Section One
Victoria is Queen in London Town.
The Empress rules it all with velvet hands.
‘Tis eighteen eighty eight, the city’s brown
with coal and cholera that vex the land.
But down on Fleet Street starts a tale of woe.
Her Highness will learn nothing ‘til too late.
For Secretary Fitzroy’s caught a blow
delivered of a monster’s razor hate.

One might say he has gone and lost his head.
The constabulary, they have lost it too,
but ne’ertheless they say that he is dead
and now they look about to find a clue.
While Fitzroy on the cobblestone won’t care.
He’s lost his mind and therefore cannot think.
The rain pours down; it’s playing truth or dare
and Fitzroy’s blood is washing sickly pink.

Section Two
It's late, yet none could fall asleep
while Mog the monster's free somewhere.
Mystery wraps, the demons weep,
and rain won't wash what has to scare.
No footprints, or bullets are found,
it's Mog for sure, again they face.
the bobbies desperate, they are drowned,
confusion seems would close this case.

Around the corner lives poverty,
but only coal is there to feed.
Someone has to kill the enemy,
before it grows up fast with greed.
So many Mogs behind now stand,
emotions die, and so the brains.
They all are starving to clean the land,
no matter if considered insane.

Section Three
Anabel Lee,
she chose her name carefully.
Cut her hair, painted her face,
the never ending battle with identity.
Arriving in London,one dreary morning,
bareback and alone, she landed.
Her un-ladylike appearance subject to scorn.
Another chapter in her story was born.

She began serving beer at the Blue Boy Tavern,
befriending an outcast,than an unknown stranger.
Friendships that would lead to nothing but danger.
Thirty years old and never been wed
caused the town gossips to turn their head.
Oh well, let them say what had to be said.
Anabel didn't give a damn, ignorance was bliss.
For now her secret, would stay well hid.

Section Four
The owner of the the Grand Royale Hotel was fuming
His business rival, John Creel, has been spreading rumours
sending his worried customers packing and leaving,
fearing the lies about a non-existing curse.
Only a few refused to believe the nonsense remained.
Roy Mackwill was grateful but if this continues,
his hotel business's reputation will be flushed into the drain
unless he decided quickly what to do

He cannot just leave it to the Scotland Yard detectives.
None of their assurances could ease his troubled heart
thus he advertised in the local paper, offering incentives
to anyone who could help solve the case in all haste
knowing fully well that his rival will do his best
to see him fail and his livelihood ruined
but he was ready to face this test
and he was sure he could win

Section five
The scene is rather grisly.
Hanging around on Fleet Street is risky.
A detective by nature, Urilla said a quick prayer,
then proceeded to look for clues and evidence.
Fitzroy's body lay lifeless, red blood ran pink in the rain.
He was a man six feet tall, dark and handsome, lived a modest life.
His tan shirt, grey pant covered in blood.
He never lived to see his lady friend's romantic surprise. He lay dead, headless.

Fitzroy's body chalked out on the cement.
Urilla, dressed in mauve and pink,
bend over to study the drawing.
Gum stuck on her Mauve heels is evidence.
After much fact checking and note taking she goes home to create a profile.
At home, a small penthouse, she's fresh and relaxed studying her reports.
Her thoughts race absorbing facts found near the crime scene.
Profiling all possible suspects she makes her case.

Section six
Detecting suspects and divining truth
is what Guy has done since his youth
Making sense of all the facts
figuring out most murderous acts
The latest test of his detecting skill
is a most disturbing kind of kill
A headless body has been found
lying on the blood-soaked ground

No head is found on the street named Fleet
No clues to make the mystery neat
A. Fitzroy behind the 'Grand'
struck down and out by unknown hand
Who can say what any have seen?
Is there witness? There may have been!
Detective French knows that he must walk
The street is usually, where there is talk

Section seven
Mog floats the night, mist filled and dead
savouring *Jack's last fulsome taste
seeking someone to fill Jack's stead.
Mog drifts slowly, there is no haste.
Nearby it hears a scream and gurgle
decides to waft toward the scene
(did someone die in midst of burgle?)
The "taste” of fear is coloured green.

