Jack The Vampire

(Halloween contest entry 2026)

LONDON TIMES

October 31, 1888

"JACK THE VAMPIRE" SLAYS A FOURTH HARLOT, SENDS A CHILLING LETTER TO TIMES

Brutal serial killer "Jack The Vampire" apparently claimed his fourth victim last night in the Whitechapel slums of London. Police arrived at a brothel at 62 Gower's Walk at 10:12 PM after the proprietor "Mistress Marble" discovered the dead mutilated body of a red-haired Irish harlot named Siobahn McGraw.

Just as with Jack's four previous Whitechapel victims, Siobhan's garments were completely removed except for her lacy bonnet. The cause of death was eerily similar to Jack's other crimes: massive blood loss from two deep puncture wounds on her neck, leaving her skin ghostly white with very little blood found on the bed or anywhere else in the room. Her internal organs were literally ripped out of her body postmortem, then they were placed around the bed and on a nightstand, in the exact same manner as the "Jack The Vampire" slayings which occurred in April, June, and August. Her uterus was not found at the scene, as with the other slayings, but one of her kidneys was also missing.

London Police Chief Charles Warren is baffled by the lack of blood stains at each of these scenes. He suspects a deranged doctor may be committing these grisly murders and siphoning the blood of his lovely Irish "working girls" into glass jars. Perhaps selling their blood and reproductive organs to unsuspecting medical schools. Celebrity quack doctor Francis Tumblety is the prime suspect in this case due to his many misogynistic statements over the years, and a large collection of human uteruses in jars which he often showed to friends at his London office. However, Tumblety fled to the United States three days before a pair of Bobbies knocked on the door of his office in Richmond Hills with an arrest warrant.

Another major development occurred yesterday afternoon when The Times received a chilling letter signed by "Jack The Vampire," postmarked from Whitechapel P. O. The letter was first sent to George Lusk, chairman of the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee which is rallying citizens of the slum to aid in the search for this serial killer. In this short and hastily composed letter, Jack apparently claims responsibility for the murders of Sarah May, Molly Murphy, Ciara Joyce, and Siobahn McGraw, with a taunting message to Lusk. More disturbingly, the envelope also contained a sliced and preserved segment of human kidney, which may or may not be from his actual victim. It may have been purchased or stolen from a medical school or undertaker's workshop, which would support the deranged doctor / mad scientist theory.

This awful news is oddly apropos for Halloween; a festival of all things horrifying with occult Celtic origins. London will certainly be more wary than usual tonight, right before the holy solemnity of All Soul's Day.

Chief Warren cautions that the recent series of letters sent to the Times may not be from the actual perpetrator of these murders, but perhaps from other "low-life Londoners" seeking a vicarious role-playing thrill. The police department is also not certain whether the same suspect has committed each murder, with the possibility of "copycat" harlot slayers emerging from the underworld woodwork. Nevertheless, we have decided to reprint "Jack The Vampire's" latest letter in today's Times issue. We have also posted facsimile copies of the original handwritten note at every post office and police station in greater London, in hopes that someone will recognize either the writing style or handwriting and promptly report that individual to law enforcement.

The newly received letter contains numerous spelling and grammatical errors in a barely legible scrawl. It reads as follows:

"From hell -

Mr Lusk,

Sor

I send you half the Kidne I took from one women prasarved it for you tother piece I fried and ate it was very nise, and I washed down wit her blood like four other Irish hores I nocked and vamped. I may send you the bloody knif that took out Siob's kidne if you only wate a whil longer

signed Jack The Vampire

Catch me when you can Mishter Lusk"

* * * * * * *

The real "Jack" read that Times article on a hard wooden bench at Grayson's Pub on Jubilee Street. Nursing a tall glass of Guinness after savoring the lifeblood of Siobahn McGraw. His real name was Janos Nagy, a recent immigrant from Hungary who learned English at Semmelweis University in Budapest while studying to be a doctor. He scribbled that barely legible "From Hell" letter in a demonic frenzy after ravishing and vampirizing a redhead whore.

