Journal of Sir John Danielson (Jack the Ripper)

Language: English
Author: Sir John Danielson (Jack the Rpper)
SAN Loss: 1/1D4
Cthulhu Mythos: +1
Reading Time: 1 Week
Spells: None

The first part of the journal is written in one hand and covers the following summarised information on the history of Sir John Danielson:

Sir John Danielson was a typical was a typical young English aristocrat. He had inherited his father’s title at age 20, after the elder baronet was killed leading an infantry company at the Battle of Maiwand, in the 1880 Afghan War. Sir Clive Danielson had gained the hereditary title on the accidental death of his older brother, who’d never married. Clive was the younger son of Sir Neville Danielson, who’d originally been awarded the baronetcy for his bravery and valiant action in the Crimean War. Clive followed in his father’s footsteps by joining the British Army on coming of age. He’d left the service on his brother’s death in a buggy accident, only months after Sir Neville’s passing, which gave him the title and the family estate just outside of the village of Barnet, immediately north of London. When British forces were engaged against the murderous Ghazi in Afghanistan, however, Sir Clive accepted a new commission. His subsequent death left Sir John as the ‘Baronet of Barnet’ (as the locals had fondly called his father).
His mother’s death from consumption the next year left Sir John without guidance, other than that of his grand-uncle, an invalid since being wounded in the Crimea and who’d lived at the manor in Barnet ever since. Sir John divided his time between the London social scene and visiting and ‘overseeing’ the family’s holdings in a coal mine in Sauchie, off the Firth of Forth in Scotland. He became something of a ne’er do well – nothing bad or illegal; he just did not seem interested in making anything of himself. Except for his interest in the mine – where he was fondly known by the workers as ‘Sauchie John’ – he had no ambitions or goals in life, other than having a good time. So when the opportunity arose in early 1888 to visit the site of another Danielson holding – an interest in the Netherlands-Sumatra Company, headquartered on the East Indies isle of Sumatra – Sir John saw an excellent opportunity to relieve his boredom with everyday life as a London socialite.

At this point the journal breaks into two distinctive styles of handwriting, almost as if there were two different people writing in the journal, one style is of a neat and fairly articulate writer, the other is much more abrupt.

April 8th,1888
We finally arrived at Sumatra after a lengthy journey of several weeks. I have been informed by friends that the hunting on the island is particularly good and so I am looking forward to going on an expedition and bagging some beasts. If nothing else I feel that the change of scenery will do me the world of good. Dear old England is getting a trifle bit boring for me these days and I feel that with some adventure I shall blow away the cobwebs. Besides I am certain that the pretty young things in London will not be able to resist the tales of an adventurer and a man of courage.

April 9th, 1888
I had to endure a day of touring around our holdings today. My God how can Vaderheiden prattle on endlessly about such tedious matters. The sooner I can get on with my hunting expedition the better. I swear to God, if I have to listen to his interminable droning for one more hour I shall not be held responsible for my actions. I will say this about the man though, he does have one saving grace, he has great taste in Scottish whisky.

April 11th, 1888
At long last everything is in order and the expedition can get underway. I am to be accompanied by a couple of Dutch travellers as well as our native guides and porters. I feel that the next week will be very enjoyable.

May 23rd, 1888
It all seems like a dream, a nightmare, my God what has happened to me, what did they do to me. What have the Tcho-Tchos done to me, I fear I will lose my very soul, they have turned me into some sort of creature.
The details seem so hazy, but I must write them down, to make some kind of sense to myself, to prove that I am not mad, to prove that I have not lost my mind.
We had only been on expedition for a day and we were attacked that first night. They came from out of nowhere, beastly grotesque little men, they are called the Tcho-Tchos. They wiped out everyone, all the natives and both of my Dutch companions, all killed in such a brutal attack. They captured me, I remember being struck by something and then coming to in some sort of cave, tied to a rock.
Oh God, I think I blacked out several times, I remember the feeling of my fingernails being torn out, my skin being scoured and then salt thrown on me. I do not know how long they tortured me. Waking me after only a few hours sleep at a time, the whole duration felt like years but it must have been only days.
Then after the torture they performed some ungodly ritual on me, I could feel my own soul slipping away and being replaced with something else, some kind of ravening hunger.
Over the next few days I found that they kept me alive. When I started to feel weak they would bring a captive villager in, usually a child, and begin to torture them in front of me, I could smell and taste their fear, it was invigorating. My God what kind of beast have I become?
To look at me you would have thought that I was healthier than I had ever been before in my entire life, however inside there was a gaping hole, a gnawing at my soul and the only way it could be satiated was to experience the fear and terror of others, to breathe it in, immerse myself in it.
The Tcho-Tchos have turned me into some sort of vampire. I must feed on fear and terror to stay alive, I know I should try to end it all now, but I cannot, the hunger will not let me and it often takes over, sometimes I feel that I am a mere passenger in my own body. I was never a God fearing man, but why have I been forsaken like this? Why have I been given this mark of Caine?
The Tcho-Tchos told me that they have a plan for me. They are sick of what they see as endless intrusions into their existence by Europeans. They tell me of a place that can only be translated as the Dreamlands, they fear that the Europeans will eventually find their way there too. They have decided that enough is enough and that it is time to send a powerful message to the Europeans, a powerful message of fear and terror and that I am to be the one to deliver that message.
Their plan is to send me back home, back to England. They have taught me a magical ritual of some sort, that enables me to not only drain the life force of a victim, but also to preserve the individual, enabling them to feel the full extent of pain and fear until all of their life energy is drained away and I have fully absorbed it all.
They then used some sort of ancient technique to summon and bind a creature, whose name means Dimensional Shambler. The almost mindless creature has been bonded to me and is fully under my control. At my request, the Tcho-Tchos have sharpened and reshaped the claws of the beast into thin, razor-like cutting edges. I feel that more terror can be caused by their use and I can teach the beast from my knowledge of anatomy classes to strike more terror into my victims, so I should not need to feed as often.
The Tcho-Tchos then set me free and I made my way back to company’s offices. Vaderheiden was surprised to see me, the remnants of the expedition had been found some weeks earlier and I had been left for dead, after all, it had been six weeks and it was not thought that I would have survived. I informed him that due to him being a foreigner he was liable to underestimate the resourcefulness of an Englishman when he was faced with adversity. Feigning horror that nobody else had survived, I insisted that arrangements be made at once for my return to England.