By the time I get to the fear's source
the well of rage is fleeing fast
and a crowd is gathering, of course.
Diverse emotions now are cast
There are five or six hosts here,
a pool of blood steaming and slick
All emotions not just fear,
which one to pick, which one to pick?

Section eight
I found Winter in a Putney bar, a limping man with a nasty scar
A swarthy tone from many a race, a killer by the look of his face
He went by the name of Arnold Winter a knife man so I was told
Told him of Mackwill, he mouthed a curse, said leave it to me.
I paid him to cause a to-do, he said that he would see it through
It cost me a guinea or two, but it’s worth it to see him seen to.
He was smeared over the telegraphs page, loved to see his rage
I notice in the financial times column, his hotel is now bottom.

Damn that man I didn’t realize the trouble he’d cause
A man with his head severed, and many people with fears
I hurried to the place we met to see what was going on.
He said “Sorry Guv I went there but I was much too late”
A murder out back, peelers were there, so I just turned away
I have spent your money he said, already one man dead
I think that a girl saw me loitering there, I shall hide don’t fear.
He smiled dribbling his swill, I left to cause Mackwill more ill.

Section nine
Well you guys hold your horses
As I, Milford Lowe settle my cigar.
You can call me Millie, twill be okay
Setting my eyes on ma lady's bosom
Yeah I saw everything..
Hold on hold on, don't be impatient
Let me enjoy a puff, then I'll tell you everything
Now hear me, secretly and keep it to yourself only.

Fitzroy's body lay lifeless, red blood ran pink in the rain.
Without a head! Ah!!! Those guys in a coach threw a body out
There without a head, Fizzy’s body, who was so dead .
The one you all are running about is no amateur ,
I saw everything from behind the Fleet Street trees
You wanna proof? Yah I know your ilk
I got my bouncer chasing, here have a look at this blade.
This one who, was kidnapped twas Fitzroy .Just think damn it!

Section ten
Mackwill paces rapidly about his cold boudoir.
He’s found a thing tucked deep inside his oak and steel armoire.
How it got there he can’t guess spite knowing what it is.
Now he has a problem more pronounced than just his biz.

‘Her thoughts race absorbing facts found near the crime scene.’

“Guy, I want the girl, the barmaid seen, you know of whom I speak.
She saw a thing I want to know and know before she leaks
the secrets to the press and all, but here’s the other pain:
the trail of blood in the hotel come in from out the rain”

“Where did it lead?” Guy queries her. “Where did the blood trail lead?”
“It dried away inside the joint, just past ‘The Grill and Mead’.”
“Then we must search the Hotel grounds ‘til find the blood again.
The carpets will be wet you see. The steps in from the rain”.

And Mackwill stares upon the thing not knowing how it came.
He can’t recall a single thing from last night’s gory maim.
Now what do? How can he tell his all too fearful wife.
He hides his eyes and looks not on the bloodied murder knife.

Section eleven
"Bring on all the suspects now and haste,
ordered Maure, we have no much time to waste."
" We've already some valid clues, and
I've got reports 'bout a wife's abuse!!"

Now Macwill couldn't find his wife, his fears grow,
and thought she could give his business-life a blow.

"If cops find out what's going in the bed
they sure would charge me of Fitzory's head."

"I suspected the relation of
Macwill and Flitz, and that was enough
to give Mac a reason to end his life."
Anable said it all, she described a knife,
"I saw it in his pocket, last night at the bar"
Yet I never thought it'll go that far."

Here Here", thought Maure "someone's lying
And is that why Mac's wife is seen there crying?" "

Section twelve
Closing time at the tavern, Guy French is about.
Questioning Anabel Lee, she saw something, no doubt.
"How do you know Fitzroy," He thundered, as she cleaned up the bar.
Rolling her eyes, Anabel smiled. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Losing his patience, Guy took a deep breath.
"You're new here, I checked you out. Funny thing is, no one knows what you're about."
Anabel shrugged. "So that makes me a killer? Mystery doesn't give you mens rea."
"Someone said that you saw the knife. Were you there when Fitzroy lost his life?"

