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Archive for 2009
Journal D:8
In Writing Journal on September 5, 2009 at 6:17 pmNot the progress I wanted. I found little time to finish fleshing out the story for the new Helling piece. I need solitude…
Journal D:7
In Uncategorized on September 4, 2009 at 7:47 amUp bright and early today. I have solid hopes for progress to be made on the new Helling piece. Goal: To finish the structure completely today. I will update when I meet that goal.
Journal D:6
In Writing Journal on September 3, 2009 at 6:51 pmNothing really accomplished today. I’m sure of late these posts have been boring. Any thoughts on some of the works on this site?
Journal D:5
In Writing Journal on September 2, 2009 at 7:02 pmBusy day and a long drive. However, I did work out many of the plot elements for the new Helling piece. Just a couple more things to work out. I look forward to its release.
Journal D:4
In Writing Journal on September 1, 2009 at 3:34 pmTired today. Very much so. I did manage to flesh out most of the next piece I mentioned. Now I just need to define the details. From there, I will get into the Helling mindset and start the process. I am excited about where this one is going.
Journal D:3
In Writing Journal on August 31, 2009 at 9:57 amSo I am putting together the pages for the Yale and Beatrice reviews, and decided I would like to add one more piece. I am currently working on a new piece based off Night Mare that will fit into the Alistair Helling series. Whether or not it fits in length or time remains to be seen, but that is coming next.
Upon completion of that, it looks like Targy vol2, for those interested in the children’s series.
So currently that is the plan. Thoughts?
Day 2
In Writing Journal on August 30, 2009 at 3:31 amAnother early morning. I did finish the Bard’s Sword section 4/5 yesterday, but have not yet posted it. Look for it soon. Fatigue seems to come earlier and earlier, especially when coupled with these early hours.
Journal: Day 1
In Writing Journal on August 29, 2009 at 8:22 amMany writers, myself included, at least ‘try’ to write every day. Having kept a handwritten journal in the past, I am now attempting to migrate over to an online version. Some days I may only get in a few words… others hopefully something more substantial. Either way, it is an expirement worth trying. As always, all comments are welcome.
The Days and Nights of Sir Alistair Helling: The House of Ill Repute
In Poetry on July 8, 2009 at 12:56 pmThe Days and Nights of Sir Alistair Helling: The House of Ill Repute
By Jonas Hyde
Intriguing,
it is to this certain self,
how I e’er find myself in situations,
particularly ones such as this chronicle ‘fore you.
The duality of my nature,
has been the cause of untold troubles,
trials,
tribulations,
and the ills I find myself amongst,
are not a consequence of my inherent malevolence,
but quite contrary,
the prevalence of conscience.
O’ how things,
and life,
would be such simpler,
if I kept to the course of my skills.
Walking the crowds,
pilfering the purses,
and engaging in the swift-witted grifts,
the lies which have brought me affluence throughout the years.
Howe’er,
I find it is the lighter side of self,
the father,
the bard within,
which forces my hand into the duty,
so oft called ‘pon by the Yard.
And as so repeatedly in the past,
such was the cause of my current quandary.
You see,
there stood I,
o’er the corpse of a young lady,
age somewhere betwixt,
that of my daughter’s,
and my own.
Blood was strewn,
about the cobblestone,
and self.
And it was then,
when the very official who enlisted my aid,
gazed ‘pon me with distress,
with disdain.
T’was a light,
I ne’er expected him,
to regard myself in.
I longed to clarify to him,
as I shall soon explain to you,
that not all was as it seemed,
tho’ I knew,
he understood the truth more than any,
but foremost,
I consider it prudent,
to relay ‘pon you the details,
which led me to that particular place,
and situation in time.
For in itself,
you would think it fitting,
for someone with my dubious history.
Ne’ertheless,
I assure you,
not only was I called ‘pon,
but my placement in that alley,
was the child of noble intent,
coupled with ill fortune.
So as alluded,
Lord Bixby,
the prefect of Scotland Yard at the time,
had enlisted my aid on cases of the past,
which had brought him the most difficulty in solving.
The reasoning he oft relayed to me was,
“What better way to catch a worldly criminal,
than to be armed with such an intellect.”
Now I must confess ‘pon this,
I myself find my skills to be more common,
mundane if you will,
rather than in the realm of some criminal architect,
but I deem my title to have been earned by the reality,
that even tho’ Lord Bixby knew me best,
having been in relations since our earliest years,
even he had ne’er been able,
to convey sufficient testimony against my past actions.
And while he had always been quite confident,
that my affluence was gathered by questionable measures,
[whilst coupled with the awareness,
that I had ne’er laboured a day of my life,
and my lineage bore no fruit of nobility or monies],
he was ne’er able to amass adequate evidence.
Even with all this knowledge,
he had ne’er,
outwardly it seemed,
been able to find victim to my crimes,
nor was he able to pursue the prosecution of my guilt.
So in protection of our longstanding closeness,
we adopted an implicit decree,
not to tread ‘pon each other’s lives as far as our ‘professions’ went,
so we would ne’er have to imagine crossing such intricate lines.
It would save me an era of imprisonment if he were to apprehend me,
and for him,
a lifetime of mortification,
since he ne’er would.
O’er the years,
my position had developed within the community,
as my actions shifted to long-standing grifts,
that seemed more lawful,
more moral even,
than the lives of most politicians.
That,
and my witty banter,
they had helped forge myself,
as near legitimate a presence,
as I could e’er have anticipated.
But to point,
o’er the years,
and as a favour,
Lord Bixby had enlisted my aid,
in catching those who had eluded he,
and all of his finest officers.
Indeed,
it is typically my place,
to catch all of those,
who Scotland Yard cannot.
And whilst I do not claim to be as cunning,
shrewd,
or intuitive,
as some of the literary figures you may be familiar with,
I would reason it to be my exploits,
that such imaginative figures,
and stories,
would be based.
So as in past,
Lord Bixby came to me,
just prior to dawn,
with a look of the utmost distress ‘pon his face.