May 29h, 1888
At last, I have managed to book passage away from this place. The past few days have been a severe drain. I found that the hungrier I became as my life energy drained that I seemed to shrivel physically. In fact I lost a few inches of height and had to feign illness from my ordeal, though I knew that it was hunger and that I would have to act soon. So I summoned the Shambler and ordered it rip up a lone night watchman. I fed gloriously. The attack on the man was dismissed as some sort of wild animal attack.

August 3rd, 1888
I have finally returned to England. It was such a long journey back, though I do not recall most of it. The Dutch steamship, Friesland, navigated some unseasonally inclement weather on its long journey. I made use of a dormant state that the Tcho-Tchos had taught me and consequently I only needed to feed four times on the journey. Throwing each victim overboard when I had fed, but needless to say due to the disappearances, coupled with the weather, many of the crew thought that the ship had been cursed. If only they knew how close to the truth they actually were.

August 4th, 1888
I need to have some plan, some campaign in order to carry out what must be done. I cannot just go indiscriminately killing otherwise I shall be discovered. How can I go about and not be found out, no one must suspect what I have become and what I must do.

August 5th, 1888
Eureka! Just as Archimedes had his moment, I have had mine. Surely I should prey upon the riffraff, the worthless lower class dregs of society, those of the East End. In fact I will be doing society a favour, something worthy of this knighthood that I hold. I am sure that society as a whole will approve, after all, the lower classes are a disease, a cancer upon our great society. A cancer that I can remove, condemning them screaming to Hell one at a time. I have surely been reborn for a great purpose, maybe I am doing God’s will after all and that the Tcho-Tchos are his servants.
In the East End it is very unlikely that I will encounter anyone that knows me, and so I can feed again and again with complete impunity. Beginning with the weakest and most vulnerable, the easiest of prey, their fear will always taste so much sweeter. The women that walk the streets selling their pitiful, worthless bodies for a pittance, for mere pennies, a place to sleep for the night. I will be their guardian, saving them from a lifetime of misery, ending their wretched existence and better yet who would know, indeed, who would even care?

Over the course of the next few weeks, Danielson goes on to plan in every detail on how he would accomplish his mission. On how he would capture and kill the streetwalkers, utilising the Masonic rituals that he had picked up during his membership of that organisation and familiarising himself with the streets and back alleys of the East End, all the time becoming more and more aware of the growing hunger inside him.

August 31st, 1888
Gutted the first one tonight such a tasty treat. Her throat made such a sweet gurgling noise when the beast cut it. London is going to burn in the fear that I will cause.

September 1st, 1888
The streetwalker I killed last night was named Polly Nichols. There is uproar. I could feel myself willing the Shambler to do more to the unfortunate wretch, but I pulled back at the last instant. The taste of her terror as the beast slashed her was like adding a spice to the already heady concoction of life force. I do not think I have ever felt so invigorated in my whole life, but I must be careful, I must wait until I fully know what I am doing. It was very close, before the body could be disposed of properly I heard someone approach.

September 8th, 1888
The taste gets even sweeter. The beast is getting better at its task, the pretty was gutted good an proper, the long and dangly stuff ripped out of her. Even had time for a good smoke as I soaked in the flavours.

September 9th, 1888
The spell stopped her from screaming, but I can still hear her. Annie Chapman, they are calling her in the papers. I had more time to myself and in the moment I arranged the poor wretched creature’s possessions around her body. But I still must be more careful, in my excitement I let my control over the Shambler slip and it disappeared back to the mansion. Good thing that it stays in the cellarunless called on, neither my uncle nor Hirschman are aware of its presence. I need the Shambler to stick around to dispose of the corpses.