"You're a detective, my dear French, why bother asking? You've already established reasonable doubt."
Shaking his head, Guy pulled out the stops. "Your obstinance leaves me no choice. I have to call you out."
"Call me what?" Anabel sneered as she shut off the lights. "Go home, Detective. It's been a long night."
"What happened in your home town, Anabel Lee? Why did you leave so fast? You can't outrun the past!"

Anabel stepped in front of Guy, standing chest to chest. "I had drinks with Fitzroy before he breathed his last."
"Now we're getting somewhere." Guy said with a grin. "Did something go wrong?"
She shook her head as Guy continued. "Was he more than just a friend?"
"That's impossible. I don't go that route. If you really must know, my name used to be Jim."

Section Thirteen
Guy French narrowed his eyes
while Anabel stared back at him
"Tell me what happened that night."
She snorted and said nothing.
"Why aren't you answering me?"
" I prefer to stay alive, Detective."
The truth will be the death of me.
You know nothing about the forces at play."

Guy French felt as if they were being watched.
He feigned a bout of coughing
as he stole a glance at the window.
He caught sight of the man in the shadow
and ran out of the bar shouting.
The panicked man started running
while Guy French gave chase
Stop that man!" he cried out but none came to his aid.

Section fourteen
After Guy French talked with Anabel she revealed a clue, not mentioned.
Mackwill's behavior started me wondering more about the Mog
and Guy French's man chase, he said, resembled Fritzroy.

The Mog rumors made me wonder its existence because
Mackwill still has no memory of that rainy night with murder weapon in his pocket.
I talked to Mackwill's wife and his secret came to light when she left their home.

She found Fritzroy's favorite gum, Tutti-Frutti in his pocket.
Annabel, the unknown witness, saw it all when she, aka Jim,
caught Mackwell and Fritzroy's intimate moment.
They previously dumped the headless body on
Fleet Street behind Mackwell's restaurant.

John Creel's hotel room is where those two embraced their love.
There's a stench in the air. John Creel's customer's head she found.
Anabel covered her mouth to silence her scream, ran in fear.
Fritzroy waited for her to come. She left the scene undetected.

Section fifteen
What horror was this, that chased him so?
Nothing he could see

Did he really want to know?
“What is after me?”

Stay quiet now, use no lights
Locked doors and keeping still

Trembling now in the darkest night
Staying sane by force of will

Black his thoughts, of deep despair
He knows not where to turn

Evil stalks; follows everywhere
Red eyes flame and burn

Fearing for his very life
He hides in darkened room

Wishing for, more than a knife
Fitzy waiting for his doom

Section sixteen
Drifting toward the murder scene
I sense a hot bar of emotions there
but one host has already left the scene
yet tastes are teeming everywhere.

But one person is two it seems
and thus has a more enticing flavor
a divided host with ragged seams
this is the one which I will favor

So I dive into his mind
and find his name is Annabel...
........
My eyes just can't stop watching the body
then they blur with fright and pain
and my true self is shoved aside
I feel that I have gone insane.

Some deamon is now in control
it makes me smile an evil smile
then sets me running after another
I catch up in less than a half mile..........

Section seventeen
I Creel relates

A sultry character who didn’t give his name
Asked me if he could join in with my game
I told him what I knew so far of my hate for Mackwill
He smiled at me and said there are a few things to do
His friend Fitzroy wanted some time to flee with his new find
I asked what, he said don’t you know, Mackwill’s wife was why.
We planted a body behind his hotel without a head so they can’t tell
A friend I know at a local morgue gave it to me free.

I asked the man what of the head, he said buried in Tyburn’s bed.
Why do you want to hurt Mackwill as a few of us do?
He told me a story not sure if it’s true, so he may add it to my tale.
That’s Mackwill fate, its great fun for me to see another with hate
Those detectives haven’t got a clue, the knife, and blood I left a few.
I think that a whisper in a detective’s ear, will make it clear.
My new friend, I found with the same hatred of that Hotel
I shall ask him to relate his side of the tale.