“He struck again,”
his words hung thick,
and deep,
in the air.
Now it took neither criminal mastermind,
nor sleuth,
to know who He was.
For nearly the last two months,
the body of a young lady would oft be found,
just prior to dawn,
in the precise manner my friend would soon find me o’er,
as I detailed earlier.
At the time of this dialogue tho’,
my innocence was not yet in question,
and as such,
the death of that particular eve,
was the cause of finding him,
now in my study,
chewing on the root he so oft used to cure his nerves.
It was a habit I too used to share,
but found it excessively difficult to keep my senses about me,
which can prove costly in my line of work.
And whilst it was a difficult endeavor to cease such a habit,
the end result,
was well worth the imposed torture.
But there ‘fore me,
was Lord Bixby,
root and all,
filling my study,
with both girth,
and gloom,
regarding with a certain fervor,
the most recent slaying.
“Ahh,”
I replied in response,
“and I can see by your countenance,
that the situation is dire,
and by your presence,
that my aid is required.”
“Required,
requested,
or demanded-,
truly your choice my friend,
tho’ the answers I warn,
are as fleeting as a summer’s innocence.”
“And I thought I was the poet,”
I said as I offered him a seat,
whilst obtaining one for myself.
“Yes,
well this root offers more than just a bitter taste,
as you know.”
“All too well-,
so tell me Bixby,
what precisely do we know?”
With that inquiry,
my friend at last sat down,
and for a long while,
just stared off into the nothingness.
I knew better than to interrupt,
because this was a question,
devoid of a true answer.
The reality was,
he knew little,
or even nothing at all,
hence his coming to me.
Howe’er,
my query was intended more for unraveling truth from rumour,
as hearsay,
and conjecture,
had been spreading like wildfire through both society,
and press.
At long last,
Lord Bixby finally responded,
whilst still staring out vacantly,
“We know it is the work of a man…”
“The Ripper?”
I asked,
waiting to gauge his reaction.
Turning to me,
he answered only with a glare.
The Ripper,
was a title issued by the press.
In their longing to dramatize the murders,
and increase the sale of papers,
they started a plague of panic,
which only made the situation,
and pressures weighted against my friend,
all that much worse.
“Well you have to admit,
it is catchy,
but name aside,
is it He you are speaking of?”
“Yes,”
Bixby finally responded.
“And how can I help?”
I questioned,
knowing we both knew the answer.
“If I must ask,
then perhaps I came to the wrong place?”
With that,
Bixby slowly made his way to his feet,
and began heading to the doorway,
in a manner even more enigmatic than his entrance.
This sport,
of cat,
and mouse,
had its moments at times,
but in all seriousness,
the death toll was mounting,
and we both knew,
that without my help,
things would only get worse.
So,
playing his game,
and to his ego,
I begged with only a hint of sarcasm,
“No please,
sit back down.”
And before he could rub it in,
I continued on,
“So what else do we know?
Beyond his gender…”
“What we know,
may not be real enough to count on,
so as an alternative,
I suggest that perhaps we visit the scene,
which spawned my visit.”
Eager for the chance,
I knew he was right.
Likely what Bixby himself,
and his detectives,
discerned from the locale,
would not be on par with my own assumptions,
so I jumped ‘pon the opportunity.
With that,
I stood,
removed my own coat from the stand neighboring the entryway,
and with an urge of the hand,
ushered Bixby out of my flat.
Stepping out,
the night air was cool,
and thick,
and was the first thing I noticed.
Secondly,
was the phase of the moon,
neither full,
nor rich,
as one would expect in such a story.
In fact,
it was quite the contrary,
barely noticeable even,
beyond the thick fog of the night air.
Finally,
was the slight,
but consistent drizzle,
so familiar here.
This London rain,
would quickly wash away the sanctity of the crime scene,
and as a result,
I felt it prudent,
to rush our step.
Without a word,
I picked up my pace,
in hope that Bixby would mimic my actions.
He may be the guide,
but it was I,
who would lead this dance.
And to plan,
that he did.
Surprisingly,
our destination was not far.
In fact,
I was surprised at the proximity to my own location,
and pondered why,
I had not yet become intimate with the details of the case.
“Have all the crimes been neighboring to this?”
“All within a few miles yes,”
Bixby answered,
while motioning the officers to stand back as we approached.
Truth be told,
his answer did not please me.
Here I was,
supposed to be the one adept at the skills of perception,
and I had no clue,
the crimes were taking place,
in my own,
figurative backyard.
That revelation,
made me look upon this scene,
with all that much more intensity,
and scrutiny.
‘Pon arrival,
I let my senses work together in concert,
as I surveyed the scene.
Though there were officers about,
and nature herself had blanketed the scene with her tears,
I took in a great deal.
The victim,
seemingly in her early twenties,
was a working jane,
obvious by her dress,
which was a bit sparse considering the weather of the night prior,
and quite unbecoming for a proper girl.
What was more noticeable tho’,
was the lack of a struggle.
No defensive wounds laced her arms.
In fact,
and surprisingly so,
her body as a whole seemed especially soft,
and supple for one in her dress.
That abnormality aside,
the lack of such defensive wounds,
suggested she knew her attacker,
and did not fight back,
against the crime that was committed ‘pon her.
Oh,
and what a crime.
Her intestines lay in her hands,
cradled as if a newborn.
The wounds tho’,
were neither jagged,
nor curved,
but clean,
straight,
and ascending,
as if originating beneath a physician’s blade.
This was the second curiosity.
As I was scrutinizing the corpse,
Bixby approached,
chewing ‘pon his root with an enhanced vigor.
After a gaze,
which lasted more than a beat,
and a breath,
he finally asked my opinion,
“So my friend,
what do you see?”
I pointed out the obvious,
and the not so,
much as I had just relayed,
in my words to you.
However,
as for deductions,
or theories,
I held such thoughts to myself,
close to my ain proverbial breast.
I simply shared what any expert in the field would have noticed,
and then made my goodbye.
