Chapter One

Jack the Ripper became the name I am remembered by, however; my Christian name was Albert. Named for our matronly Queen Victoria’s German husband and son. I came from an old aristocratic family who had lost much during the American Revolution. My father returned from the Americas in disgrace as he brought along his free Nubian mistress. Mother kept herself busy with court life to ignore the fact that Father was living openly with his whore. I overheard it said he found her plying her trade in the dirty dung filled streets of New York.

My mother, a fair-haired aristocratic beauty, was close to the Queen, traveling to Balmoral and riding horses with her Royal Highness. Mother was quick to bring me into their familiar fold with the Queen doting on me. Her bright eyes would shine when I accompanied Mother to court. Her Highness would ruffle my dark hair as her thin lips pared to show off her pearly teeth. I spent much of my childhood in the Royal nursery– learning and playing with the most important children in the British Empire. I was especially fond of Princess Beatrice as she had her mother’s same witty humor.

After the Prince Consort died, our poor Queen sank into a deep depression. She sent many of her ladies home except for Mother. I wondered many times if one prison was better than the one she would find at our own home. With her beloved husband dead, the Queen made sure to stick by the plans they had for their children and the British Empire. I was finally at the age to leave the nursery so the Queen made sure I went to the best schools where I applied myself to the new sciences and health practices.

 I had decided that I would become the doctor to our Majesty and maybe win Princess Beatrice’s heart. Young men never think rationally– why would a Princess marry an impoverished Englishman, even if royal blood flowed thinly through my veins. I stared out across the glistening lake, frozen with thick ice. Looking down, I noticed the splotched ink stains across my anatomy paper. I needed a break to stretch my legs and breathe in some fresh air. I head down the dark stairs still lost in thoughts of Beatrice’s honey hair flowing in the wind. 

When I came to the bottom step, I bumped into a familiar face wearing the clothes of the staff from my family’s home. 

“Sss orry ss ‘ir, I meant no disresspect,” the old man stuttered as he wiped the sweat from his wrinkled brow. “I am looking for my master’ss sson,” he continued to spit out.

I stepped into the light so my father’s steward could see he had found me. “What does he want?” I demanded of the toothless man. Instead of speaking, the dusty bloke handed me a sealed note with my name on the front in Father’s handwriting– he turned and walked away not waiting for a reply to take back. I contemplated throwing the hateful letter on to the fire in the hallway, yet curiosity takes over.

Chapter Two

I stepped out into the cold air drinking in the briskness of the air and the quiet falling of big snowflakes. I strolled down to the frozen lake. My feet crunching in the freshly fallen powder. Scenes like these reminded me of the dazzling Christmases with the Royal Family. I could smell the stringent evergreens and the sweet aromas of sugar pastries and apple cider. Father’s note cuts deep into my fist. I take a breath. And break Father’s seal and begin to read the letter. Tears freeze in my eyes and won’t fall as the note contained tragic news that my mother had left her mortal body to climb the stairs to heaven. I am to pack and be ready to leave in a fortnight to return home. 

I kicked and raged at God for taking my beautiful mother. I still needed her! How could she leave me? My grief quickly swelled into anger– mad at Mother for being a frail woman. Now I had to return home and face the abomination taking place in my Mother’s family mansion. She couldn’t even keep Father from being such an embarrassment. A weak woman she must have been to allow such a thing to even go on without repercussions.

The long, bumpy ride to the manor only exacerbated my mood. The countryside was covered in a thick soupy fog making it impossible to see. I was beginning to feel as if the dark fog would follow me for the rest of my life. How could I even advance myself if I had no one in a position to speak for me? Father was a laughing stock in London, plus the Queen herself had denied him entrance into the city and commanded he give up his rooms at court. 

Rubbing the sleep from my blue eyes, I saw the sprawling mansion coming into view. Father and his mistress stand holding hands as the carriage rolls past the gate and up to the large columned doorway. The staff and some of the villagers stand to the right of the large house waiting to see the little boy they use to know. Exiting the carriage, the staff courtesy as Father and his dark-eyed woman greeted me. I extended my hand to Father, but he grabbed it tightly and pulled me into his bulky self. He pushed me back looking at me, taking in all the changes since the last time he had seen me. 

“My what a man you are becoming, son,” Father’s voice sounded full of pride. 

Before I can reply, a silky rich voice chimed in beside Father. “I am truly sorry for the loss of your Mother.” I turn to see the she-devil looking me straight in the eyes as if she planned on hypnotizing me. All I could do was nod my head as if I was struck dumb.