Section eighteen
I saw the telegraph, wow they got it all awry
poor Mackwill I ain’t sure did no wrong, should I feel sorry
there seems to be more of a conspiracy.
they have asked me to go into the darn Police
but they, big balls, haven't sent a comfy carriage for me
through my mist of wine I could have been a bit fuzzy
yes coach and horses, big guys numbered three, well maybe
yeah they threw a body out onto the bloody cobble
that night the mist never cleared, it may have had me wobble

Now in retrospect ma minds clear, there is no fog
you should blame a man possessed by Mog
I have often heard about of this skulking filth
damn that Ripper and others just held their sway.
dispatching all of a sudden that came their way
In the eerie places of old London streets, in town
all left before the darkness came down
may be tis all, I still think, a myth to scare you all

Section eighteen A
Detective French sat in the pub
Down in his cups again
Seems he had, it all wrong this time
As he looked out at the rain

This Mog; it was, a nasty beast
No body to arrest
Just the spirit of an evil thing
My God, it was a mess!

Guy reflected that it surely was
Time for him to go
Retiring now, seemed the thing to do
He'd gotten way too slow

The things he'd thought were writ in stone
Now just didn't apply
Spirits, madness and crazy things
Were too much for this detective Guy

Through a window blurred with waves of rain
He saw a familiar face
No... he thought, I must be wrong
It was a long forgotten case

I'll just finish up my drink and leave
It's getting late and dark
I'll take my time in getting home
Go the long way, through the park

DETECTIVE FRENCH DISAPPEARS!
No clues to where he's at
Just his foot-prints on the path
And his bloody hat...

Section Nineteen
He’s run and Hell has chased him far and now into a cramped and lonely room.
“Why run you so?” the Demon asks, “I’ve nothing different than I had before.”
Detective French has caught them up and wonders what indeed he’s caught.
And then the manly girl turns round and French knows he’s the Devil caught.

Far faster than the eyes can see, the girl takes claim of Fitzroy’s knife
and with a flick It gives it to the doomed detective’s vuln’rable heart.
The red in Jim’s cold eyes is gone and now it warms Guy French’s face.
The doomed man grins before he fails and mumbles through a blood filled mouth.

“A pity I must leave afore he dies, but elsewise I would take the loss quite hard.”
And now it’s Anabel who speaks again to Fitzroy cowered up against the wall.
“Good bye dear man, but you have been great fun.”
And then full rein Mog gives to Anabel who laughs with eyes of red.

Poor Fitzroy struggles, but it’s all in vain.
His eyes glow red the instant ere he dies.
Then Anabel turns round bewildered out her mind.
Urilla, eyes aglow, is grinning, laughing feeding off the night,

then spits another piece of fruit laced gum.

Section twenty
"think quickly Annabel"
she kept saying to herself
as red glows from Urilla's eyes.
"those eyes hold the monster's rage."

Annable snatched a bottle
and hit onto the head
"the detective immediately died.
Mog's paralyzed then died too.

In no time she raced the wind
holding Urilla's body on her horse
to meet Arnold Winter
somewhere near the factory.
Let's slay as usual the head
and throw where never found
If they are ever found
the cops think it's Mog the serial killer.

Section twenty one
What a night! Riding off with Urilla's body
Beneath a blood drenched sky!
The demon was upon us or so they thought
Imaginations really played their part!

They never knew it was me, too busy worrying about my sexuality.
Back home, I was James Alastair, beloved detective and friend
When the bodies showed up, the Headless Horseman was born
Investigating my own crime scenes.
I was the one, feared almost as much as the Ripper himself.

Met Arnold down near the river bed, blade and bucket in his hand.
Time for another rousing game of "off with her head!"
The perfect little trophy, propped up on a stick,
To join the others forever, my perfect little clique!

Such a shame good old Arnold was ready to crack
Really broke my heart to snap his neck.
Took his place with all the rest, .
Lined up in the cellar, where no one would suspect!

Standing up at attention, the heads await my instruction!
Lips stitched tight, so they won't make a sound!
Oh Guy, it was a shame but you were digging too deep!
Eyes pinned open with needles so they have to look into my desires!