“I apologize my dear friend,”
I said to Bixby as I patted him on the back whilst turning about,
“but I am afraid my stomach can handle only so much,
so I must take my leave.”
He responded only with a half smile,
and a nod of thanks for the trip I had made,
but offered little more.
As I was walking away,
I suggested he not hesitate to call ‘pon me,
if,
or rather when,
a next victim surfaced,
for the more data I could compile,
the more I could divulge.
It was this offering,
that received the most response,
as he thanked me for my time verbally,
and then quickly,
ordered the corpse to be bagged,
and removed.
Days went by,
and for what seemed like the longest time,
I heard nothing new of the killings,
from neither my friend,
nor the press.
Til of course the eve,
that came with a knock ‘pon my door.
Prepared,
I simply called out,
“Feel free to enter Lord Bixby.”
The door opened slowly,
as the officer peeked in his head.
Glancing ‘round,
he then focused on me,
and questioned,
“How did you know it was me?”
With a disarming smile I responded,
“I have few friends,
and even fewer visitors,
but I fear your visit is not a fanciful waste of an eve?”
“I’m afraid not,
in fact,
quite the contrary.”
“Well then my friend,
you must come in,
and tell me what has happened.”
With his step,
came a soft breeze,
heightened in the funnel,
betwixt the open window,
and door.
The soft scent of lilacs filled the air,
and reminded me of my manners,
for you see,
the scent of root,
especially when housed in cedar,
emits a similar odour.
Standing as Bixby sat,
I walked over to a small wooden case resting on my bookshelf,
and removed it.
Then opening it in front of my friend,
I offered him one.
Bixby peered at the box,
and within,
noticing the results of my hobby.
“I thought you gave up the root?”
he asked me as he pulled one from the case.
“Ah,
I did the taste,
howe’er,
I still find the collection of such rarities,
a fine distraction of mundane life,
besides,
I enjoy the temptation,
and imagine at some point,
I shall give in once more,
and when I do,
I will long for the most specific of tastes.
“Well thank you much,”
Bixby said,
as he put the thicker end,
of a large piece,
into his mouth.
Satisfied with his contentment,
I placed the box down,
and began,
“So what has happened now?”
“More of the same I’m afraid.”
“So the killer has struck again?”
“I’m afraid so,
in fact,
the pace seems to be quickening,
forcing the need to wrap this up,
‘fore it gets too far out of control.”
“Was it another girl?”
“Yes,
and in fact,
they have all been girls,
six now in total,
all young,
beautiful,
and seemingly,
the more striking the bird,
the more vicious the crime.”
“And I should assume that her arms,
and face even,
were free from bruising?”
“Yes in fact,
how did you know?”
I merely pass off his question,
as if I did not hear it.
In years past,
Bixby would have let it go,
and simply waited for my next response,
knowing I would have reason not to answer.
But these were not the times of yesteryear,
and Bixby was not the same man he was.
Be it by cause of root,
or stress,
or simply the advancement of age,
his temperament was laced with more impatience then e’er ‘fore.
Glaring at me,
he added this time with added curiosity,
as if to read my own body,
“Please,
your insight intrigues me.”
Tho’ I did not want to tell him my truest thoughts,
I felt a blatant fabrication would go too noticed.
So,
in the vein of finding a medium I replied,
“Well it seems she was comfortable around her attacker,
and maybe even knew him,
or her,
personally.”
The tail end of that statement had the effect I desired.
“Her?”
he asked.
“Oh now please,
you must tell me more,
for gender was about the only thing I thought we knew surely,
and to be wrong on even that would be truly embarrassing,”
he added as he sat forward,
gazing at me intently.
“Well,
to rule out the fact,
that a female would be capable of these crimes,
would by erroneous at best,
and an utter miscalculation at worst.
There has not been a requirement of strength needed to commit them,
only a sadistic nature,
and such nature is not gender specific.”
“Ah so true my friend,
and in fact,
I have known women who would fit such a bill.”
“I doubt that not,”
I replied with a sly grin.
“In fact,”
I said as I continued with point,
“I have oft pondered,
how a girl as innocent as my little Poe,
could end up,
as dastardly as some of the women I have met in my time,
yet I must remind myself,
that each of them was a daughter of innocence,
at some point prior to their sins.”
Bixby nodded silently in agreement,
seemingly half-lost in his own thoughts.
He then asked,
“Speaking of your Poe,
how is she enjoying school?”
“Very well it seems,
and in fact,
I was just about to pen her a letter when you arrived,
but I must confess,
being apart is likely harder on me,
than it is her.”
Silence permeated,
as we both became fully lost in our thoughts.
Tho’ I missed my daughter with a deep intensity,
I knew that her education,
and growth,
would excel if at a proper school,
rather than learning the facts of life by my side.
I fear and confess,
it was her mother,
who had the strength of moral character,
to be the parent,
and since our loss of her,
I have been ill-equipped to handle such upbringing myself,
but truth be told,
given the ravenous crimes surrounding this locale,
this may have been the first,
and only time,
I was thankful my Poe was far,
and away.
Then suddenly,
breaking through the veil of our thoughts,
Bixby stood up,
and next added,
“Well,
let us go,
‘fore the scene is no longer fresh enough to offer insight.”
As we did prior,
we headed off,
and as the last time,
it once again was in the vicinity of my ain home.
In fact,
the distance itself was almost exact,
howe’er,
the direction was nearly opposite.
We arrived after a short time,
and along the way,
Bixby nary uttered a word toward me.
The silence was off-putting,
but understandable,
given the weight of that,
which was on his mind.
‘Pon arrival,
the area was lined with the law.
Patrol men,
as well as seasoned detectives,
were scouring the scene.
I found it odd,
that while seemingly everyone else was here,
Bixby had been with me.
Either he knew something the rest did not,
or was at such a loss,
my aid was his only hope.
I surveyed the area,
and once again,
the victim was as times prior.
Youthful.
Attractive.
Tho’
in correlation I was sure,
her wounds were also similar to the previous.
Vicious.
Brutal.
Howe’er,
there was something else.
