Darkness... a cold pool of shadows, consuming his every conscious thought. A giant ink blot on the unwritten manuscript of his mind. Complete and utter shadow.

Then the light was turned on. First it was hazy but soon he could see that he was walking, stumbling rather, upon a sidewalk, his shoes slipping slightly over the slickness of the stones. Looming objects and nightmarish structures in his poor field of vision came into focus, then out, then in. Wisps of gray fog came curling around his face, making it seem like he was caught in a wondrous dream. He reached out his arm which felt weak, as if crushed by a great weight, searching for something, anything. His cold fingers clamped on the hardness of a tall object. Reeling his dizzy head upwards, he saw that his body was now leaning up against a lamp-post. He curled his shaking frame tighter around it, afraid to let go out of fear of collapsing.

What is this? his aching brain asked himself. Is this some macabre dream?

What was that? While his senses were dull, he was now aware of an intrusion in the atmosphere. Voices... small and distant. He forced his eyelids back, trying to make sense of the place he was now at. Dark figures were slowly strolling down the street towards him. Perhaps a bit too slowly. Everything was moving inhumanly sluggish; the two shadowy essences took an eternity to make their way down the walk and the cloud of fog seemed to be frozen as he gingerly made his way from the lamp-post. The shadows advancing on the sidewalk were dressed in flowing black dresses, filmy veils covering their faces.

Their faces. The man instantly felt himself grow weak as he gazed upon those faces behind the veils melt away and turn a ghastly white, their eyes were pools of eternal darkness, and their mouths opened in wicked shrieks of the damned. He felt himself about to faint at the sight of these ungodly creatures but forced his legs to move on.

Sounds intensified. His steps became that of a gigantic stone creature, stomping his way through a lonely valley. The cacophony made him feel as if his ears were about to spurt streams of crimson. The fog sounded like the surging winds of an intensely fierce thunderstorm, eager to pluck the man from this horrid world and carry him away.

What is going on? Who am I?

"Who am I?"

He stopped. His voice. He had spoken. "Who am I?" he repeated through a strained throat. A cold rasp. But a question nonetheless. Ahead of him there was an older man of respectable clothing and stature, who came walking towards him, his ebony cane twirling between his gloved fingers. He reached out his hand and grabbed the man's arm with surprising strength. The elderly man's eyes peered out through his gold-rimmed spectacles.

"What do you think you're doing?" the gentleman demanded. He was able to make out those words but they didn't match up with the man's mouth. He stood there for a few more seconds just staring wildly at the man.

"Who am I?" he asked in a frightened whisper. Wrestling free of the grip he had on him, the gentleman quickened his pace down the walk. Other objects were soon appearing in his vision. Dilapidated buildings with their peeling paint and shutters barely hanging on to the broken windows, threatening to fall down to the littered street. The sky was dreary and cast an ugly look over the wasteland. He jerkily moved around and was able to make his way down a dark and foreboding alley. He used the palms of his hands to keep himself up, pressing them against the slimy bricks at his side. A large yowl made him jump in panic, but he saw it was a hungry street cat, gazing at him with blazing yellow eyes and picking at the mutilated rat at its paws.

What was that? At the end of the alley? As the fog parted, he could see that there was another crumbling building just ahead of him. Dusty windows peered out at him like sleepy eyes, the front door weather-beaten and poorly lit by the burning gaslight above it. He quickly made the rest of his trek down the alley, kicking rotten garbage aside. He finally threw himself against the threshold, his weight nearly causing the door to cave in. He spotted the brass knocker just above his head and right over that he could just barely make out the painted letters covered beneath years of neglect and decay: THATCHER'S CURIO SHOP. Maybe... maybe there's someone inside who can help me, he thought. Gripping the knocker, he lifted it weakly and rapped on the doorway five times.

"Hello?" His vocal cords ached from underused. "Is anybody there?"

