She was unlike any I had seen before. The most notable difference was that she did not have the usual unseeing glassy eyes - for she had none at all. Without any hints from the porter I knew at once who was responsible for this. This was the work of the Hangman...

Matted tangles of blonde mud covered hair; sunken blue cheeks. It was hard to believe that Louise Nicholson had been a rather attractive young Lady - for now all that remained of her was her mangled figure and the title of victim number six.

I myself had sat for many nights examining the once beautiful women after their deaths and always pondered over what drove the Hangman to murder such innocent women. One - Mary Bennet - was only a girl when he took her life; she was no more than seventeen years old.

As I sat on the old wooden stool by the side of my work table, I noticed the usual rope burns around Miss Nicholson's throat and watched as one last bloody tear trickled down her cheek to meet the larger gash that twisted her dainty mouth into a grimace.

Despite the brutal and shocking appearance of the women whom I had one known - the Hangman's work did not bother me. Turning away from my table I rubbed at the stubble that was forming along my jaw and ran a hand through my messy mop of hair.

I began contemplating this mysterious murderer. The Hangman? Well he is certainly more famous than poor James Hammond the undertaker. Crazy but extraordinarily clever man in a bizarre way this Hangman is...