This woman seemed strangely familiar,
as tho’ I had seen her ‘fore.
It was obvious by examination,
and word,
that she carried the same profession as the other victims,
but it had been so long,
since it was mainly in a previous life,
that I frequented such girls of the night,
so her familiarity,
at first at least,
I could not place.
As I looked around,
the scene seemed overtly calm,
and clinical,
despite the raw carnage.
Whoe’er our villain was,
seemed to have cleaned the area concisely,
yet orchestrated the killing,
with a fierce brutality.
Howe’er,
this victim too,
seemed to have no wounds of defense,
just as Bixby had said,
and as I had deduced.
It was then,
when I wanted to see no more,
so I turned ‘round to leave.
And as I did,
the faint smell of lilacs,
akin to what I picked up earlier from Bixby,
drifted by my nose.
It was clear Bixby had come to visit me,
after his arrival on scene,
with the others from Scotland Yard.
The scent however,
was much more beautiful in the comfort of my own home,
as opposed to surrounding the carnage of this scene.
The beauty from one sense,
intermingling with the ugliness from another,
was truly torturous,
yet,
I could not place why.
All I knew for sure,
was that I had to leave,
and so I did,
partially to escape the sin,
and partially to give myself the opportunity,
to process all that I had learned.
Unfortunately for me,
tho’ the signs were there,
it was not until this next part of the story,
that I truly put it all together.
But ‘fore we return to the beginning of this story,
there is a bit more to go,
so to continue on,
as ‘fore,
days passed,
and I heard,
neither of murders in the press,
nor word from Bixby.
Til the third night came,
and with it,
a knock on my door once more.
With the curfew pon the city,
born of fear,
rather than law,
I knew,
as I did prior,
that my visitor was none other,
than Bixby himself.
I urged for him to enter,
and as he did,
he sat immediately down.
“Hello,
my friend,”
he said to me with a smile ‘pon his face.
Now I must admit,
this took me a bit aback,
because his presence of late,
had always been ‘pon the heels of death,
and if this was another such visit,
his mirth seemed out of place.
“Not one to bypass pleasantries,
for I do so appreciate your greeting,
but you seem a bit too happy,
given the nature of your visit.”
“Oh no,
oh no,
my friend,
you have it all wrong.”
“I do?”
“Yes of course,
for I’m not here based on the premise you think.”
“So there is not another death?”
“Not yet thankfully,
no,
I’m here,
in fact,
because there has not been another death.”
Usually the astute one,
Bixby’s words had me confused,
and I must admit,
at this moment,
he had me outwitted as well.
“I’m not sure I understand.”
Standing,
he leaned over,
and offered me a root of his own batch.
As he did,
I noticed a familiar scent ‘pon his clothing,
and ‘pon the skin of his neck,
the mark of a woman.
Smiling,
I tried to turn down his offering,
politely with a short wave,
but he insisted.
“I do not wish to be rude,”
I said.
“So then do not,”
he responded,
“share with me,
for it is my apology,
so please accept.”
“Apology for what exactly?”
I inquired,
as I finally gave in.
Now you must understand,
I knew this action to be against my better judgment,
but felt it required,
because you see,
curiosity,
plan,
and desire,
were all of greater strength,
than that of my own will,
which in truth,
I have never been one to offer,
as my strongest trait.
So a small piece I took.
Bixby then sat back down,
still smiling,
as I began to take in the scent of the root,
which was particularly tempting.
It was not necessarily the fact that I had it in my hands,
after all,
cultivating root as hobby put it in my hands often.
No,
there was something about this particular root,
something that called me to it,
something that pulled the strings of past habit.
“Go on,
enjoy,
it was a gift from a friend.”
“A friend?”
“Yes,
someone who you may know from a past life,
but with whom,
I have kept up,
a quite regular in fact,
rapport.”
“Oh,
have you now?”
“Yes,
but that is for later,
because for now,
I beg you to indulge,
and I shall answer your question,
as to why I am here.”
I admit,
I am not as strong a man in character as I should,
or could be,
and so as Bixby began talking,
I put the root to my lips,
and started softly chewing.
“Well,
this very evening,
I was anticipating a call to come in for another murder,
and it was then I became sad,
disappointed even.”
“Disappointed that there had not been a murder yet of late?”
“Oh no,
oh no,
do not get me wrong,
I hope,
pray even,
as much as anyone,
that these crimes are over with,
even if I do not believe them to be.
No,
I felt such emotions,
because I had realized,
that I had been abusing our friendship.
I had not called upon you,
in a friendly manner,
for weeks,
for months even,
and here I was,
‘pon your step,
picking your brain,
and treating you not to nights on the town,
but to scenes of the upmost tragedy,
and wretched vileness,
and I thought to myself,
what kind of friend was that?”
Now,
it had only been a minute or two,
but I must admit,
by this time,
the root seemed to be taking its effect ‘pon me.
I realized my constitution against its effects,
would not be as it was in my prime,
but I did not expect it to start its effects so quickly.
As my head began to get light,
all I could muster,
was a smile as I tried to talk,
but only words of nonsense passed my lips,
causing a communal round of laughter between Bixby,
and myself.
I then tried to apologize for my noviceness,
but once again,
only a garbled mess echoed.
By this time,
the laughter was seemingly too much to handle,
but while Bixby was nearly out of his chair with enjoyment,
I felt myself relaxing.
“So tonight I am to remedy my folly,
and shall treat you to an eve,
unlike any other you have experienced before.”
The verve of his visage was evident,
and after a few more minutes of reigning in my own composure,
I finally was able to mount a protest.
“No,
no my friend,
you know such exploits are not for me.”
But my argument was for not,
and rather than catching my words,
Bixby caught my arm,
helped me up,
and led me to the door.
“Its been too long,
my friend I say,
since you have smelt the flowers,
or brushed the petals,
of London’s finest roses,
and even longer still,
since the calling,
of your precious wife,
so with that,
I shalln’t take no as an answer,
or depression as a defense.”
