Don’t ask me why, but, just as I was about to turn to the next page in the journal, something stopped me. I couldn’t to this day say what it was, perhaps it was the tiredness, the after-affects of the nightmares, or just a basic need to escape the intensity of the situation for a few minutes, but I decided to lay down the journal and instead look further into the environment, the world inhabited by the Ripper and his victims. Perhaps as well I was becoming more unsettled than I imagined by the journal and it’s recurrent theme of bloodthirsty murder, the potentially insane ramblings of a man reviled by history, and the fact that here, in my study, on my desk, was a document that may have been handled by, and written in the hand of the notorious Jack the Ripper. Was I handling the same paper
