Jak

I once was known by the name Jak the Ripper.
The name I did not pick, and only appropriate if you do not understand why what was done was done. The name chosen by one seeking to take credit for what I did… and do; why one would want to take credit for what I have done, I do not know how much they may have known. Humans are odd animals, as am I.
I rather liked the name so I did not object to its use, that and the one taking credit for my doings provided a rather decent cloak, at least it kept the coppers off of my trail, not that I left one that many would understand.
Let me begin by telling you that never once was anything that I did against their will: although I suspect that had they had an idea of what was about to become of them, there may have been some dispute; however knowing is never the innocent's path.
Nor was it apart of yours until you picked up this book.

First: my past, for one can never really under stand someone with out understanding their past.
I was, before I became what I am now, a humble professor at small but well funded museum. Not the normal customary murderer I know, but then I am not a murderer; I know you may contest that but let me have my say first.

On 23 of March an understudy of mine brought to me a small shard of green stone with a writing of an unknown nature, and this is where the story starts.
This shard of stone consumed my day I laid this stone before every linguistic expert I was able to find, none were able to give meaning; when I brought the stone to one of the two geologists to identify the stone, he has never seen one of its type before.
As I said the day was devoted to finding out all possible about this shard of stone, and the day ended in failure, or almost. My last stop of the day, is as always, to the library. The usual reason for this stop is a small hobby of mine, a genealogy. The genealogy was set aside on this trip, to see if the Librarian could provide some meaning to the shard.
I entered the library, breathed deep the air of must and knowledge, and moved to the information desk and asked where the head Librarian was. The young woman behind the desk glanced up and pointed in the general direction of the office and I meandered through the shelves in the general direction of the office.

I opened the door, after pausing to look at several books, and saw the Librarian puring over an old book bound in black leather, drinking in the words like sustenance. I waited patiently. After half an hour or so she looked up, closing the book grinning, “Thanks for waiting.”, “Not at all.” she placed the book down on a table a little regretfully, “So what can I do for you?” I leaned forward and placed the Shard atop of the book, “I was hopping you may be able to explain this.” she picked up the book and looked a the stone, “I think I will be able to answer that in a day or two.” I thought shed be able to answer now judging from the short length of time she looked at the Shard, but I said nothing; it is best to let her work in her own time.

I moved on to the second reason for coming to the library and left the office; The Genealogy. I came upon one of those facts that families wish swept away, I suspected that they would want this forgotten, and it is this: the majority of people in and related to my family were committed to insane asylums, or other wise incarcerated, the few who where not imprisoned had many accusations of the occult or horrific homicides swarming around them. Even the people around my family have significantly more homicidal, claims of witchcraft clinging to them.
It seems as though every mass murderer, schizophrenic, and so on are in my family. The Librarian, her addiction sated, followed me.  

The Librarian made a joke about kind liking kind. As it happened that does seem to be the case: the branch of the family I was birthed to, happens to hold a significant number, in fact nearly all the people in my family are scholars, archaeologists, anthropologists, and so fort.
The Librarian is a close friend of mine, like wise her family seems to be closely entwined with mine. The villainous essence that seems to course through the family lines of my family seems to only lap the shores of hers.
When I woke three books were on the table one huge Tome supporting a book about the size of a bible in a leather sleeve, and one smaller leather bound book on top of the stack.
The small leather bound book on the spine had the words inscribed, “Vol. One: Translations and Interpretations.” The sleeved book’s title, once the sleeve was removed, read, “The Family, Knowing” it read this in Sanskrit, and was clearly elder beyond reckoning. The Tome on which all of these sat was huge, one and a half feet by one foot, and at least six inches deep and was covered front and back in hundreds of geometric symbols, lines and, flowing lucidly ridged scripted, recognizable as script only in the primordial sense; the same that tells you when you are being watched. The markings were a silvery gold embossed in leather that is thick and a black mottled green.
The Librarian stood over this little pile of books with the same satisfied expression of a cat who has just brought his pet a present.
My initial reaction was to delve into the Tome, but something about the smallest book which sat on top of the stack and the fact that the title was written in Linora’s small messy hand gave me pause.
I did indeed delve into the Tome, and was totally and utterly lost, ordinarily one would attempt to explain what glimpsed in the Tome, but in this case to do so is merely a waste of words; suffice to say that what I saw changed me and my very views of the world, even forgiving the inability to read the text of the Tome.
Linora was lured off to aid a patron, who gave me a long look, as though I had just stepped into the universe just a moment ago, it is quite possible that I did, but this is me looking back, as it happened I did.
When I next looked up from the Tome it was long after the library closed, and my senses told me humanity, was long gone. I packed up a few of the books I wanted, and placed the three books given to me into a my haversack that only just barely held them and headed to the door.
Linora was out side leaning against the wall on the libraries stoop smoking. I have only ever seen her smoke when events are developing amazingly well or ill. “I would not take that book off the grounds if I were you.” She said this as she blew smoke off into the wind which carried it away to the rest of the wind. Ordinarily, she does not hesitate to let books to me which are normally not to  public. “So, why is that.”, “For you to believe me you are going to have to take the book.” “Ok, so for me to not to take the book I need to take the book, right.” “That is the long and short of it.” She flicked the butt of the cigar onto the sidewalk. She gave me a grin only Puck himself could manifest, “I am not going to stop you, just suggest you listen to me.” No smoke finding its way off into the wind this time. I moved down the stairs towards the sidewalk and finally onto the sidewalk. My foot left the last step and landed upon the ground and a shutter ran down my spine, Linora shook her head and light a cigar.