With those words,
we exited the comfort of my confines,
and ‘pon entering into the night air,
the brisk winds helped alert my senses,
and reeled in the effects,
if only somewhat at least,
the root within.
And quickly we walked,
Bixby and I,
to a place I had only been once,
since the passing of my Marie,
but in truth,
had frequented often,
in the years prior to my time with her.
For in my time with her,
I found life to offer all I could wish for,
and even then,
so much more,
but when the sickness came,
an illness of fevered chills,
and coughing blood,
I lost all that was precious to me,
save for my princess Poe,
and after the passing of my love,
I yearned for the touch of a woman,
and visited this very bordello I was approaching now,
this house of ill-repute,
only a singular time.
But whilst basking in the garden of the sinful love,
all those years ago,
I found not the solace,
comfort,
or answers,
I was searching for,
and as with the root,
let such desires,
flutter away in the wind,
ne’er to be touched again,
until this very night,
it would seem.
It took only a short while,
for us to arrive,
though as high as I was,
time was indifferent.
With clear eyes,
this building would seem as any other in London’s east end,
but in my current state,
with senses seemingly heightened to those of an animal,
I could smell the euphoric aromas of lust,
sex,
sweat,
and blood.
Yes,
Bixby was right,
what a sweet scent,
the flowers of this garden,
seemed to exude.
Stepping in,
we were greeted at the door,
by a line of women,
varying in age,
size,
and color,
to fill the needs of any appetite,
no matter how vulgar,
or perverse.
The very first thing I noticed tho’,
had little to do with any one woman in particular,
but instead,
once more,
I caught hint of the lilacs,
now strong in the air.
It was quickly obvious to me,
it was this very building,
that Bixby,
and victims all,
had visited in hours previous,
to the cries,
and crimes,
but that information,
hardly took a detective,
of professional,
or amateur status even,
to deduce.
It was then,
we were approached by the lady of the house,
a woman who simply went by Madame K.
She was tall,
with hair of fire,
and tongue of flame,
and she went to Bixby,
likely as she had done so many times ‘fore,
with countless men prior,
and whispered into his ear.
She then turned to me,
with a familiarity seeming to be more apparent on her end,
and spoke,
“Ah the prodigal Lord has finally returned
it has been so long,
too long in fact,
since you have come to see us.”
I wanted to respond,
tried to respond even,
but had little energy left to do so.
With my silence only enabling,
she continued on,
“Did you get my gift?
You see,
once Bixby here told me of your friendship,
and your penchant for helping in his work,
I simply begged him to offer you my root,
and then bring you by,
so us girls could thank you proper.
Enjoy yourself,
take your pick,
and fulfill your desires,
but if you don’t mind,
Bixby and I must be going,
so he can reap his own rewards.”
The prefect turned to me with a smile of his own,
and I urged him on,
while slumping into a chair myself.
Tho’ there was a woman here,
or even ten,
that could,
and would,
service my fantasies,
I could bring myself not,
to explore the demons of my soul on this night.
Besides,
with the root so strong,
now permeating into my very core,
I had the energy not,
to be able to perform,
as one would expect,
and thought it best,
in protection of my own masculine visage,
to simply refrain,
from failing to fulfill,
my own fantasies.
So I sat,
and with every second that passed,
I felt my tensions exit,
and my eyelids grow heavy.
This trip proved fruitful enough,
for I believe even at this moment,
I knew what I needed,
in regard to the murders.
But I had strength not,
for action,
or even step.
And the last I remember of that instant,
was Madame K smiling at me,
as she led Bixby away,
laughing,
and her eyes,
watching mine close.
Now believe what you want,
but from that moment til the next,
of which would finally be where my story started,
my life was near lost.
Lost to the wind,
or perhaps simply to the root,
but either way,
lost nevertheless,
for my next moment of recollection,
changed everything.
“No,”
I cried out first,
as my senses slowly began to return.
I knew how it must look,
to friend,
and others alike,
for there I stood,
with the night’s freshest victim at my feet.
If I had not known better,
I might have even thought myself guilty,
but thankfully,
I knew the truth,
and it truly would set me free.
Unfortunately,
I had little in the way of strength,
that I could offer explanation at this precise moment,
so I was forced to let Bixby,
and his men,
take me into custody.
Seeing his gaze ‘pon me,
the look of disdain,
and sorrow mixed,
broke my ain heart.
By his side,
wrapped in a heavy tweed to protect her from the elements,
of both crime,
and nature,
was the woman of his night,
who had accompanied Bixby here,
to identify the victim,
resting beside me.
Unlike my friend,
her gaze had a different tone,
but thankfully,
with every second that passed,
the effects of the root within,
dwindled more,
as both vigor,
and verve,
returned to my psyche,
and once the press began to arrive at the scene,
with bulbs of light exploding into the darkened night,
I knew the time must come now to offer my thoughts,
for waiting any longer,
would only serve to slaughter my own colorful character,
beyond repair.
“Wait,”
I then yelled out,
“All is not as it seems!”
There were heckles,
and jeers,
coming from the crowd,
but they all quelled once Bixby stepped forward,
and perhaps out of friendship,
or maybe out of pity,
offered me the chance to explain.
My heart quickened,
as I prepared for the big reveal.
“What we have here,”
I began as the crowd looked on,
“Is murder by suicide.”
“How is that even possible?”
a random voice echoed out.
From here,
I thought it prudent to tread cautiously,
for few would like where I was about to step,
as our villain had clients many.
“As Lord Bixby,
and his men,
were able to ascertain,
each victim was a working bird,
and it was Bixby himself,
who was able to solve these crimes.”
With those words,
my friend looked at me with surprise,
and in return,
I simply offered him a wink.
I considered,
that if I were to offer Bixby all the credit,
it would not only offer more time for explanation,
but lend credence to the weight of my words.
“You see,
Lord Bixby came to me a short time ago,
and had nearly this entire case solved,
but simply needed help in compiling the proof,
for the truth,
as you are about to learn,
is difficult to believe.
Each of these poor girls,
took their own life,
but not by their own desire.