Without warning, the front door swung open on rusty hinges, nearly causing the man to fall flat on his face. Regaining his shaky balance, he peered at the dust-covered shop. Shelves were crammed with molding packages, all matter of insects crawling inside of them. Worn pictures hung on the chipped walls at his side. He spotted at least six cobwebs in the nooks and crannies of the shop, each being owned by large arachnids. The man shuffled through the crowded room and collapsed onto the front counter, thick dust clouding up around him. He spotted a small brass bell and, lifting his throbbing hand, rang the small instrument twice.

The sound resonated throughout the store as the man waited. He saw a curtain at one end of the room flutter at the corner of his eye. He noticed that the ragged cloth led to a separate back room. He couldn't see past the cloth but he caught sight of several red droplets that were scattered on the wooden floor under the makeshift doorway. Suddenly it was pulled back, revealing a man nearly as hideous as the shop. He was of ancient years, signified by every inch of his skin being besieged by wrinkles. A tangle of gray hairs hung from the man's scalp, drooping over his piercing green eyes. He could see that the man's nails were about as yellow and crooked as the teeth in his snarling mouth. The dark rags he wore swung as he moved toward the counter.

"What do you want?" the older man growled in a Cockney accent. "I'm very busy at the moment." It took a while for the man to recover from the shopkeeper's rancid breath.

"I... I'm not sure what I want. I woke up only a few minutes ago."

"So you've come here to tell me about your nap? If you've got nothing important to say then I'll be on my way," the shopkeeper said as he started back to the room. "No, no. You must understand," he stuttered. The man grabbed the shopkeeper's scabby wrist. The old man glared back at him with slanted eyes and he released his hold.

"I'm sorry. It's just that I don't remember anything prior to me awaking. I just suddenly woke up walking towards this shop. I don't even know who I am."

"Ahhh, I see. Now where getting somewhere, my boy." The shopkeeper scratched his scraggly chin in thought and an ugly grin spread across his unshaven face.

"I was just wondering if you could possibly help me..."

The shopkeeper held up a hairy palm, signaling for the young man to stop. "Not another word, Jack" he chuckled. "I've got just the thing for you."

"Why did you," the man started but the proprietor dashed back into the dark room with a queer eagerness. There was a bit of shuffling about before he came back out, holding a small box in his grasp. He held it out in front of the young man's discolored face.

"All of your answers lie within here." He placed the box on the counter and slid it towards the man. Cautiously picking it up, the young man opened it, revealing a gold ring resting inside. Plucking it out, he noticed a stunning ruby was embedded into the center. A slight pain throbbed in his forehead. He rubbed at the sharp pain.

"This?" he asked the grinning old man. "This is going to help me find out who I am?"

"Not quite," laughed the shopkeeper. "But it will help you on your journey. All you must do is simply slip it onto your finger... and let the ring do the rest."

The young man looked at him as if he were a raving lunatic. "This is absolutely crazy. A ring can't lead me back to my life," he exclaimed.

The shopkeeper made a disgusted frown. "Well if you do not wish for my services..." He began to make a grab for the ring.

"Wait," the young man said suddenly. He heard small, distant whispers that seemed to drift from somewhere in the room and into his brain. He looked around the shop to see if somebody else had entered. The place was deserted other than the two men engaged in the unnatural exchange. Sweet, comforting whispers promised to ease all his pain and suffering. Such good, succulent words. The ruby seemed to enchant him as he felt a warm essence surge through his body.

"I... I'll take it," the young man said uneasily.

The old man withdrew his hand with a smile. "How much will this cost me?" inquired the customer.

"Heh, heh. Free of charge, my boy. You may take it and do with it as you please."

The man stared at the sparkling ring for one more moment and then hastily placed it back into the box. All the words of healing were silenced as the lid was shut.

"Thank you very much. I appreciate what you've done for me."