"Blimey, mate," Roderick Haithcock exclaimed nearby, reading his own copy of the Times. "This Jack the Vampire bloke is crazier than George III and Mad King Ludwig."

"Maybe son, but the 'vampire' part is complete bollocks," grunted Nigel Harworth. "I'm in a festive Halloween spirit tonight, but you can't convince me he's an actual blood-sucking monster with pointy fangs."

"Then how do you explain the fang marks on the necks of those poor lasses, draining out their blood after having his pervy way with 'em?"

"You ain't educated like me, chap. Undertakers have pumping machines now that can draw all the blood out of a corpse in just a few minutes. Doctors use the same machines to transfuse blood into an injured person from a donor. Ain't scientific progress great?"

"Scientific progress is a fucking crock," Roderick grunted, taking another sip of hearty dark beer. "Those labcoat creeps ain't making the world better, they're just keeping idiots alive so they can wreak more havoc."

Jack sighed pleasantly under his breath, amused at their complete obliviousness to his vampirism. He flipped a coin to the bartender and headed out to a foggy coal-sooted evening in the sketchy East End of London. Nobody ever suspected a handsome clean-cut fellow like him. Every woman wanted him, and every man wanted to be him. He got plenty of pussy in Hungary, but his erotic hunger took a dangerous turn after Count Dracula sucked his blood and infected his soul. A baptism by fire, enlisting him in a growing legion of undead nocturnal soldiers.

Jack strolled down winding misty lantern-lit Christian Street. A heavenly name for a very "earthly" street. Six brothels were filled to the brim with hookers from every corner of the British empire, with many more immigrant dames who fled from oppressive Eastern European regimes. Their moaning and groaning filtered through curtained windows, reverberating off the manure-coated cobblestones.

He had a roaring good time with that bonnie Irish lass Siobahn last night, fucking her brains out before sucking all her blood out and removing her womb to add to his creepy collection. The source of all life, sitting in jars at his Newgate flat like a macabre museum. Reminding him of the joyous vitality of his early life, before it was snuffed out by an evil Transylvanian count while staying at his castle under the deceptive guise of a "business conference."

The more female blood Jack drank, the thirstier he got. Like a wolf on the prowl, his stomach kept expanding to take in more and more. Especially now on Halloween night; the ancient feast of Samhain when the spirit world was in closest alignment with the realm of the living. Powerful occult energy beamed down from the foggy cosmos, increasing his blood lust exponentially. He needed to feast on another fair-skinned fairy girl from the Emerald Isle. Another ginger vixen to vampirize, setting his cursed soul aflame.

Jack's ravenous evil appetite guided him right to the doorstep of Madame Harper's Lounge. He grinned sardonically at the double entendre of "lounge." Another sleazy knocking shop in a run-down East End rowhouse, where dandy noblemen secretly blew off steam in-between flowery protestations of unrequited love to upper-class maidens. Busty blonde "Madame Harper" greeted him with a warm naughty grin, admiring his sharp three-piece suit over a chiseled Adonis-like physique. He was a champion fencer and polo player before that fateful bite from Vlad Dracul.

"Evenin', luv," Harper beamed in a smoky cockney accent. "Inarested in a devilish ron-dez-vous on Halloween night?"

"Sexy fun on Samhain, luv," Jack beamed back in a suave Hungarian accent, winking a brown doe eye. "I heard you have some fine Irish dames at your respectable establishment."

"The finest. I got a foxy redhead named Fiona who'll really 'nip your heels.'"

Jack jumped right on the opportunity. He marched up a rickety eighteenth century staircase and barged right into room 11, where Fiona was sprawled out on a mattress by a flickering gas lantern. Wearing the standard French maid outfit of London harlots, reading the latest comedic tripe in Punch magazine. Another buxom beauty with milky white skin, flaming copper hair and piercing green eyes, getting his dick hard almost instantly.