Alabaster, you perverted bastard with your sexual fantasies
Maybe in another life, had I really been a woman
Urilla, my beauty, you now join the group
I couldn't have you in life, but I will forever in death

Section twenty two
Laughing Annabel did not see Urilla's twitching fingers
Mog will never be defeated so easily after surviving for many years
it is easy for him to enter or leave a host's body
before death claims the human soul for eternity

The deranged killer learns the truth when Mog strike
with a great roar, he impaled her back and her body grow slack
Annabel's corpse fell off the horse, a fitting end for a killer without remorse
Mog left Urilla's body to hunt anew seeking another who's just as cruel

While in his grand hotel, Mackwill's mind snapped
his attempt to clear his name reached a dead end
he hatched a plan to burn down his hotel
if others think him dead, he'll be free once again

He looked out of the window and saw John Creel's hotel
the man who has been his nemesis will soon feel his wraith
At that moment John Creel was whistling a joyful tune,
unaware that Mackwill is planning his doom.

Section twenty three
Stars white clouds vivid visions, twitching fingers Mog alive. On horseback Urilla gallops. Her black hair sways in the wind. Red eyed and conscious Mog strengthens her unaware. she impales Annabel takes her trophy of heads at foot of the mountain her secret uncovered. Game over "off with their heads" has come to an end

Mog for centuries, knower of secrets. Annabel fooled many her true anonymity. Detective French great
detective work, uncovered her lies. She killed Fitzroy once partner of her schemes ran. He saw Mog in her eyes when speaking with French at the tavern. His relentless digging into her past infuriated her. Poor Fitzroy Annabel killed him too.
Partners in crime, Annabel and Fitzroy killed Arnold Winter. Fitzroy's head in a cellar his body Fleet Street. Annabel again a loner.

Macwell wife is gone, who knows where? His hotel has no customers. Rumors of Mog done its damage. John Creel's business booms send rage through Macwell. Seek to purchase Macwell livelihood for cheap. Macwell complete breakdown, eyes glowing red, John Creel demise in his sights.
Milford Lowe rich guy, witness murder thinks it's conspiracy tells what he see. Suddenly, Urilla appeared with heads in tote.Investigation Annabel's fetish for heads underway.

Urilla's inner faith, served her well. Red, high heel, red, silk, dress does her justice.Whoosh on the horse she jump, rode off toward her home dripping blood from her long hair.
Fight brewing between Macwell and Creel. Creel's prosperity looming doom. Macwell pissed Mog sees his rage. Suddenly, Urilla jerks uncontrollably makes it home. At hospital she rest in a coma. And Mog races through time to new feeding ground of blood and gore.

Section twenty four
Mog laughs as it leaves Annabel
leaving "her" to stew in hell
in never ending insanity
Annabel's laugh holds naught but glee.

So it rides night fog again
having become bored of murder's sin
now in search of something new
perhaps another place will do.

The mists flow slowly toward the docks
where ships ride with ropy shocks
and sees a strange type of new man
It takes a taste and makes its plan.

For this man is a Mohican
an Indian from the new land
So Mog dives in an and takes control
as dawn breaks and church bells toll

Mog leaves her handiwork behind
to its departure all are blind
Where Mog has decided to go
she'll soon be known as Wendigo

Section twenty five
John Creel-Mog, here??

Way back in time before the streets of London town
They murdered me and placed me deep underground
Then in 1860’s as they built their railway that was the tube
They disturbed my grave, now you see how they set me free.

First of my new mentors that took me out of that hellish hole
Was a man with a pick who didn’t know, what he had done?
I was kind to him as he was the first,
Red eyed and crazy subduing my thirst
I maimed him in my violent rage, I only took his eyes.

I was unusually calm now you all know it was me the Mog.
Spawned of the mystics past strange times, distant curses.
Wanted me to kill at their command, now I roam the land.
Little did they know what they had made, as time passed by?

I am free to roam again, you know the list of the slain
The odd lady that took me for a fool, fell to my slashing tool.
I will let you now think on, as to what has just transpired.
People killed for what you all thought was greed or wealth.

I just love the feelings in me on my killing spree.
Creel, Mog, the same, the police will wish they never came.
To my field of blood, more heads will go before the dawn.

