After great incitement, I have deemed it necessary to begin at no place other than the beginning, as there is no better place to begin.
In the early spring of 1858 mothers burgeoning stomach could no longer handle the pressure of my sweet, little body as I detonated forth into this world at the height of the Victorian Era. Deep in the heart of the Whitechapel district of London home was a place of both love and loathing. Ashby, my elder brother, showed me copious amounts of love and was my best friend and protector, however mother—being an alcoholic and a street walker—showed more than copious amounts of love to anyone entering her home yet, was the constant usurper of both Ashby and my happiness.
Mother, in her drunken fits, took it upon herself to discipline Ashby and me for the most trivial of things. So constantly did mother abuse us that rarely was our skin not marked with bruises or abrasions. On one occasion mother had beaten me so profusely that when all was said and done I had received two broken ribs, a lacerated left palm and I bled from my right ear. To this day the hearing in said ear is mediocre at best.
In 1875 by the grace of Ashby’s hand and by his hard work I was able to take my degree of Doctor of Medicine of the University of London and proceeded on the prescribed course for surgeons. There I learned to love the thrills of the operating room. I attended classes with fervor and returned home to tell Ashby everything I learned on a weekly basis. Ashby would always listen with great intent no matter what tasks he needed to accomplish.
After several years of study and hard work I was to graduate. Commencement brought nothing but sorrow as not only would I be leaving behind my dearest friends and colleagues I also learned the very day I was to leave school Ashby was murdered. Mother in a drunken rage sliced Ashby’s throat twice and stabbed him repeatedly in the stomach before she realized what she had done and then turned the knife on herself. My heart was broken thus after leaving school I set up a practice and lost myself in my work for the better part of five years.
Despite the success of my practice I felt a change in my life was necessary. In the summer of 1882 after having enlisted in Her Majesty’s army as a surgeon I was deployed to Alexandria as British troops began the occupation of Egypt. It was in Egypt that my love affair began.
During a routine child delivery a minor incident caused the delivering mother to bleed internally. I should easily have fixed the mishap however a disquieting urge overcame me. As there was no assistant there to watch over me, my compulsion was to let the woman bleed out. I did just that. This occasion developed within me a keenness for feigning accidents so as to see multiple women patients die on my table. I found that in the act of killing these women, I in turn could kill my feelings of deep loss for a brief time.
In mid-September British forces succeeded in defeating the Egyptian Army at Tel El Kebir and I was to return home. Delighted to return home and continue my sordid love affair I came to the conclusion that in London, killing would be a bit more egregious. I would need time and more experience to be properly prepared for this new labor of love.
I let my flat and offices in Whitechapel knowing I would return within a year and fled to America for my new beginning. My youthful affection toward American culture and the Wild West lead me to Austin, Texas. I quickly opened a practice and became familiar with the city, it’s people and particularly it’s nightlife. I spent the better part of a year setting up, acting the part of a hard-working doctor and acquainting myself with the right people. Then the time came and I knew I was ready to begin.
New Years Eve 1884, the weather was gelid that night—so uninviting was the temperature that it was hard to imagine anyone venturing out—especially at the hour. It was near 2:30 AM as I stepped silently on to Pecan Street. I walked with an heir of ease as I approached Mr. W. K. Hall’s home. Hall was in the insurance business and I came to know him through my practice. He invited me often to his home for lavish dinner parties and grand occasions. There was to be no dinner party tonight but the occasion would be grand indeed. A young colored woman named Mollie Smith had been in the service of the family as a cook for a little over a month and having noticed her on multiple occasions I knew she was to be my first liquidation.
I rounded the house quietly to the little apartment at the rear of which Ms. Smith and her common-law husband Mr. Spencer occupied. As I did so I found it quite convenient that Mr. Spencer had left his axe in the wood pile close to their front door. I picked up the axe, walked to the door and opened it as gently and quietly as I could. The dark of the room was as thick as London’s fog but my long walk on the moonless night had already accustomed my eyes to it’s density. I saw Mr. Spencer lying on the bed next to Ms. Smith. I raised the axe and swung at his head.
Having dispensed of Mr. Spencer I rounded on the rousing Ms. Smith. The sheer terror in her eyes of seeing me standing above her, axe in hand and Spencer’s blood staining the covers and my lapel gave me the power to do what I did next.
I swung the axe. Blood sprayed from her chest. Despite the damage she put up a desperate struggle for her now fading life. Shocked by her actions I reeled backwards as she sprang from the bed. I stumbled into a looking-glass by the window and I heard the glass shatter. We bumped into furniture throughout the room and as I saw Ms. Smith stumble I swung the axe again creating a gaping hole in the side of her head. Ms. Smith dropped instantly to the floor, dead.
The pillows and sheets of the bed were bathed in blood, and sanguinary stains were all over the floor. I dropped the axe at the foot of the bed as I looked in a shattered mirror, wiped the blood splatter from my face and then straightened my tie. Satisfied with this first liquidation I felt the familiar ebb of pain as I drug Ms. Smith out of the apartment.
In May of 1885 I attacked and killed two women, in August I assaulted two more women one survived. Upset by this failed liquidation I took it upon myself to double my efforts on my next attack so on September 26th I made my biggest spree in one day attacking 3 women and one man, two women survived. After the blitz in September I decided I needed to bring my performance in Austin to a close and return to England. I decided I must end the year and my time in Austin with one last spree.
It was Christmas Eve and my preparations to return home were set I would be leaving early the next morning. Tonight was the night. As I knew I needed a little extra spending money for my voyage I found myself at the home of Mr. Hancock, a mechanic I knew well from my practice. He told me once of the money he kept hidden in his wife’s room. I used this as my excuse to kill her. I had brought with me two axes. I used one on Mrs. Hancock crushing her skull with the blunt end then took the money and ran.
On my way home I passed the Phillips residence. Remembering that Mr. Phillips had not paid his last two bills I decided to take payment in blood. I crept into the house searching for Phillips. Opening the door to a room there he was lying asleep the moon lighting his face. That face that made me sick to look at every time I saw him sneer I smashed it with my axe.
I rounded the corner of the L shaped house and found Mrs. Phillips and Phillips Jr. lying in their beds. Upon entering the room Mrs. Phillips woke. Eyeing the axe and the blood dripping from it she jumped to her sons side protecting him. This act of a mother protecting her young made my mind glow with rage. I looked at the boy hating him for having a mother who loved him. I couldn’t bare the sight. I slaughtered him while his mother beat me ferociously. I turned on Mrs. Phillips struck her one across the face then dragged her out into the yard next to the water closet. I let loose the axe bearing down on her skull and destroyed her instantly. Remembering the holiday I tore a board from the outhouse and laid the piece of timber across her arms and bosom using it for the most hellish and damnable of purposes.
I returned to the boys room and looked at the boy lying there soaked in his own blood. Then young Phillips face became Ashby’s. I dropped the axe at the foot of the bed and ran. So skillful was the butchery of Christmas Eve I thought myself worthy of an imp of hell.
As I boarded the vessel bound for England I reminisced on my exploits of 1885 in Austin. My liquidations reached a staggering tally of 7 lives and earned my work the title of “The Servant Girl Annihilator” by none other than William Sydney Porter, better known as the short story writer O. Henry. Feeling quite confident in my abilities to liquidate and having escaped any suspicion of the aforementioned liquidations I smiled to myself satisfactorily. However I knew my real masterpiece and my true love affair awaited me in my old stomping grounds of England.
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