Sunday 3rd April 1892[]
I got the opportunity to examine the cadaver of the "Soul Devourer" in the Lab after our recent jaunt to rescue Lord Wicks. I have to say that it was most illuminating. I have read accounts of extracting and distilling 'extracts' but this was my first experiment in the field and I was quite pleased with the results. Of course, it took me a fortnight to accomplish anything useable, but I did manage to produce to vials of "Liquid Luck" for my compatriots to use. After a little more study I realised that I could also graft the fingers (with all their swift acting prowess intact) onto a live volunteer. In order to do this I would, of course, need to find a volunteer before such a time as the implant was unuseable. As luck would have it Mr. Jenson was more than willing to have the procedure performed that very day! We hastened to the lab to proceed at once. I confess the surgery was most taxing and time consuming. There were times that I was unsure that I would accomplish it at all, but after a gruelling eight hours of surgery I had succeeded! I will continue to monitor the subject and observe how the graft has affected him.
Friday 8th April 1892[]
After observing the subject in the days following his surgery, I have noticed that he is very swift to react to danger. However, he also appears to be unable to stop himself from entering into a wager at every opportunity. I am given to wonder, is this connected to the "Soul Devourer's" presence in the Gambling Club?
Thursday 5th May 1892[]
Got another opportunity to practice my art on Mister Rig on our recent visit to Scotland. After having access to the cadavers of several creatures identified by Mrs. MacTannon as "Wolfmen", I was able to successfully harvest sufficient bone marrow from the creatures to provide a supernatural strengthening to a subject's bone structure. I was somewhat concerned by the lack of suitable facilities in which to perform the procedure. The best I could find was the kitchens of the monastery, as sanitised as I could make them. After I had ascertained this, I took my offer to Mister Rig, and having fully explained the risks of the procedure and the limited facilities, he bravely agreed to be the first to undergo what he knew would be a most painful procedure.
Having no access to proper anasthetics, I was forced to subdue him through alcoholic intoxication. This, in the first instance, worked well. However, partway through the subdermal bone-boring process, the unfortunate Mister Rig woke from his stupour and unsurprisingly made such a hullaballoo that several of our companions, including the Reverend, came post haste to appraise themselves of the situation. The Reverend gave much wailing and gnashing of teeth upon the sight of Mister Rig awash with blood, which was most distracting. I already had enough to deal with as it was. Thankfully Mister Garvin was there to restrain him and remove him from my makeshift theatre. I further sedated Mister Rig and completed the surgery. The recovery was prolonged and despite being very painful Mister Rig did not complain of his discomfort once. Even when being forced to walk a great distance relatively early in his recovery period.
Other Points of Medical Note during our trip to Scotland.[]
Discovered "Archie" had incarcerated himself and imbibed an almost suicidal quantity of Viscum Album. I suspect he was attempting to avert 'the change' as he had been infected by one of the "Wolfmen". Of course, Viscum Album being highly toxic, the hyppocratic oath that I have taken prevented me from ignoring his situation, despite the risks which it could present. "Archie" displayed advanced symptoms of Mistletoe Poisoning (vomiting, loss of bowel control, delerium et al.) so I released him and provided a purgative. This process proved quite successful until later that night, where we were barricaded in the Church against the predations of any other "Wolfmen" that might be present in the area, when a bright beam of Moonlight, streaming through the broken stained glass window fell full upon Archie. The first I knew was a blood curdling scream, but soon the scream became a howl, and one howl became many as Archie transformed before our eyes, and other wolfmen advanced from without. The following minutes were so singularly filled with action as to defy adequate description. I thought I had lost "Archie" and could not help but wonder if I had been partly to blame for his transformation. He layed about many of our small band, but when he came to strike a blow upon Mrs MacTannon, his hand was momentarily stayed, and I swear that the bestial visage that had come upon him faltered long enough for a more human tongue to utter the words "Help Me" before he bounded through a window and into the night.
As the ruckus died down, with defeat of the lesser wolfmen, I became aware of the whimpers and sobs of a man in the throes of the worst possible agony. I turned to find the source of the anguished cries and was faced with the Reverend Steele lying in a pool of his own blood, clutching the pulverised remains of his left arm with his right. I rushed over to see what aid I might be able to render and was aggrieved to discover that the damage he had sustained had penetrated the dermis and musculature to cause near-irreparable damage to the skeletal structure and nervous system. Had I been close to the facilities of a hospital with a modern operating theatre, then it may have been possible to save the Reverend's arm. As it was, the best I could do was to save his life. Still, I thought it proper to explain to the Reverend what fell task I intended to perform. A man should be given the opportunity to make such decisions for himself. After his earlier display I was in fear that he might refuse my aid, however, there was a moment of true understanding between us and, steeling his resolve, he agreed to have the procedure performed. Once he was fit enough to travel, I prescribed country air and rest, and to that end he travelled to his former Parish in Devon. He is yet to return. My Prayers are with him.
