The Death of Sarah Laumann

August 10, 1919

My eyes flew open and I sat up in my soft bed, shrieking. I had had a horrid dream that ended with me lying in more than a lick of blood. If I hadn't moved into my own little house a month after I got engaged, my big brother James would have heard me from his room next door. If he was in a good mood and sober, he would sit in my bed and hold me until I fell back asleep.

My baby brother Jack would be asleep in his cradle, he was like a rock when he slept, not even the loudest creep could wake him. My mother and father, Joseph and Lily Laumann, would likely be awake worrying about money. Our family didn't have a jitney to spare. I hoped having one less mouth to feed would be helpful.

My fiancé, Raymond Elliott, was a wealthy business man so he would be paying for all of my needs. He gave me whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. I wasn't a gold digger, but I was partly marrying him for his money. I admired my handcuff. It was beautiful, I loved it and

Raymond. For my 19th birthday, which was today, Raymond would be away on business, so he promised he would take me to New York as soon as he got back. Why New York? I didn't know. I had heard it was beautiful around this time of year, so I didn't care. As long as he was taking me away from this horrible place.

It was August 17, 1919, seven days after the tenth murder. They had been going on since May 22, 1918, when Joseph Maggio and his wife were attack, it was absolutely terrifying. Especially since Joseph was a good friend of my father's The part that scared me the most was that nearly ten months after the first attack, I received a letter from the murderer. Of course, I gave the letter to the authorities, but not before copying it down word for word. It read:

Hell, March 13, 1919

Esteemed Mortal:

They have never caught me and they never will. They have never seen me, for I am invisible, even as the ether that surrounds your earth. I am not a human being, but a spirit and a demon from the hottest hell. I am what you Orleanians and your foolish police call the Axeman.

When I see fit, I shall come and claim other victims. I alone know whom they shall be. I shall leave no clue except my bloody axe, besmeared with blood and brains of he whom I have sent below to keep me company.

If you wish you may tell the police to be careful not to rile me. Of course, I am a reasonable spirit. I take no offense at the way they have been so utterly stupid as to not only amuse me, but His Satanic Majesty, Francis Josef, etc. But tell them to beware. Let them not try to discover what I am, for it were better that they were never born than to incur the wrath of the

Axeman. I don't think there is any need of such a warning, for I feel sure the police will always dodge me, as they have in the past. They are wise and know how to keep away from all harm.

Undoubtedly, you Orleanians think of me as a most horrible murderer, which I am, but I could be much worse if I wanted to. If I wished, I could pay a visit to your city every night. At will I could slay thousands of your best citizens, for I am in close relationship with the Angel of Death.

Now, to be exact, at 12:15(earthly time) on next Tuesday night, I am going to pass over New Orleans. In my infinite mercy, I am going to make a little proposition to you people. Here it is:

I am very fond of jazz music, and I swear by all the devils in the nether regions that every person shall be spared in whose home a jazz band is in full swing at the time I have mentioned. If everyone has a jazz band going, well, then, so much the better for you people. One thing is certain and that is that some of your people who do not jazz it on Tuesday night(if there be any) will get the axe.

Well, as I am cold and crave the warmth of my native Tartarus, and it is about time I leave your earthly home, I will cease my discourse. Hoping that thou wilt publish this, that it may go well with thee, I have been, am and will be the worst spirit that ever existed either in fact or realm of fancy.