"No trouble at all, son. Just try not to lose your way again." The strange old man began to laugh crazily as the young man closed the door to the strange shop. The box in his hand seemed to almost pulsate as the man made his way down the dark alley again. The warm essence he felt before began to spread throughout his entire being, causing him to sweat feverishly. He was soon aware of the sound of his own heart thudding wildly against his clammy chest. Pounding and pounding against the flesh. So hard that the skin broke and gave way to a torrent of blood as the organ tore itself from his body. With a shriek, he frantically tore open the front of his shirt and discovered that his sweating skin had remained intact.

The voices returned once more, taunting him with their pleasures. He rubbed at his ears in annoyance, trying to shoo away the whispers. They pleaded with him, begged him, seduced him into doing their bidding. This is madness, he thought. I'm going insane. But still the damned voices persisted, giggling in his ear, telling him of unholy things and laughing in evil glee at their own depravity. It soon became a monotony of thousands of voices, all of different pitches but each promising the same thing: freedom.

With a wild cry of desperation, the man tore the box in two and snatched the ring from its resting place, sliding it it over the ring finger of his left hand. Suddenly all the strange symptoms his body had been suffering from stopped as soon as they started. He let out a shaky sigh. It's over.

That's when he felt the knife thrust into his skull. He let out an agonized cry and threw up his palms against his head as the blade twisted through his brain matter. Whirling around in blind pain, the man saw that no one was violating him. Another knife thrust between his eyes. He sank to his shaky knees and covered his face as it was stabbed repeatedly by the invisible butcher.

"God in Heaven!" he shrieked as his lung was penetrated. A liquid darkness began to creep into his field of vision and was highlighted by a flash of scarlet every time he was attacked. Soon the blackness had rendered him blind but it didn't stop the invisible madman from assaulting him. The man let out one final shout of torture before he felt the knife invade his throat and he slipped into unconsciousness.

He was still screaming when he woke up. His throat felt raw and gritty from what seemed an eternity of shrieks. A few remnants of the macabre seizure that overtook him still remained in his body, making him feel like a mangled pin cushion. The dark veil was still pulled down over his eyes but the vicious stabbing had finally ceased. The man was on his back and for a moment he thought he was paralyzed. He rolled over onto his side and felt something press up against him. A grim odor suddenly defiled his nostrils and he began to gag at the stench. The veil was being slowly lifted and the man began to see more clearly.

The thin outline of a face was being sketched out before him. It was ever slowly coming into clarity. But something was wrong with this picture.

When he had finally regained his full vision, he let out a startled cry as he saw the face of a screaming woman staring right back him. But her cries of terror had been silenced. The powdered eyes were wild and desperate. The lipstick-covered mouth was contorted into a strangled gasp. Several drops of blood were splattered across her pretty white throat. The man was staring at a dead woman. Hastily rising to his aching legs, he saw what remained of the corpse. Her blouse had been crudely shredded open with a blade, causing full, beautiful breasts to hang out in the stale air. Along with her intestines. Someone (or something, as it seemed no human of God could have done such a thing) had sliced into her abdomen with surgical preciseness, spilling out the gory contents within like a grotesque piñata. The cobblestones beneath the corpse were stained crimson and her bowels painted an even darker picture against the pavement. Her skirt was pulled up over her bruised legs and the undergarments were tied around the blood-smeared ankles. What he saw made him lose faith in everything that was or had been holy. Such an abomination seemed so inhuman that the man began to believe that demons and evil spirits had been at work. Only something so unspeakably vile could have defiled this descendant of Eve in such a manner. The man's throat became hot and bubbled with bile. He sank to his weakened legs and vomited on the desecrated street. A knife slipped out of his coat pocket and clattered across the alley. The shining blade seemed to smile up at him like a clown's painted sneer. He could see the bloodstained fingerprints on the handle, accusing him of the atrocity that lied before him.

He stared in utter disbelief at the weapon. It was inconceivable. But the whispers told him it was all too real. That's when he saw the ruby on his hand shine and he stared down at the ring in awestruck horror.

"Dear God..."

He furiously wrenched his finger free of the ring's strong hold, nearly snapping his knuckles in half. He pitched back his hand to throw it into the darkness. Whispers suddenly emerged from the shadows and he felt himself freeze in place. No, they urged. Don't throw the ring. Keep us. Hold us. Love us...