Footnote[]
Stored on Ice. Homo Reptillius. Female Specimin recovered from the Underground Railway System.
Friday 6th May, 1892[]
Patient Case File Holmes, S. Referred by Dr, J. Watson.
Patient exhibits symptoms of prolonged Cocaine additction. This situation as been exacerbated by a certain arch-enemy with nefarious intentions who has repeatedly supplied patient with the object of his craving. Patient is currently too intoxicated. Will consult further when he has cleared his system.
Session 2[]
Patient is much more lucid today. I have been able to ascertain Patient is recieveing Cocaine from one Prof. Moriarty (Deceased). Patient's situation is much exacerbated by his inability to believe anything of the supernatural. Instead of admitting he was being visited from beyond the grave patient has convinced himself that somehow Prof. Moriarty must have survived. I think my best course of action is to work within his delusions.
Session 3[]
Able to explore much more in depth with the patient today. Discovered that Patient tends to rely more upon the cocaine when his active intellect is starved of stimulation. Resolved to find such stimulation to aid in breaking the viscious cycle when such stimulation came from without as Carstairs, in spite of my request for no disturbances, called to inform us of Dr. Watson's unfortunate predicament. Upon hearing this, The Patient was gravely concerned for his friend and intrigued so by the mystery surrounding the danger (which he impressed upon me to explain to him) that he was suddenly consumed by nothing other than getting to the bottom of his companions most singular case.
Session 3b (Later the Same Day, in the Field)[]
After the Patient had, in short order, successfully concluded the mystery surrounding Dr. John Watson and 'The New Ripper' NB. Jack the Ripper. Isn't the name interesting. Must look into this further. The Ghost of Moriarty once more appeared and attempted to tempt the patient with a fresh syringe containing a 7% solution of Cocaine. For a moment I held my breath but the Patient came through, proclaiming there was no need of such substances when there were such engaging mysteries to occupy the mind, and proceeded to run the spirit through with his blade, thus "Killing" Moriarty permanently in the mind of the patient.
I will remain in touch with the Patient's regular physician, but I believe this is the start of a full recovery.
Thursday 2nd June, 1892[]
Have finally petitioned to start our own lodge. At last, we shall have a medical facility!
Thursday 16th June, 1892[]
Must take time to talk with Mr. Rig about his mental stability.
Wednesday 22nd June, 1892[]
Mr. Rig, as is somewhat typical for his character, has kept neither good resting habits, nor good hygeine. Subsequently, one of the wounds he sustained whilst fighting with the Deamon in Rosslyn has become quite seriously infected. I have insisted he takes a weeks bedrest under my personal supervision and care, so that I can properly clean the wound and prevent him from ripping his stitches a second time. I really must get around to bringing up the subject of his mental health. I am contemplating finding a guard to keep him abed.
Friday 8th July, 1892[]
Got cadavers transferred to our morgue. Must get a Ripper Lab as soon as possible, before they are wasted.
Sunday 10th July, 1892[]
It is far more difficult to stitch one's own face, than that of anothers. I am glad that Mrs. MacTannon is so accomplished at crosstitch.
Finally had the conversation that I have been so apprehensive of with Mr. Rig. He was surprisingly receptive and considered the options I had given him before deciding the choice that suited him the best was a course of Opium, beginning immediately. Although this is not usually the course that I would prescribe, in the case of Mr. Rig I believe that it is indeed the most sensible method by which to achieve the desired end, as the man barely has the patience to sit down for breakfast, let alone spend a month in therapy.
Patient initially showed resistance to the effects of the Opium. I believe that this is due to his boxer's resilience. After a second dose, however, the drug had the desired effect, and thankfully, none of the unpleasant side effects it has been known to cause.
As is typical for Mr. Rig he celebrated his good health by engaging in a near fatal bout of fisticuffs that placed him in my care for a further week, with a catalogue of injuries including: severe bloodloss caused by a broken nose, two cracked ribs, and a severly enlarged left testicle. Am enforcing bed rest for one week at least.