"Saints be praised," Fiona giggled in a mellifluous Gaelic accent, sizing him up with her eyes. "You be far more bonnie than my usual soused-up blokes."

"You're the bonniest ginger hooker I ever saw," Jack murmured in a gruff Transylvanian accent. His penis and canine incisors throbbed in simultaneous primal lust. "Take off that dirty maid costume, and I'll clean you up right good."

"I ain't never take no 'maid' job for free, luv," Fiona giggled. She stood up and held out her hand like the beggar orphans he passed by on Christian Street. "Ten pence for my trouble, and five farthings for Madame's lodging. Shite-poor lodgings at that, but better than nuttin'."

Jack reluctantly fished several coins out of a pocket on his fine woolen doublet which was custom-tailored in Budapest. He slapped them down on her open palm, feeling a strange jolt of electric vibrance from her soft living feminine skin to his rugged manly undead skin.

"Cheers, luv. I'm a real good lay, so I'm sure you'll give me a nice tip after dancing a jig," Fiona beamed girlishly. She pranced away from him like a graceful ballerina, then she removed her pretentious french maid costume with the same theatrical flair. Revealing a perfect hourglass figure with big milky breasts, pointy pink nipples, and flaming red pubic hair between round firm hips. She reached for the graceful white strings of her French maid bonnet, but Jack stopped her cold with a surge of dark energy from his right hand.

"Keep that bonnet on, bitch!"

"Yes sir," Fiona giggled, teasing the red bangs that drooped below it. "I love bossy macho chaps like you."

"That's right. I'm your big fucking boss man, you sleazy paddie," Jack growled with demonic lust. "Get your ass down on the bed, and stretch your arms and legs out in a X-shape."

She gladly obeyed his order, stretching her lean athletic body quite nicely. Her big tits looked even better in that position, without the vertical encumbrance of gravity. Jack reached into his leather satchel and pulled out the same four lengths of rope that he used to bind four other call girls.

"Oooh. In a kinky mood on Halloween, are ye?" Fiona giggled as he tied her left wrist to the wooden bars of the headboard. "So am I. Are ya gonna put on a werewolf mask, or some gobshite like that?"

"It ain't 'gobshite,' bitch," Jack growled while tying her other wrist to the headboard. "Werewolves are real . . . and so are vampires."

A hint of fear appeared on her pretty face, obviously recalling the news about the previous 'Jack the Vampire' harlot rippings. The crimes of the century, scaring every girl shitless. But Fiona giggled it off, strangely enthralled by his mystical manly vigor and the sense of role-playing adventure on this enchanted holiday. Janos Nagy tied both her ankles to the footboard, locking her into that tight yogic position, remembering the werewolves that terrorized the village near Dracula's castle.

"I know your accent, me dearie. You're from Transylvania. Lots of spooky goings-on there, I been told in tall tales. Vampires and whatnot."

"They ain't 'tall tales,' whore!"

Jack reached into his satchel and pulled out a thick genuine leather riding crop.

WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!

"Ooooh fuuuuck," Fiona moaned, with the sweet sting on her breasts sending shockwaves right down to her clit. "Make it hurt so good, you daft Hungarian hunk!"

"You will address me as Master, slave."

WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!

"Fuck yes, Master! Cuip mo bhroilleach fìor mhath!" she shrieked, reverting to her native Gaelic in the heat of kinky passion.

"Savor that sting, you goddamn Irish harlot! I'm purifying your soul with pain."

He growled like a werewolf, swinging that crop in a rapid blur. Covering her big milky tits with pink stripes, making her entire body thrash violently in tight bondage. More thrilling than his previous victims, with the cosmic Samhain alignment unlocking a well of primal energy deep within his cursed being.

"Purify my pussy, Master! I need your total domination."

"I'll dominate you like fucking Dracula, whore!"

Jack lashed her throbbing twat even harder. She arched her back sharply toward the crumbling plaster ceiling of Madame Harper's knocking shop, groaning harshly with masochistic pleasure.