September 16th, 1888
Now that was a much better executed plan, nobody has even reported the poor wretch missing. I know the Tcho-Tchos would not be happy with this state of affairs, but they are half a world away and these powers and abilities are mine not theirs. It is up to me how they should be used and in this way I am doing my part as a loyal servant of Her Imperial Majesty.

September 21st, 1888
I would love to hear the pretty canaries sing. I imagine their beautiful voices singing in terror and thanks as I end their miserable lifes. Tonights treat was such a pretty little bird, she barely had time to grow before good old Jack took her.

September 22nd, 1888
The Shambler now knows exactly what to do and is performing its task admirably. The papers have not reported the latest murder. She was young, maybe fifteen at most, probably younger. I have saved her from a life that no girl should live. In my head her singing is so sweet and she knows that I have saved her. She calls me her shining knight.

September 25th, 1888
I sent a letter out today to the Central News Agency, I pray that they get it and follow my clue. Just maybe this nightmare will end.

September 30th, 1888
What a waste. 2 for 1 night. The first pretty croaked before could finish such a wate. But the second oh how she sung, like an angel, oh she was so tasty, love the taste of kidney. The girls love jack they live and they die for me. Busy night.

October 1st, 1888
That was so close. I had to kill two of the wretches last night. Interrupted both times, the double event they are calling it. The first poor soul apparently was named Elizabeth Stride, I felt her slip through my fingers as I was distracted, but I was so hungry I had to feed, so I took another. The unfortunate wretched creature’s name was Catherine Eddowes and I had enough time to work on her. Oh God, I think I ate part of her. I tried to warn the police, I left them a note near to a piece of her apron, I do not think that they understood it.
I sent the police another letter, a post card, I hope that they work it out.

October 8th, 1888
I have looked into the face of true evil this night. Evil is not hideous, but wears such a pretty, innocent looking face. Her name is McCabe, Colleen McCabe. The beast was about to get to work on her, but there was no fear, no terror, she just looked straight at me with an air of inevitability, she just did not care. I was intrigued.
Her name is Colleen McCabe, she told me that I could do no worse to her than had already been done for as long as she could remember. She proposed an alliance for she had goals and was determined to make people pay for the wrongs and injustices that she had suffered throughout her life. She would procure me victims, girls that were a problem to her, ones that she wanted to get rid of and in return she would send her creatures, Ghouls she calls them to clean up the mess. As a token of her intentions, she introduced me to another of the streetwalkers and the poor wretch served my purposes quite admirably. In return she wanted me to teach her a greater mastery and understanding of the dark arts. She even showed me a book that she had The Revelations of Glaaki I believe it is called, there’s certainly power in that book. More power than I think McCabe herself realises.

October 14th, 1888
McCabe sends lots of pretties to me. Oh how they sing and sing.

October 15th, 1888
Tried to warn Lusk, the head of the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee, even sending him evidence of the Eddowes murder, surely he will stop me for I am truly damned otherwise.

October 30th, 1888
I learnt a spell from that book of McCabe’s. The poor girl did not realise that it was inside the book and I have torn it out and destroyed it, just in case she tries to learn it herself. It is really useful. I can disguise the Shambler as a waxwork figure and so I have donated it to Madame Tussaud’s for their Chamber of Horrors exhibition. I told them that I had gotten bored of the thing, but it is the perfect place to store, it the fools believe that it is a’South Seas Demon’, as I am sure that Hirschman is getting somewhat suspicious. After all, many of my nightly trips to London have coincided with Ripper victims being found. I am sure that he is a good man though and loyal to me , just as he has been to the family as a whole I must keep an eye on him.

November 9th, 1888
The tastiest pretty yet. Oh how jack likes the girls. She sang for hours what an exotic pretty McCabe gave me. A taste of home she said, the sweetest morsel yet tasted. It was more than just food it was art, jack the artist.

November 9th, 1888
McCabe came really good, Mary Kelly was so sweet, the tastiest yet. The Shambler performed admirably, two glorious hours, I have never felt so full, but there’s a problem. McCabe’s Ghouls did not clean up after, now London is really in an uproar, it is getting really dangerous, it may be best to seek out a new hunting ground until everything quietens down.

November 10th, 1888
According to McCabe the Ghouls could not get into the flat, of course how could I have been so stupid, I took Kelly’s key with me, I still have it here.
I told McCabe that I am heading out to the continent for some time, until things quieten down. In fact I think I will head over back to Sumatra to let the Tcho-Tchos know how things have been going.
Damn her, McCabe has insisted that I bring her back some item of power, she has held it against me that I did not teach her anything of the dark arts. I do not know what I could teach her, the woman is only semi literate, certainly intelligent and cunning, but still a product of the underclasses. Still I will, keep to my end of the bargain and get her something, after all, she was very useful and I may have need of her talents again when I return to London.

At this point the journal breaks off. Clearly Danielson did not take it with him during his travels on the continent and further afield and neither did he decide to resume his entries once he returned to England.

Journal of Sir John Danielson (Jack the Ripper)

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