Thursday 21st July, 1892[]
In investigating the murder of Lord Arthur Cotterill, it has been brought to my attention that Marjorie Dawes, the sister of Lord Cotterill's butler, is gravely ill with a virulent cancer and has insufficient funds for proper medical treatment. Moved by their plight I have offered to take the next opportunity I have to visit his sister and render what aid I can to her.
Friday 12th August, 1892[]
Travelled down to see Mrs. Dawes in Torquay. It was very clear after my intitial examination that the diagnosis of terminal cancer was, unfortunately, correct. The best medical treatment could hope to achieve would be to increase her level of comfort and perhaps prolong her life for a few months. Realising that I cannot spend the rest of her life looking after her, with the other duties that I have to perform, I set about finding another solution. Further to this I suggested to Mrs. Dawes and her brother that I could obtain her a place at the teaching hospital I had attended, with all costs included. This would, however, be on the proviso that she is willing to aid the next generation of female doctors to qualify in their craft. She took some convincing, but when I assured her that more female doctors could help to reduce the number of deaths during childbirth, and help other women come forward to a doctor with medical conditions about which they would have no small embarrasment talking with a male doctor, she saw the value of the service that she could provide, and realised that it would make her death hold meaning. I also had to have a private conversation with her brother about arrangements for after his sister's death. I had to tread carefully in my wording, as I knew that if I said the wrong thing he would refuse. I was well aware, that in order to agree to their end of the bargain, the teaching hospital would demand full use of Mrs. Dawes remains after her death to use in training. I also knew that her brother would desire a Christian burial for his sister, as is right and proper. I chose to word it thusly.
"The Hospital, after your sister's death would want to perform certain procedures upon her mortal remains, in order to help the students better understand the progression of
the cancer. What remains are left of your sister after this time, I would provide a full Christian burial for."
I did not tell him that the hospital would be unlikly to leave any remains, as the opportunity for such study comes rarely. He did not ask, I did not volunteer, and an agreement was made. Then I made my way to The London School of Medicine for Women and spoke with my old professor over afternoon tea and explained the situation to her. I confess that she took quite some convincing, but once she realised that I was willing to pay the funeral expenses from my own pocket, and the cost of transporting the patient to London, along with the fact that the hospital would have full access to the cadaver post-mortem (with appropriate discretion shown, of course) she agreed. Arrangements were made that very afternoon to move Mrs. Dawes to London.
Saturday 13th August, 1892[]
As I was lying in bed, unable to sleep, a thought occured to me. Mrs. Dawes is not alone, by far, in being unable to afford medical bills. Many people die each year from ailments that could be cured, had they but a shilling to pay. I have decided to open a surgery, with hours of Tuesday and Thursday mornings, to aid those who cannot afford their medical charges. I realise that I cannot do much by myself to change the world, but by doing this, I am at least doing my part in making a difference. Additionally, making myself popular with the lower echelons of society in and around Southend is likely to provide future access to the "word on the street".
Thursday 1st September, 1892[]
Have admitted Mr William Garvin into my medical care as an Alienist. I endeavour to help him regain the ability to sleep soundly, as his Night Terrors have been keeping him awake quite some time.
Friday 30th September, 1892[]
It has been a long and difficult journey. Mr Garvin's dreams would have been of great interest to the late Philippe Pinel. Through the techniques Pinel has inspired me to employ I was able to cure Mr. Garvin of his Night Terrors. I do believe that further sessions may be nescessary to help him past the obsessions that he holds for a woman that he can never have.
Wednesday 21st February, 1894, Desert East of Cairo.[]
In the Desert
I am sorry to say that I have been most tardy in the keeping of my journal of late I will therefore endeavour to cover the more pertinent parts in this entry.
- During some time spent in Brasov, Romania ostentiably delivering a tome of some importance to a member of the Rosicrucian faction, but instead finding ourselves dealing with a number of demonic entities infesting the 'Circus Fabulosus' a Ripper Lab was installed in the lodge, to my specifications.
- A Trip to Antactica was undertaken. In view of my current location I do not wish to dwell on it, except to say this. A month ago I would have said that nothing would have made me express any desire to return to that place. It would appear I have been proven wrong.
- Mr Rig recieved a letter that summoned him to Prague, and several of us attended with him. I believe it is at this time the degredation of his soul began as a deal with the devil was offered to him, though I did not hear him accept, I am convinced that this is what happened.
- I have mastered a new and unique Rippertech procedure : The implantation of a gland from a member of the “wee folk” or similar to the base of the brain stem. It has the effect of granting a measure of luck to the patient. I have therefore named this implant Felicitus Populi.