Fitzroy, idiot, you couldn't flee, I controlled Annabel you see.
It was so easy to temp you, then young Urilla didn’t do well.
I must return to my real self, the physical one that I am now.
You all do as you wish, whatever you do, I shall still live on.
I had a small break you see, down to the docks to cause misery. (Ref Stan's write)

Mackwill is due to visit me at the hour of three for me to play.
Don’t try to save his ass, he belongs to me, then I shall rest
There is nothing on your earthly ways you can't beat me now.
I shall return John Creel to you, so the gallows can bend for his just end.

Trust me, Mog will be here for eternities end, and more.
I am now going to visit the new worlds shore.
Forgive me London, I know you set me free
Fresh blood of a place, they shout of Liberty, beckons me.

Section twenty six

It didn’t take me long after leaving Creel behind
I eaves dropped at a few partly open hotel doors
yeah waited a while and watched for a host
to take me to America's wildest shores,

Ah! A rich man and his sweetest whore

I imagined I’d like to join in the fun
I entered the richest bum, as he played his game
his eyes turned bloody red not seen before
by the woman of the street, dirty littlest whore.

She gasped as if she reached her orgasmic heights
t'was the only energy and the way of Mog’s nights
he could last for hours and hours but time was no more
the woman screamed and ran naked out of the door.

Richard Dean was aghast, he hadn't realized what was going on
his inner coolest peace by now had been erased
as his trip to the Americas was early next day
to the port by carriage he quickly made his way.

well I bid you all a very fine, fare ye well,
yeah, the Dean had arranged passage with a spritlily gal
so naturally off I went to meet my companion for the voyage
I hope that by now you can clear up the carnage,

Resolution
1888 November 22nd A news report that may be true
The daily Telegraph’s story came out of the blue
It told the story of many killings from angles new
Of a creature not found, yet heard of in olden day tales
That was roaming the streets of London town in the 1860’s
It transpired that two hotels near to the old Tyburn gate
One owned by a Mr. T Mackwill a thriving concern until,
A greedy Hotel owner who went by the name of J Creel
Wanted to take his business no matter what ill.
It has been reported that it was out and out war.
Both hoteliers hurting each other to even the score
They didn’t know they had awoken a creature there.
Joining them, we surmised a creature planned their demise.
It is not clear as to what happened but many it did scare
A Mog they said from the days of old fed on their fear.
A story without proof you may all say, even to this day.
A Mog was a horror story from many years very long ago
A reenacted tortured spirit of evil, buried deep in the past.
We can only guess at what would happen if he was freed at last
The blame for all the terrible goings on, set at the door of Creel.

The Telegraph..
In Mr. J Creels hotel the police found the dismembered body of a man.
This investigation was on going, the police also lost a man or two during this inquiry.
The circumstances of their deaths has shook the nation.
Also the untimely deaths of two ladies that have yet to be identified
Now the blame for all the goings on, maybe set to rights.
All the folks that you ask tell a story of a tormented creature
Myth or creatures from a long time gone, must be wrong
An excuse from a few that would make us believe true.
I will leave the conclusions up to you.
Yesterday throughout the country the Telegraph lines sang.
Today I shall try and get a better police report if I can.
Reported in the last hour or so, our reporter on the scene.
Mrs. E Mackwill, has been seen alighting from the York coach.
We will try to give you her story in tomorrow’s issue.

J Sparrow (London Telegraph News)

Epilogue Number One
(Allow me if you will, indulge me for just a few, while I tell you of my story, while I sing you my sick, sad song. Terrytown thought I was gone but in reality I had moved on. Only to be found by something more powerful than myself. It was an end to the means, I mean, nothing lasts forever. Now I sit, alone as ever, here in limbo. The Afterlife, it isn't so grand. Listen to me, one more time, before they take me below. This is my final testament, the final word of a serial killer...)

Once upon a time, there was a boy named James
James wanted to be like all the other boys but couldn't
His mother was a whore, dragged men in and out
Beat James whenever he would scream and shout
His father was a deadbeat, disappeared before his birth
And so the poor little boy was left to fend for himself

Years went by and it was apparent James was different
Filled with hate and rage, rejected by his so called clan
He had a taste for blood, a scorned son's revenge
She would be his first victim, mommy dearest, at the tender age of ten
No one knew them as friends, so it took a while to find
James soaked in his mother's blood, her head upon a broomstick, so he could see her eyes.

