June 7, 1891
Dearest Mr. Abberline,
As I write this, I am on my way to Queensland. I hope to find land there, and an opportunity to pursue my interests in peace. It was a difficult decision to leave England. I would have preferred to stay. It is my home, after all. But this is for the best. Australia is a new adventure and I look forward to seeing what fruit this change may bear.
This journey has been long, but not entirely tedious. The captain is a jovial fellow and he has invited to his cabin on many occasions for a drink and a story. I dare say his stories are better than mine.
The passengers are interesting as well. A good number of women. It turns out that my newly adopted homeland has a shortage of the fairer sex. Many of these pilgrims were formerly “working women”, so to speak. You can see how they might desire a change, given their circumstances.
Of course, the uproar of the moment are the murders. Three so far. The women believe there is a ghoul on board the ship. I’ve heard a few mention the word “vampyre.”
The superstition is childish, certainly, but you cannot blame them. The attacks are quite grisly.
Throats slashed. A deep, deep cut. Enough to be fatal, but not the end.
Abdomens opened wide. Organs severed and removed, carefully placed next to the victim.
Genitals defiled. Hacked to bits. Worn down to tattered shreds of flesh.
The captain knows about my medical background, so he’s allowed me to examine the bodies. It really is quite a sight. You might appreciate the work, if you saw it.
The culprit remains at large, which is something of a marvel, isn’t it? To be able to maneuver about on a ship this size, avoiding detection? It’s quite unbelievable. Perhaps they truly are a vampyre. It’s always night below deck, after all.
There are days still ahead of us. Nights, as well. What will happen? Who will survive?
It’s thrilling, isn’t it?
Your friend,
Jack