I walked past the two of them with my entourage in tow and headed straight to my old room. I noticed that much of the furniture had been changed and that many of the pictures my Mother had hanging were replaced by such vulgar looking things that I couldn’t even really call them paintings. They looked like something a small child had splattered together. I saw strange statues of creatures that looked like demons. The most chilling statue was of a winged dog. Its emerald eyes seemed to watch me.

Chapter Three

I was relieved to find my room the same. I asked for a tray of bread and cheese to be brought up so that I could rest afterward. I was reading Mrs. Lovelace’s book on the new machines she had built and how they computed calculations when I drifted off to sleep. I was awakened by the sound of drums and rhythmic chanting. The watery winter sun had set with a full moon taking its place. The white light of the moon cast strange shadows in the darkness. I could still hear the beating of drums as my heart thumped loudly against my chest as I glimpsed the dancing torchlight spitting and sputtering in the middle of Mother’s garden. 

Throwing on some clothes, I darted down the stairs as quietly as possible grabbing Father’s sword off the wall. The moon’s light should be enough to guide me to the center of the tangled garden. I slashed through thick brambles of dead roses and hacked my way through tall dead weeds. The drums became louder as did the chanting. My body shook in fear of what I would find and my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.

As I came closer to the clearing, I stayed in the shadows of the bushy evergreen trees watching the cloaked figures as they danced and jumped around the demonic statue with the startling green eyes. The torchlight flickered in the inanimate dog’s eyes making them look even more real. I couldn’t take a step further as my body refused to cooperate. Suddenly I heard moaning and gasping coming from behind the huge monstrosity. 

Man up! I spoke harshly to myself. This is your land and these are heretic trespassers, maybe even traitors to our Queen. I reminded myself. My body yielded to the other voice and walked gingerly towards the spread wings of the statue. Each step crunched lightly on the trodden ground and I drew the sword ready to strike. Peering through the lively wings, my heart jumped in my throat as I found my Father and the strange woman in the most uncompromising way. More startling than coming upon such an act, I noticed that the wings were soft to the touch, much like a bird’s feathers. The statue itself sprouted dark fur, its eyes looked deep into my own, and a new sound filtered the air with a deep grumbling. The air around me was damp with deep breathing. 

Out of nowhere, a sharp claw slapped the sword from my hand. My eyes betrayed my rational mind. Then a deep voice spoke, “It has been done for you, childish one. Have you not dreamed of fame and fortune? Closer ties with your precious royal family. I smelled it on you as soon as you entered the house. And I am bored of Ishanti and playing her statue,” the demonic creature laughed as his large head looked at the spot where Father and his enchantress had lain only minutes before.

Standing before me the winged statue had grown in length and as real as myself. Speechless, my mouth hung agape and my stomach filled with stabbing spears of dread. Looking past the demon, I saw that nothing remained of my poor indulgent father and the heretic whore. Only their clothes survived– a reminder that they had existed.

Chapter Four

Unsticking my tongue, I finally answer as honestly as I ever have. “Yes, that is what I have desired, but I also need the knowledge to prevail. Are you offering to serve me, demon?” My voice quivered with my direct question.

“Aye, that is how you humans see it,” the dog chuckled showing off a row of sharp jagged, teeth ready to tear into soft flesh. “You will have what you wish for but that which you want the most will never be yours,” his voice low and dangerous as his envy green eyes watch me intently as a large hairy paw brushed my shoulder.

Instantly, my body started to burn as if I had contracted the sweating sickness. It felt like the demon was stomping around in my head causing my eyes to tear up. Before I could even ask him about his cryptic message, I passed out from the intense pain and nausea pulsing through my body. The cool darkness swallowed me and the winged creature. 

I woke with golden rays of sun shining through my bedroom window. It all must have been a bad dream. Dressing quickly, I descended the stairs and made my way to the dining hall where I found Father’s chair empty. Not uncommon, I thought to myself. Still feeling unsettled by the strangely real dream, I rush in the direction of the garden. 

As I made my way to the center of the garden, I found that nothing was amiss, except that the ugly statue still sat exactly where it had been sitting last night. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears. I walked around the statue to find the clothes still laying there as if the owners had abandoned them. The staff had disappeared except for those that stayed in the village. 

Glasya Labolas, the demonic winged-dog, spoke true. I obtained knowledge and attended to the royal family. Although I never felt the touch of Princess Beatrice’s soft flesh; never so intimately as I had those filthy streetwalkers of Whitechapel.