THWASH! THWASH! THWASH! THWASH! THWASH! THWASH! THWASH! THWASH!

He loved how her wet pink cuntlips jiggled with each blow, making her squirm and moan louder and louder. He reached under his pants with his free left hand and yanked out his long thick penis, stroking it slowly while whipping her fast and hard. Drool oozed out the corners of his mouth, betraying his keen enjoyment of her sensual punishment. Thirsting desperately for her rich young blood.

"Holy shite, Master! Tha mi a' dol a thighinn air feadh do chuip mhallaichte! OOOOOOWAAAAAAAA-HA-HAAAAAAA!"

She squirted spectacularly, sending a powerful jet of clear fluid clear across the room, splashing against a window with foggy London air beyond. Roaring like a mighty lioness, then mewing like a pathetic kitten.

"Naughty little whore, making a big mess in your Madame's fine brothel."

He smacked her sopping wet cunt repeatedly with his bare right hand, driving her even crazier. Surging ever higher with manly lust and inhuman hunger.

"O mo dhia air mo dhàn, you're such a good Master! Worth every red pence!"

"I'm getting my pence worth in your pussy, call girl."

"Flog my minge with your big banger, Master!"

Jack quickly untied her legs from the footboard, then he shoved them way back against her shoulders and rammed his big rod all the way into her tight flaming twat.

"O mo dhia, dìreach mar sin! Pound my naughty pussy!"

He kept slamming his muscular hips against her soft-heart shaped rump, stretching her labia to the limit. Making her scream more unintelligible Gaelic profanities. Yanking her slender arms against the ropes, loudly rattling the headboard, mixing with the theatrical sounds of two other whores in the adjacent rooms.

"Cuir an t-uabhas a-mach orm, a mhaighstir!"

"English, ginger!" he growled with lustful dominant fury, smacking her pale white cheeks.

"Fuck the shit out of me, Master! Choke me like your cockslave chicken!"

He wrapped his big strong hands around her dainty little neck and pounded her pussy even harder and faster. Racing toward a massive climax, like an alpha wolf on the cusp of a big kill. Savage passion took complete control of him, with hellfire coursing through his undead veins. Fiona wailed emphatically amid the onslaught, squirting three more times. Her eyes rolled back in her head in delirious ecstasy. Jack finally busted his balls in truly epic fashion, roaring toward the full moon and blasting his unholy seed deep in her impure womb.

"Oh my fucking gaaahd, Master! You really know how to please a lass," she uttered dreamily as he jerked out every last drop on her red pubic hair. He let go of her throat and admired her busty body in a triumphant haze. Savoring the last few moments of her life; still full of possibility for a brighter future.

Perhaps she'd escape from this dingy brothel and get a real job, or at least find a decent husband to support her. Perhaps she'd find true happiness and raise children who would also find true happiness with their own soulmates. But she would never find out, because fate unfortunately directed her toward Jack The Vampire.

His orgasmic bliss soon faded, replaced by deep evil blood lust. Dracula's curse regained complete control of his body, sending him down on all fours, looming over Fiona's sweaty nude beauty.

"Back for more are ye, Mister Transylvania? I usually charge double for a double-shot . . . but not for a special man like you who really turns me on."

He gazed deep in her sexy green fairy eyes, hypnotizing just like his four previous victims.

"Turn me on again, luv," Fiona uttered deliriously, utterly possessed by dark magic. He slowly lowered his face toward her throat, baring his teeth and instantly sprouting a pair of vicious lupine fangs. He plunged them deep into her soft tender flesh, moaning simultaneously with his Irish lass as the bitter ferrous tang of blood hit his tongue. He swallowed it in big ravenous gulps, filling his belly to the limit after filling it with Siobahn's blood last night at Madame Cawley's brothel. Incredible bestial triumph surged from head to toe, with terrifying hellish images flashing before his eyes; emerging from her flaming red hair. He wouldn't need to feed for another month after this two-day vampiric binge, and the erotic overload would tide over that appetite just as well.

