut off and had steel tips on the heels. She walked into the pub and stayed for several hours. I didn’t mind, for I was waiting for the perfect moment to strike. It was late on August 31, I followed her down Osborn Street. She staggered and nearly fell a few times before meeting up with Emily Holland, a long-time friend from what I gathered. They talked for several minutes before Polly went down Whitechapel Street. After Emily was no longer in sight I continued to follow Polly. I flagged her down near Buck’s Row and offered her some wine and grapes. Grapes are a delicacy you see and hard for the scum to resist. She ate and drank merrily and when finished she proceeded to raise her skirts. Her stockings were black with ribbons on them. I grabbed her throat and started to strangle her. She was so intoxicated that she put up little resistance. The stench was overwhelming. I pulled out my knife and proceeded to slit her throat, one inch below the left side of her jaw to under her right ear, about 4 inches deep. My knife was more than capable of performing such a feet, it was long and sharp, perfect for my endeavors. Most of her blood ended up in the gutter next to her, fitting really. Surprisingly her thighs were clean for a street urchin. She had high cheekbones, a dark complexion, and was missing her five front teeth. Disgusting! Utter trash! Is all I could think while continuing my examination of the specimen. What did a whore carry on them, I began to wonder? I pulled out a comb, white pocket handkerchief, and a broken piece of mirror. I examined them for a moment then replaced them as if nothing was disturbed. I heard footsteps approaching in the distance. Once my utensils were cleaned, I left the area and went back for a good night’s rest. I would continue my work on a later date. Hopefully I will find out more about my subject before having to leave so abruptly.

      On September 7th, Annie Chapman coughed often during the day. This intrigued me, she was sick and I wanted to know with what. She fixed the laces on her boots and her brown bodice. She brushed her chestnut wavy hair with a small tooth comb. Her skin looked pale and clammy, usually a sign of being under-nourished. Perhaps the dog will starve herself before I can do my examination. That would not do. I will have to proceed quickly to get my full results.

       Annie met up with another woman on Dorset Street at around five o’clock that night. I was too far away to make out any conversation, I did not want to scare away the game before I was ready to distribute the finishing blow. After the other woman left I was preparing to advance, only to notice she returned a few minutes later. How annoying and persistent these trollops are. I fled to escape notice, I would have to find another opportunity. Several hours passed and still no sign of the vixen. I searched for her throughout Spitalfields. I eventually saw her leaving Crossingham’s. There were still too many spectators present for my plan to work. Around five in the morning I convinced her to meet me at 29 Hanbury Street. I asked her if she would be with me for the night and she replied “Yes.” Such a small word, little did she know how it would be her undoing. She screamed “No!” after I began to strangle her, and she hit the fence. My experimentation was not complete, not in the slightest, but I did learn she may have had some chronic disease and possible brain tissue damage. A success in my opinion.

       As the months went by, the bobbies were closing in on my trail. They would start arresting individuals with just a mere rumor thinking they were me. You would think that they would be rejoicing from my public service. I boarded a ship bound for America to avoid capture. The voyage was long and tiresome. I grew bored and was planning my next cleansing ritual. I started with the rats, diseased and foul-odor, just like those harlots. I made small incisions throughout their tiny bodies. Eventually I peeled their flesh from their bones, starting with the skin layer by layer. Satisfaction flowed over me the more I perfected this technique.

     Upon arrival, I studied my surroundings and was at the Port of Boston in Massachusetts. I traveled west until I reached Minneapolis, Minnesota. There I met with Henry Howard Holmes, most commonly known as H. H. Holmes. I spent a few weeks in Minneapolis and came to learn more about his personal life, the Castle, and former escapades he did. He learned about the women I dispatched and my plan to travel to Canada to avoid extradition. His wife in Minnesota, Myrta was pregnant with his child, foolish woman. Little did she know what her husband was planning to do or did for that matter. Holmes was planning on leaving for Chicago so I left the United States to begin my new life in Canada.

      After meeting with Jack, I began gathering funds through scams and murder to build my three-story castle. This will become my playground. The World’s Fair 1893, George W. Ferris developed the Ferris Wheel, a huge tourist attraction at the time, and in it I saw a beacon of possibilities. The wheel was supported by two 140-foot steel towers and connected by a 45-foot axel. 27 million people went through the exposition, easy not to be noticed if you are one with my skills. Now all that remained was my disguise, simple enough I’ve already used it before, a successful and charming doctor who just happens to own a hotel in the area. It was almost too easy to lure those naïve women to the slaughter. After one women I gave a room to was laying down for bed, I gassed her. It was amusing to watch her crawl on the floor, writhing in agony.

      The next patron to get that room was an even more interesting subject. For this test I decided to do something a little different. I turned on the gas and let it fill the room. But before the subject collapsed I set the gas aflame, incinerating him alive. I never knew a man could scream so loud.

      In another room I put a special device of my own design, called the “Elasticity Determinator.” With this device I laid the subject down, strapped their wrists above their head, and strapped there ankles down. Then I began to crank the wheel, stretching their bodies beyond its limits. When I was done with them, I slid the bodies down chutes that led to my cellar, where the acid vats waited for them.

      The dogs finally caught up to me on November 16, 1894. I was in Boston, getting ready to leave the country. The reason I was arrested is rather mundane considering the things I’ve done. I was charged with stealing a horse. Rather laughable if you ask me. It was not long until they discovered my castle. I remember the headline “The Castle is a Tomb!” on the front page of the Chicago Tribune. I wrote my auto biography while incarcerated. I described everything I did and my reasons. On May 7th, 1896 they marched me to the gallows.

THE END