No,
in fact,
they were forced into it,
not by any man you have labeled the Ripper,
but rather,
by none other than the Lady of Lust,
and Lies,
Madame K!”
With those words,
everyone turned their attention to the woman at Bixby’s side,
with the utmost surprise,
but perhaps none moreso,
than that of my friend himself.
I then continued,
“Each of these girls worked for Madame K,
but it was not until the last victim,
that I was able to see the truth in Bixby’s words,
for you see,
I knew the last victim,
and though we had last spoken in time past,
I recalled it her sincere desire to leave the calling of the concubine.
Her words were so strong,
so vivid,
that I remembered them well,
for she spoke of her two sons with such zest,
I thought she would get up and leave that very eve.
But it seemed that was not to be,
and she must have been there for quite some time after,
tho’ my knowledge of her gave Bixby,
the thought to dig deeper,
and it was then he found that each of the girls,
including poor Lorelie here,
had desires of leaving the bordello.
It was then when motive became clear,
for how could Madame K prosper,
if all her birds were leaving her nest.”
My words must have started to had their effect,
because for the first time,
the crowd,
and Bixby too,
seemed to gaze upon the woman in a different light.
Before she could offer her own defense,
I persisted with my speech,
“With motive aside,
Bixby next had to answer the question,
how were these deaths possible?
He had frequented Madame K numerous times,
solely under the guise of investigation,
and had never found clue to her guilt,
save for one,
the root,
tabernanthe iboga.
Being an expert in the field,
I recognized its scent,
reminiscent of lilacs
and quickly informed Bixby of its effects,
which include heightened suggestibility,
and a trance-like state.
Madame K had been using such root,
to keep her ladies docile,
and when needed,
as in the case of these deaths,
open to suggestion.
Under the effects of this root,
the girls each took their own lives,
which is also evident by the angling of their wounds,
and the lack of any struggle,
which would be an oddity to be sure,
given the vulgarity of the crimes.”
By now,
my words were holding such great weight,
that even Lord Bixby himself saw the truth,
and even if his actions were coming a bit late,
he realized the opportunity nonetheless,
and shackled the woman by his side.
Angry,
and distraught,
at the turn of events,
Madame K then yelled out,
“If all this is true,
why are you here,
over her body?”
I smiled at her,
knowing I had her beat,
while replying,
“As if you do not know!
You see,
Bixby,
with me by his side,
went to visit Madame K at the first toll of this very eve,
to arrest her for her crimes,
in hopes of preventing any more death,
but ‘pon our arrival,
she quickly sedated us,
as she had done with her girls,
using the root in the air,
as a vapor,
we unwittingly inhaled.
And with our own psyches as defenseless as her victims,
Madame K set up this charade,
to frame me for the crimes,
and keep the prefect of Scotland Yard in her pocket!”
Now,
truth be told,
I had little idea how accurate my deductions actually were,
but Madame K,
surprised at the turn of events,
supported my theories,
and tried to flee,
but to no avail.
For the better part of the next hour,
the press interviewed Bixby,
and he played the bard to perfection,
answering their questions,
and fleshing out the details of the story.
As to not contradict him,
I waived off all press for myself,
and simply guided them to my friend.
Later that night,
once the scene was cleared,
Lord Bixby came to my home once more,
and sat down.
Out of politeness,
I offered him a root,
and to my surprise,
he waived it off.
He then leaned forward,
and unable to fully understand,
simply asked everything,
without saying anything.
“I had my hunch,”
I began,
“with the scent of the root from your first visit,
for it was a type I had long desired to add to my own collection.
From there,
it went much as I had described earlier,
with the few obvious alterations,
but thought it best to offer you the credit,
to prevent the chance,
of an unscrupulous writer deeming you a fool,
or charlatan of the law.
Besides,
in my life,
I have no need for additional scrutiny,
so this way,
everyone wins.”
“Except for the girls,”
Bixby then said solemly.
“Yes,”
I added sopftly myself,
“Except for the girls…”
After a few minutes of silence,
Bixby then stood up,
and headed toward the door.
But before exiting,
he turned to say,
“Thank you my friend,
for she surely had me under her spell,
and would certainly have gotten the better of me,
if not for your interference.”
I waived him off,
as if to say it was nothing,
when he added,
“So I suppose I owe you now?”
I smiled back with a wry grin,
knowing he would fully understand,
and replied,
“I suppose…”
And with that,
Bixby turned his back,
and left,
leaving me as he found me,
alone in my thoughts,
and as he did,
I picked up my quill,
dipped it in the ink,
and now with much to say,
started the letter I originally intended ‘pon Bixby’s first visit,
“To my dearest Poe…”
Take My Hand
In Poetry on May 31, 2009 at 3:10 pmTake My Hand
by Jonas Hyde
Take my hand,
my love,
my dear,
and cry not this eve.
For through the fog,
I will take you,
take you by your hand,
and through the darkness lead.
The sun may set,
but light shall e’er shine,
the beacon of our love,
my heart you’ll receive.
So look to the sky,
beyond the eventide,
and wish ‘pon the twinkle of the stars,
for in the them you shall find,
a love that will ne’er leave.
Goodbye
In Poetry on March 6, 2009 at 11:45 pmGoodbye
by Jonas Hyde
I swallow the sorrow,
and borrow a smile,
to make it through each day,
but decay has eroded my soul,
leaving a lifeless shell,
which fell to the void,
passing through the motions,
the oceans of life,
toward the valley of death,
my breath suffocates
rapt ‘neath this guise,
my lies become my truth,
can you see my tear,
or hear my moan,
they signal the end,
my friend hark my words,
this eve shall be my last,
the past has come to play,
so for my final cry,
a goodbye is nigh.