The police said they would help him, someone must have broken in
Must have been a "john" or a vagabond, couldn't have been her little man
Went home with an officer, had a decent life, became a man
With badge in hand, he became one of them, tried to suppress the darkness within
Married the preacher's daughter, was happy until she began to sin
Then it happened, the switch was flipped, James glanced around, eyes glowing red

Poor Mrs. Alastair and her lover, found by her detective husband, bludgeoned to death
Heads propped upon a broomstick, must have been the killer from his childhood, James proclaimed
The MO was the same, just a different house with different players, breaking and entering, overkill
There was a killer on the loose, the newspaper boys screamed, lock your doors, hide your children
A horse, covered in Mrs. Alastair's blood, found by the river bed, near the body, who was missing her head
The Headless Horseman, as he became known, had struck again.
Now more feared than the Ripper himself, creeping into houses of women of ill repute.

Beating them until they begged for mercy, grinning as he pinned their eyes with needles
He wanted them to see his face, wanted them to know that someone knew what they had done
Stitched their lips so they couldn't make a sound, then "off with their head," he laughed out loud
He was the vigilante, the righter of the wrongs, kept their heads as trophies, the perfect company
Sometimes James would talk to them and occasionally they would answer back, dancing upon their sticks
They were his special friends.....

The detectives for each case began to put two and two together, how James Alastair always seemed to appear.
He knew more about the crimes than anyone investigating, enough to begin to raise suspicion.
James knew his time was almost up, it was time to get out, tossed a dead hobo inside.
The mirror in the bathroom, surely it must be lying, with the hair and makeup, he saw his mother's face.
Cracking the glass, he grabbed what little he had. Got a horse from the barn and lit the house on fire.
Thus Anabel Sumner was born.

James Alastair was no more, his colleagues pulled his "body" from the carnage.
They weren't all that surprised, pulling charred head after head from the basement
There was always something different about James, they just couldn't figure it.

(Death, it was more beautiful than I ever could have imagined. The impaling didn't hurt. I felt my demons leave my body as I fell of my horse. But I always thought death was beautiful. It ridded the world of its trash. But the beauty was short lived and now it is time that I pay for all of my sins. The people I tried to vanquish are here waiting for me. Now I must face them for all eternity!)

Epilogue number two
Life has never been
for me a piece of cake,
nor for all the homeless
in the Victorian age.
Working in the coal mines
for almost the whole day
which has been my cell; a hell.
I thought that poverty's
the real monster; a Mog
that Victoria the queen
never heard of afore.
We've been ganging every night
looking for the next prey, together
with Mog, and the heartless Anable.
There we left many slain- headless
(those who have always been
a body without a soul.)

Epilogue number three
As the fire from Macwill hotel spreads,
shouts and screams filled the air
the people of London strived to save the city,
while he enters John Creel's hotel to confront his enemy.

Armed with a knife, John Creel moved with great speed
Macwill saw the man's eyes turned red but he felt no fear
even when his wounds started to bleed aplenty
he died and Mog left John Creel's body.

What of Mackwill's wife who is at the harbour,
waiting to elope with her lover?
when he did not return, she was heartbroken
and tried to end her life out of despair
but a priest saved her and later she became
one of God's servants, dedicating her life to glorify His Name

Urilla dragged herself from sickbed
to strive to protect people from the fire
with her aid, many lives were saved
she lived to continue her passion for many years.

Epilogue four

Epilogue 4
This has been a trying time
many heads without bodies in the city
and horrid rumors of Mog intertwine
Macwell's hotel up in flames
murdered by Creel lacking pity.

Creel's murder trial is underway
in court I’ve testified under oath
evidence and facts on display
in an affidavit I wrote.

Off on an adventurous trip to America
to write a memoir this horror—murder case
had enough of this town and its headless murders
Sure glad mog scare was just a hoax to save face

In the stockyard of London
now back to normal.

Have a Cheerful Day