- I have undertaken my first surgical implant. I considered that luck is something most important in my line of work. The procedure, performed at the London Lodge, went well. However, in the weeks following I felt unusually jumpy and insecure when away from home. It took me some considerable time to come to the conclusion that my surgery had put pressure on a vital part of my brain leading to the confounded symptoms I was suffering. After some further study I reasoned that a skilled surgeon should be able to retrieve the original implant, repair the damage to the neural tissue and implant a fresh gland such that the symptoms might dissipate. I was understandably at a loss as to whom to turn to, as the procedure was highly complex and difficult. As luck would have it we received a visit from Dr. Garret, a Ripper from America, who was willing to perform the surgery for me. I consent that I was somewhat apprehensive, but I admit that I was unfit to do my job in the state I was in so my choices were, in my mind, reduced to no choice at all. I woke the evening after the surgery profoundly relived. He had done it. I felt better than I had in weeks. Dr. Garret reported to me that there was no swelling or pressure on the brain, but as my symptoms have gone I can only assume that there must have been something wrong with the first gland that was implanted.
- The next thing I must mention is the loss of my close personal friend and colleague Mrs. Morag MacTannon. She died saving us from a devilish Cabal villain who had been spying on us. The details are still hard for me to talk about. I witnessed the cruel fiend reach into my friends chest and stop her heart. I still have nightmares about it until this day although I confess they are by no means the most unpleasant visions in my dreams. I will miss Mrs. MacTannon in a way that few will understand. She was like a sister to me.
- A new lad, rejoicing in the sole name of 'Jones' has joined us. He is a cheeky young thing, but sharp as a tack. I gave him a medical check-up and aside from needing feeding up (a job I am sure that Cook will take to with great efficacy) he is in tip-top shape. Despite his age he is joining us on missions. I do not know what it is about him but allowing him to join us feels like the right thing to do. I have also noted that the lad is forming bonds with members of our group. For example, he seems to have come to see Mr. Garvin as a father figure and myself in a maternal role.
- Mr Rig finally slipped over the line. I had been watching his soul slip away for some time, but one particular occasion became too much to allow him to continue with his actions. He was transforming into a sulphurous mist, drifting through locked doors and killing innocent people in their beds. Not to mention nearly killing the boy, Jones, our compatriot, Jeffrey Sinclair, and myself. Putting him down nearly killed us. It should have killed him. The fact it did not is further proof, if proof were needed, that Mr Rig had not been human for some time. We kept him guarded and sedated while we discussed what to do. The conversation was long and difficult, but eventually we reached a majority decision. Mr Rig's soul and mind had gone – he was the devil's plaything and our job was clear. He had to be ended somehow. Mr. Carstairs stepped up to perform the dark duty, and it is well that he did as I do not believe Mr Rig's tainted existence could have been ended by any means other than the “Colt Pistol” that Mr. Carstairs had acquired on his travels. and I certified his time of death. We held a service to commemorate the man he once was, and a memorial was placed in the lodge grounds..
- We have been sent to Egypt as an American Ripper of some note had gone quite mad, and slain his allies while investigating a dark talisman. With my expertise I was to certify his madness, and then as a lodge we were to ensure the talisman did not fall into the wrong hands. A visiting Ripper from China has been sent along with us. I fear that Van Helsing is unsure of what to do with the elderly fellow and has thus given him to us to deal with. I find the fellow intriguing. There is much more to this old man than meets the eye. After long investigation and help from a secular colleague of Mr Carstairs, Doctor Stewart of the Cairo Museum of Antiquities we tracked down the location of the tomb of Setmosis where the Black Ankh – the talisman in question, was reported to reside. It was of utmost importance that we prevent it from falling into the hands of the Cabal, but in the desert dehydration and delirium are more pressing foes. I was already concerned that our water was running low after trekking through the burning desert to the undiscovered tomb in the aptly named Valley of Death. After facing many trials and traps within the tomb of Setmosis we finally made it out by the skin of our teeth – injured, but escaping death to be met with the betrayal of Dr. Stewart, who in my professional opinion is clearly insane and should we survive I intend a certain amount of revenge regardless of this fact. The Hippocratic oath was not written with such men in mind! The dastardly traitor threatened us, relieved us of the Black Ankh, took all of our drinking water and left all of us to die in the unforgiving heat of the Western Desert.
And so here we are. I hope that we can make it out, for everyone's sake.