His thirst was soon sated, and her life was soon extinguished. Her young busty corpse sprawled out before him like an innocent white rose, with her naturally pale celtic skin even paler with massive blood loss. Now it was time to perform a little "surgery," just like his four previous Irish lasses. Such a shame to cut open a lovely girl like her, like a lowly beast of the field . . . but he couldn't resist those devilish urges to take a "trophy" from his latest victim. He needed to cut out her womb and take it back to his lonely little Whitechapel flat, symbolically filling the gaping void where his soul used to be.

Jack reached deeper into his leather satchel and pulled out a pouch full of surgeon's tools from his medical school days at Semmelweis. It needed sharpening after slicing through all those other dames, but it was still adequate for the task. He went back over to Fiona's corpse and admired her one last time. He always considered the belly to be the sexiest part of a woman. Those smooth supple muscles and hourglass curves always enraptured him at Semmelweis University, even when he used female corpses to teach his medical students. Like graceful flowing water in a mountain stream. Blood also flows like water, carrying dead cells out to the sea in a glorious never-ending circle of life.

The razor-sharp scalpel was just about to pierce her soft white flesh when someone banged loudly on the locked brothel door.

"Police, open up! We know you're in there, Jack!"

His pleasant haze was suddenly replaced by fear. Sending that mocking letter to the Times was a huge mistake. Another brothel customer must have recognized his hasty handwriting on the downstairs logbook, probably from the drug prescriptions he scrawled out at his doctor office on Newgate. His egotistical arrogance always got the better of him, long before he became a vampire.

He was left with only two choices: face the music or hit the town. He chose the latter, crashing through the second floor window and landing gracefully on his feet on the cobblestones of Christian Street. Like a cat who's perpetually stuck on his ninth life. The police broke through the door and shouted down from the broken window. He sprinted down a narrow winding side street, disappearing into the sleazy woodwork of East London.

Jack stopped running five blocks away, leaning against a pile of discarded wood scraps and gazing up at the tall white steeple of Christ Church. The devil kept granting him good luck, because god certainly wasn't. He turned northward, heading back toward his flat in a triumphantly evil mood. But then, his superhuman senses told him that someone was following him. He turned around and beheld, with shock, the face of a man who was determined to bring him to justice. George Lusk, chairman of the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee.

"Stop right there, Jack! I'm putting you under citizen's arrest!"

Jack bared his fangs and hissed like a cat at his arch nemesis. He turned eastward, fleeing down another dark dirty alleyway. Much faster than that fifty year old architect could possibly run.

"Catch me if you can, Mishter Lusk!" he shouted back mockingly, repeating the concluding message of his "From Hell" letter. He darted around three more corners, certain that he would evade justice and find more lovely victims drink in with his eyes and savor with his teeth. His dark magic would ensure a long reign of terror in the heart of merry old London.

He veered around another corner and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw a tall burly man holding a gleaming brass crucifix. George Lusk soon appeared behind him, noticing that Jack was stunned by the crucifix. George yanked the cross necklace off his neck and held it up toward Jack the Vampire as he turned around, pinning him in place between the two mortal men. Van Helsing pulled a wooden stake out of his trench coat and drove it through Jack's heart with a hammer, ending his second undead life. Turning his hulking body to a pile of dust.

"Huzzah, Van Helsing!" Lusk beamed. "We're finally rid of that evil blood sucking bastard!"

"Yes indeed, ol' chap. We make a right honorable team, curing the ills that plague this crazy town."

"Much better than the blasted Bobbies."

Little did they know, a bigger "plague" was lurking on the horizon. Count Dracula telepathically sensed the demise of his loyal soldier Janos Nagy while resting in a coffin at his huge Transylvania castle. Dracula was now determined to travel to Britain and spread his undead curse, using his superior dark powers to outwit Lusk, Van Helsing, and any other vampire hunters.