So here we are again with an absolutely gorgeous piece from nuphobi on bluesky linked here https://bsky.app/profile/nuphobi.bsky.social

And I was thinking for story. I wanted to try doing a horror story for once since it suits my vision for Me'vana. That being said while I am a big fan of horror I don't think I have the experience to write it perfectly. So consider this more some lore featuring Jack the ripper. Hope you all enjoy and I would appreciate constructive criticism if you have it.

Also you can join me on my discord here https://discord.gg/2XxGGCKe6N

~~~

December 1st, 1888.

It was a cold winters night, snowfall blanketing the ground in white as he drifted through the streets. Despite the Christmas season nobody was out on the streets, not a soul was singing Carols or delivering fruitcakes. And the only people out on the streets were men who still wore a nervous expression on their face. “It was beautiful chaos” Jack thought to himself as he wandered the streets looking for his 12th victim.

Jack the ripper, true name unknown. A murderer who had shaken the entire country with his crimes, and been successfully evading Scotland yard all the while. A true savant of his monstrous craft. He could remember each woman's screams as he killed them, each cry for help met by pure silence before it was too late. He truly did love his work. He had spent nearly the entire night out in the freezing cold looking for a victim, wondering to himself if he'd finally become too big of a threat for any woman to step out in the dark. That was when he saw her, a strange looking woman with gaudy purple hair, shadows hiding her eyebrows. Staring right at him from an alleyway. Her gaze pierced his soul as though she could see right through him to his heart, nearly making him wince. Looking at her felt almost wrong, as though her very existence filled the soul with existential dread. And yet despite her oddities nobody else seemed to notice her. Walking along, nervous but unaware.

Yet when he looked back from the nervous faces of the crowd she was gone. Not even a footprint in the snow to mark her departure. He realized rather quickly she might have suspected him and gone to get an officer, he couldn't be caught yet so he reluctantly went home. Making sure to stay out of view and leave minimal footprints in the snow. Quickly ducking inside once he got home and locking the door behind him. Seems he would have to try again tomorrow. “How troublesome” he thought as he put on his slippers and nightgown. Retiring to his chambers and blowing out the candle to sleep. Resting his eyes with a scowl due to his unsuccessful attempt… too distracted to notice the footsteps coming up the stairs.

He slept peacefully as she approached, setting up her canvas in front of him and prepared her paints. Her six eyes glowing slightly in the darkness as she stared at him. Looking into his dreams. A dream of finally getting caught, finally being put to death for his crimes. Something that would never come as she began to paint. His final portrait. But even in his sleep he could feel it. His consciousness, his very being torn away. He woke up with a jolt, looking at the foot of his bed to see the woman from before at the foot of his bed. Seeing the truth of her. Eyes on her hands and a deep purple glow, he was frozen in place by fear he did not think he was capable of as she painted. Noticing he was awake she spoke.

“You are a most fascinating human aren't you? Bringing this emotion of fear to this entire area. Why do they give you such a name? Why do men fear you despite never touching them? Truly the human psyche is a fascinating thing. Perhaps your emotions shall help me understand. So I invite you to the seventh floor. I am almost done with your portrait.”

He couldn't move, couldn't speak, and found himself struggling to breathe as the mysterious creature painted. As though she has captured his very essence. It was surely some kind of nightmare, but this kind of dread was something he had never once experienced in his long life. And as she finished the portrait and turned it around to face him, he could feel his essence being torn away. The fabric of his being was being reduced to nothing as his mind and soul was dragged off to unknown realms.

“The seventh floor is kind to all. So make yourself at home. Try to remain calm however. Otherwise it may have unintended consequences”

And just like that he woke up in a field. A grassy plain with a beautiful lake and trees. A place he's never been in his entire life. It was peaceful but wrong, a creation of that monster no doubt. He could feel this strange place trying to invade his fractured mind. The environment wasn't a solid thing. Constantly shifting to portray different landscapes. Searching his mind to discover his ideal… but a mind as twisted as his was not one to be read. His fantasies of killing mixing with his ideal environment as the shifting trees began to scream. Mangled bodies of women hanging from the branches and bubbling up from the lake as the sky turned crimson red. His fantasies corrupting his perfect world into a horrifying landscape of endless pain. He finally was beginning to feel true, desperate fear as he looked upon the landscape. Clouds shifting and warping into the pained faces of his victims. And for the first time since he was a small child. He screamed.

Me'vana had no control over the seventh floor of course. Observing it from out of sight as she watched the room change into this bizarre landscape. It had never reacted like this before to any of her prey. She was growing tired of the taste of fear. But, it seemed like that would be her lot for now. Hoping to learn why the room reacted like this to him. Perhaps he was a victim of that symptom the humans had coined a couple years ago. Masochism she believed it was called? Perhaps she should find a copy of that book to learn more about it. She remembered seeing the book in a store recently but hadn't thought to get it. Psychopathia sexualis. But nonetheless. This would be a rather interesting human to research…

Days, months, years. Time flowed differently in this realm. In strange unorthodox ways, so it was largely irrelevant. All he knew is that he had been searching for an exit to this nightmare for what felt like an eternity. The damned screams echoing all hours of the day, and trying to torture the mangled bodies brought no end to their torment. If this was hell he would believe it. But after so long searching he finally felt something. A part of this realm that felt different, weaker than the rest. Had he finally found it? In the center of this strange place of slight weakness was a door. He approached it slowly, cautiously. Even as more mangled bodies crawled towards him. Pained cries echoing around him as he opened the door…

He woke up once more in front of a large building. A sign on the door reading “London county asylum”. Though he wasn't concerned with the sign as he was far more focused on the fact that he saw people. Actual living breathing people. Including a few officers who quickly noticed him as he was screaming in joy. He never thought he'd be happy to see an officer. But his strange behavior and strange ramblings about freedom from the nightmare naturally led to him being arrested and eventually thrown into the asylum. Though even that was better than the seventh floor. For the first few weeks he was happy, excited even to finally be free. Until a cold realization dawned on him… that place wasn't hell. That was simply something that existed in our world. Which meant that when he died, hell would still be waiting… he wept. For he knew this was only the beginning of his punishment.