Familiar Stranger
In Poetry on February 14, 2009 at 7:12 pmFamiliar Stranger
by Jonas Hyde
In this moment,
my heart is weak,
why is it hard to say,
what we both want to speak,
an ocean of fear,
a breath and a tear,
a beautiful thing,
life could be,
if I would ever know,
the familiar stranger,
so far away…
Seraph’s Song: The Epic Fable of Sister Sera
In Poetry, Seraph's Song on January 15, 2009 at 8:52 pmSeraph’s Song:
The Epic Fable of Sister Sera
by Jonas Hyde
I – Fall from Grace
In the beginning,
a line spoken so oft ‘fore,
yet the truth lie hidden,
on what happened the eighth day,
and since that time of yore,
as chanted near pillows of people’s,
is this Seraph’s Song e’ermore.
How she cries,
will make you cry,
for her loss,
her pain,
would surely die,
if it were not whispered on the ethereal winds,
where fables will fore’er fly.
Many stories have been shared,
of the Tempter down,
shunned for his betrayal,
and with him,
legions of others pelted to the depths of darkened town,
like drops of sin,
as if tears from His sightless frown.
What fable oft lost since,
is of one seraph from heaven,
angel great,
who lost her wings,
not for single fault nor eleven,
as the one ‘fore her so well known,
but for exactly seven.
Now I know what thoughts you must have,
what light you would look with her ‘pon,
but judge not too quickly,
for her fall proved to be more lesson and test,
than penalty of death forgone,
as in His eye’s,
love never died on any dawn.
Veins of vice ran through her,
as tempest wind,
tho’ each balanced by virtue true,
so such was the battle for self and soul,
the eternal ebb and flow of life and sin,
a sign of humanity ‘fore man,
and proof of heavens long after faith rescind.
Seraph Sera,
of which this song was penned,
fell from grace for seven sins,
long ‘fore this day,
yet her tale there does not end,
for now she walks the lands,
as one among men.
II – The Pilgrimage
In solitaire,
our Seraph Sera lived in uncertainty,
walking this world alone,
shunned from He she wanted,
while ignored by man’s fraternity,
and the passing of time,
for seemingly an eternity.
Tho’ such infinite torture,
was simply not to be,
for on one gloomy eve,
steeples that ‘fore had been e’er dark,
lit for Seraph Sera to see,
an answer finally,
to her from He.
Soul afire,
careful and cautious she stepped,
entering His house,
and on knee she bent,
waiting for the secrets He kept,
but ‘pon not hearing His voice,
rivers of blood she wept.
“O’ Father hear my pleas,”
Seraph Sera begged with a shout,
and tho’ she waited hours for reply,
it was but an angel’s breath,
‘fore His words finally rang out,
“Do not cry my dear,
your love for me I do not doubt.”
Light filled her soul,
‘pon hearing His tone ring true,
and for a long while they talked,
healing the wounds of their hurt,
as only Father and daughter can do,
and when her apology was complete,
she hoped her damnation was through.
“The choice is yours,”
He spoke softly next,
offering her a chance,
to do His deed,
a trial e’er so complex,
to end the Tempter’s plague,
and cleanse the world of demons’ hex.
In that moment she said yes,
and her eyes of black were torn,
in exchange for the gift of Seraph’s Song,
and tho’ angel within may have died,
it is not our place to mourn,
for on that eve,
Sister Sera was born.
III – Seraph’s Song
In this fable,
the question most so oft ask,
what is the Seraph’s Song,
and how in tune,
would it help with Sister Sera’s task,
well the answer lies my king,
in the heart behind the soul’s mask.
For the song to be sung,
comes from within,
the stronger the fire,
the heat from the hearth,
then no matter where that soul has been,
in defeat,
shall lie opposing sin.
The melody of the tune,
is far from a grim syren’s squall,
yet just as hypnotic,
tho’ beautiful true,
inspiring even for one and all,
but damning in strength and potency,
when dealing with demons born of the fall.
As what is imp’s weakness,
may not be what you think,
for many imagine fire down below,
when really,
it is darkness that shrouds thick as ink,
and in that veil the Seraph’s Song,
is the only means that causes wicked armors to chink.
Such a harmony,
in all its glorious power,
can simply be sung,
by one offered such gift divine,
and tho’ others oft cower,
Sister Sera,
shall bring forth demons’ final hour.
The lone question now,
after given such a gift,
is if Sister Sera is strong enough,
to resist the temptations of past,
to let her own sins drift,
forgiven e’ermore,
as she fights right and swift.
So the Seraph’s Song,
as you can see,
can shift the tides of war,
and offer hope of salvation,
to mortals all like you and me,
if wielded true by Sister Sera,
at the cost of her own immortality.
IV – The Hunt
In truth,
the hunt started long ago,
a task taken on by hero fallen,
name now lost fore’er,
victim claimed by Tempter so,
collapse spreading darkness e’erlasting,
spanning far and low.
Yet such failure,
does Sister Sera fear not,
for her strength lies within,
in the belief in self,
not to be lured or bought,
by Tempter’s own gifts,
lessons of past learned to ne’er be forgot.
The battle ahead for our fable’s lead,
ends with Tempter true,
but starts with demons seven,
forged of separate sins,
of which Sister Sera must pursue,
or this land will be lost,
souls of men fore’er to bid adieu.
Tho’ battle there even does not end,
for demons’ followers forge an army do,
minions of the minions,
hunting the hunter,
all wanting Sister Sera defeated through and through,
as with her end,
comes damnation more than we e’er knew.
So the hunt begins,
ne’er to rest,
by star and by moon,
Sister Sera walks the lands,
searching for demons’ nest,
with trials of sin,
given ‘long the way as test.
Let it be said,
even Seraph’s Song is not enough,
if soul wavers dark,
and with Sister Sera the risk is always there,
but she battles temptation tough,
e’er ready,
to deny the Tempter’s bluff.
For knowledge of sin makes Sister Sera strong,
as merit true now courses through her veins,
awareness which leads her on task,
‘cross the world to defeat darkness’ rise,
ignoring the pains and chains,
of Tempter’s shadow,
so only virtue and light remains.
V – The Battle and the Bard
In the twilight,
of battle’s eve,
I came ‘pon Sister Sera,
as any bard would,
ready to receive,
her tale and fate,
so her story would not be lost to the sea.