My walk home I spent looking over my shoulder. The sense of something watching was only intensified by people I passed appearing to be disjointed or having animalistic characteristics. I shrugged it off as needing more sleep; which I did not intend to get this night, The Tome needed studying.
I stepped through my door the sense of being watched persisted. I set the books on the table next to my door took the books out and brought them to my desk; regardless of an overwhelming lust to contemplate the Tome; I found my body carrying me to my, this my body did on its own accord.
My head found the pillow and sleep came almost instantaneously.

I woke upon a blackened green soapstone-like altar, much the same as the Shard. My head felt much like I was asphyxiated, a little heavy and a little unstable. The altar was crud and seemed to be molded rather than cut. The sky above me was a rolling blackgreen, dark light flashed in the clouds; I assume that they were clouds. Occasionally clouds parted letting a single glowing ovoid drip from the part. I rouse up and found that I was surrounded by huge megalithic columns made of the same material as altar, similarly molded and carved. Columns continued far beyond what I could see; in the forest of columns white glows could be seen moving towards the altar. Strangely this did not particularly distress. The ground this altar sat on looked normal enough, the grass was a darker green than normal and seems to move somewhat; my instinct told me I should not touch it, more likely it was because as I moved a foot over the altar the grass focused on it. The glowing lights blinked out. I was left stranded on this small island in the middle of death, out of the columns figures moved; Figures from religions across the globe, one of the figures which appeared to be a Christian angel spoke. “Something you must know.” I woke to my alarm clock going off. On the fringes of my memory was lingering words incomprehensible to the human mind.

I turned it off. I stretched and looked at the clock, five thirty as usually. It is a bad hour to wake up to, a good hour to stay up till, I have found this over and over. I stood stretched once more, and proceeded to take part in the morning ritual. At six fifteen I left my house and commenced my walk to work, Tome and other books in toe.
I took a denture down path that brought me through a park which I had spent the greater part of my youth playing. In my present day I turn to this park as a place of solitude and thought. I have come to know this park like a second home, so it was entirely bizarre when I found myself lost; paths which are most direct to my work took me to a fountain in the center of the park.
This fountain which I played in as a child and later was my first exposure to the nude female form, which was beautiful, seemed to be not right and almost vulgar. The water was crystal clear not a leaf, nor a speck of alga, and not a ripple of movement. The water moved, the couple who were walking behind me hurried onward and the man clutched the woman close holding her like life depended on it, ripples moved out to the walls of the pool. Something black, I saw just out of the corner of my eye, brought my head with a jerk to fixate upon crystal water. There was a groan which came form the upper part of the fountain. The black thing out of the corner of my eye moved the water, splashing, and a black tendril of ichor casually lapped over the edge of the pool. Brain said run, body would not let me. The tendril moved with a horrific grace across the stones, eyes formed, unformed and gazed at me. My body would still not let me move, the trepidation cleared from my mind, and body still would not move. The tendril now mere inches from a foot which would not move no matter how hard I wanted it to. The tendril now, voice, “I think if you do not tell this to thing to return its slime hide back to whence it came that you will be quite dead.” touched my foot tentatively, it slowly drew itself up my leg. My mind finally took in what was said and I looked down at the tendril it froze considering circumstance. Several more tendrils hung awaiting; I told it with every iota of will I possessed, that it should not trouble me any longer: I felt the tendril slowly, painfully slow, as it pulled it self down my leg. I felt the leg of my trousers tare. It left a thick discharge of a putrid white on the leg and with the same vile grace  the tendril moved back towards the fountain.

I looked up from where the tendril had my leg and saw a form standing on a hill, far enough away to make clear image imposable; I though I saw a thin stream of smoke join the wind. After several hours, the watch I wore showed nine, I found despite me still being lost, managed to find my way out of the park.

To Be Continued