The Curse of Richmond House

Chapter 1

May 8th 1885 - I have yet to find the secret and scheme that has been left from this rumoured 'monster', as they so call it.

Yet.

I have searched every corner and nick of the city according to our previous client's sources, but so far, no luck. My friend here insisted that I take a break, and we would have taken turns, but I refused. I am not a man who willingly goes down this early. I shall find this blasted monster alive, and now, I must have been the greatest detective in London if I found it. Or him, or either her. I was not so sure.

I am not a usual believer in ghosts, vampires, monsters, etc. However, I have been called to this case, as there has been a hurl of homicide through the streets, mostly from beggars, urchins and other impoverished civilians living in the East End, and they wanted me to investigate.
I was strolling swiftly through the busy streets of London, my head sunken onto my chest as my hands were clasped at my backside. Every now and then, I would glance so suddenly at the dreaded pub that sat amidst all of the decorative markets and stalls. The people here in the city called it the 'Richmond House', though it had been many years since the Richmonds lived there. The current owner decided to do several renovations there and turned it into a shabby, yet vast pub for men to get drunk on. I assumed it was possibly for the money, and it wasn't important, yet I still took a glance every time I passed by, feeling a sense of foreboding. I was feeling too diffuse, but I knew that every other person on the street felt it as well. Nevertheless, they passed by as if nothing ever happened. I am not quite sure what had happened, but tales say on a dreary and fateful night, all the Richmonds died in cold blood.

The next day, an exhausted maid came to check on them and instead ran out the street later, screaming: 'The Richmonds are dead! Still laying on their beds! Eyes opened! Still doing their things!'

The entire police came to investigate, and the residents were in utter shock and stunned curiosity. They at once had never mourned the Richmonds, I hear. The parents, Mr Richmond and Mrs Richmond, were rude, snobby, and nosy, and their daughter, Jane, was proving even more so. But yet, it wasn't that which shocked them. It was how they were killed. The police were traumatised and shocked in pure terror to the fact that the Richmonds were not killed in a simple way. It was, in fact, complicated. Their throats were ripped out in the most obscene way, which I presumed, must be by some sort of dog, with their eyeballs rolling over the floor and their stomachs were ripped, intestines rolling out of their bodies and the bloody lungs and heart were also shown, cut and taken out of their chest.

In one word, it was brutal. When it became public, it, of course, went global. Everybody scrambled for the newspapers for a few weeks ever since the incidents. The civilians shuddered with trepidation, dreading to be the next victim. The Prime Minister assured them not to panic, and they would be safe.

After many months of searching, collecting evidence, deducing the incident, and asking witnesses what happened that night, they finally found a suspect. A timid man named Augustus Brussel.

'Not Augustus! It cannot be!' cried out several people.

Augustus, as I remembered, was the lead servant of the Richmonds. He would clean the halls, do the cooking, and all of those things. He was the favourite of the Richmonds, and it was hard to believe that he killed them. I once met him, and he seemed like a hot-tempered yet generous and kind man. I doubted whether or not it was true, but still, I had that instinct yelling that he did it. Most of all, he was the only person who stayed in the house during that night. All I knew, however, was that in the end, nobody hardly doubted that Brussel wasn't the one who did it. He was arrested immediately and was condemned to punishment by death. Upon my arrival, I never heard this news, except for a while back.