That night she spoke,
her voice harmonic and pure,
of He who gave her strength,
of her charge,
to defeat Tempter sure,
to end the world of eternal grim,
to offer salvation e’ermore.
I cried as she wept,
of man’s failing hope,
in self and virtue,
of love and He,
not realizing the scope,
of the test ‘pon her feet,
unsure if I could cope.
Yet this fable is not about me,
and the next day,
Sister Sera set out to battle demons seven,
on the wings of Seraph’s Song,
fear held at bay,
silence in solitude,
leaving me ‘lone to pray.
Words alone cannot offer truth,
to the cost of battle fast,
for blood fell like rain,
as each sin fell to virtue pure,
spanning the world far and vast,
defeating each demon,
each one to the last.
And by that eve’s end,
Sister Sera stood strong and still,
atop a mountain of fiends’ flesh,
with nary a breath left within,
but having to find the will,
to push past her own torment and wounds,
to one final kill.
For the first Fallen remains,
and as she stands at his feet,
I watch from a distance,
in fear for self and her,
in fear of the world’s eternal defeat,
for on that eve and ‘pon that hill,
Sister Sera and the Tempter finally meet.
VI – Sacrifice
In that moment,
time ceased,
as Tempter scoffed in pride,
at innocence before him,
ready to feast,
‘pon Sister Sera’s soul,
for he is the damned beast.
The wind swirled,
as tempest fierce and free,
torrents strong,
by cause of Tempter’s breath,
forcing our heroine to bended knee,
pity only shown,
by her offerings of a sacrificial plea.
In that pause,
I thought all was lost,
for Sister Sera had defeat in her eyes,
and temptation was strong,
He who would be crossed,
by cause of Tempter’s own deal,
she seemingly not ready to pay the final cost.
And as Tempter laughed into his victory,
I cried at her defeat,
wondering how and why,
she could give up so easily,
lost to the Tempter’s deceit,
wanting to join the fray myself,
so we both could retreat.
But ‘fore I could move,
I then saw the truth in plan,
for Sister Sera was not done,
and as Tempter lurched,
into him she ran,
sword thrust,
as then the Seraph’s Song began.
Victory shifted next,
as light pierced the dark,
Sister Sera glowing bright,
as a brilliant star,
hope and man’s final spark,
as song and steel pierced,
fore’er leaving their mark.
But as Tempter fell,
he released his own damning moan,
wounding heroine deep,
causing eternal defeat,
and tho’ Tempter was removed from throne,
Sister Sera’s final sacrifice,
offered man salvation at the cost of her own.
VII – Ascension
In the end,
when the dust cleared,
all was silent,
and for the first time in fore’er,
she was revered,
for her sacrifice,
of forgoing what she feared.
Her body lay,
and I ran to her,
sickened by her death,
weeping true,
unsure of what next was too occur,
but then His words echoed from the sky,
to which I now refer.
“Sister Sera on this day,
you made me proud,
you succeeded in your task,
cleansing the world of Tempter’s darkness,
lifting the shroud,
putting man ‘fore self,
doing as you vowed.”
Just then,
as her blood consumed my hands,
a light from above filled her core,
mending her wounds,
as if He hearing my own demands,
for next she started to rise toward the clouds,
as if always part of His own plans.
Sister Sera then awakened,
at just that time,
and purpose of her charge,
effect of her sacrifice,
offered reason and rhyme,
for I witnessed her being saved,
and the beauty of the sight was truly sublime.
Her ascension had begun,
and angel once more received her wings,
a gift pure and true,
surrendering herself,
for all slaves and kings,
she then looks at me with a smile,
and for the final time she sings.
E’ermore I shall tell the tale of Sister Sera,
and pass it on from son to son,
for I am the bard,
and this is the fable,
finally done,
of she who sung the Seraph’s Song,
she who was the chosen one.
The End
O’ This Life (The final words of Nikola Tesla)
In Poetry on January 5, 2009 at 10:54 pmPart 2 of the ‘Final Words’ Anthology by Jonas Hyde.
Read Part 1 here: Adieu – (The final words of Gilles de Rais)
O’ This Life (The final words of Nikola Tesla)
by Jonas Hyde
O’ this life is now complete,
yet feel no sorrow on this day,
I beg you of this,
for I can now finally say,
that you O’ Lord I am prepared to meet.
These words I scribe so as to reminisce,
my life as it passes ‘fore my eyes,
the words people would speak,
shall meet darkened skies,
and the truth of my days would fall to the abyss.
But if it be fact you seek,
then my story I now offer to you,
and the name of Tesla shall ever reside,
a legend told from my ain point of view,
of years oft lived dim and bleak.
Always it was light I yearned to provide,
radiance which would push back the darkened stillness,
and tear down the fear that lived within,
the scared child of perpetual illness,
who no longer wished to run and hide.
Born amidst a brilliant storm is where my life would begin,
fitting it was as if part of a divine plan,
for in all my days I would receive brilliant flashes in my mind,
ideas which would fully span,
from thought to final skin.
Tho’ my youth began to unwind,
when my mother lost her life,
and for what would be the first but not only time,
I could not look past the torment and strife,
my lost soul I had to find.
So I shed my sin and grime,
and left my world of grief-ladened pain,
when I came across he who would be,
short term friend and fore’er bane,
for when I spoke of reason it was Edison who stole my rhyme.
So from him too I decided to flee,
and toiled in the mundane and perverse,
when I finally came to believe that our machinery could be driven by power,
obtainable at any point of the universe,
energy without a fee.
So at the turn of the years I started my work in the Tower,
and offered my mind to the world,
caring not for possessions or wealth,
and soon the fame of my designs e’er swirled,
as my inventions did society take and devour.
But soon expiring was my health,
coming closer with each passing breath,
both fearing and wanting not
my death
suddenly and cloaked in stealth.
It is my heart within which has slowly rot,
and alone here I shall meet my end,
final moments private and discreet,
before my soul shall finally transcend,
so goodbye o’ world – please don’t let me be forgot.