Slowly, and without his control, the man felt himself place the ring back into his coat pocket. Snatching up the instrument of death that lied before him, the man charged down the alley and away from the nightmarish sight, praying never to return to such a Hell again.

He clumsily crashed into objects as he hurried past: parked carts, lamp posts, even tripping over a windblown newspaper that strayed into his path. He didn't care. He didn't care about anything anymore. Not even his very own identity. All that mattered was to disappear. Get away from this horrid dream of his and back to reality.

Whistles. They pervaded the sky, drifting down the empty streets to his awaiting ears. He could see several dark figures running frantically towards the location of the slaying. Police. They had found the body. It wouldn't be too long before they reached him, still bearing the damned knife in his possession. He had to hide. But where? His bloodshot eyes scanned the gray street and the gray buildings and the gray sky for solace from the horror.

A manhole. With all the desperation of a condemned man, he skidded down the street and sunk to his knees, tearing through his trousers and flesh as he did so. He greedily poked his fingers through the iron gratings and began to lift the lid with what little strength he had left. Please, he begged his aching body. Don't fail me now. The sounds seemed to be getting closer with each passing second. The whistles were ringing in his ears in a bloody cacophony. He could even hear the pounding of running feet not too far from him. Were those shadows he saw darting across the faces of the building? Every fiber in his body was shrieking. Please! Lord Almighty, please!

With his muscles on the verge of tearing, the lid released itself from its hole. Placing his foot on a metal step, he quickly ducked into the dark sphere and hurriedly replaced the iron grating over his head. The space wasn't particularly large but just wide enough for him to slowly slide down the cylindrical space and onto the damp floor beneath him. Looking up to the light above, the man's heart skipped a beat when he saw shadows running over his very hiding place. He had just made it. Perhaps the angels were still on his side.

He glanced around and could hardly make out his surroundings for there was little illumination, save for the scant torches that hung from the dripping walls. The flames caused the dark shadows to form menacing figures, leering down at the man as he walked through the caverns. A little down the way, the stone path ended and a wide river of sewage took its place. His insides turning in disgust, the man mustered up enough strength and trudged through the grimy water. The water was freezing cold and felt like ice against his bones. Hungry, fat rats swam on the dirty waves, looking for bits and pieces of rubbish to feast on. Several of them stealthily swam toward him as he made his way down the river and sank their yellow teeth into his warm flesh. Cursing, he would toss the loathsome creatures against the stone walls in revulsion.

Take us. He stopped as he heard the elusive utterance spoken into his ear. Take us and hold us. He knew where it was coming from. He would not give in. Oh, please. Love us again. Just once more.

"No!" the man yelled as he struck at the sewage water, sending foul-smelling water across his face. "I will not do it!"

Oh yes you will! the ring screamed. You will do as we command...

His screams echoed in that dank cavern as the blade was shoved into his ear cavity. He gripped his head in wretched pain but the relentless attacker would not give up. The knife was cutting his eyes right out of his wailing face. He felt the sharp edge grinding into the bone, making his whole body vibrate with each slice. "Oh please, don't do this again! Stop!" Never! the unholy demon in his head laughed. He felt every part of his body violated and torn and mutilated by his internal psychopath. He was on his knees now, offering his soul to the Holy Ghost in exchange for relieving him of his pain and torment. Not even his thoughts were safe from the demon.

There is no God now. Only your master. Obey! His will finally diminishing from his tortured body, the man dug into his coat pocket and retrieved the infernal ring. The jewel glinted with a demonic light, smiling with wickedness at its newly acquired slave. Tears streaming from his throbbing pupils, he slipped the ring onto his finger. Like before, the sadism stopped immediately. The man felt himself slowly losing his grip on consciousness as the black waters beneath him seemed to surge with a deadly power. With one final moan, he sunk into the sewer's depths and let the cold waves overtake him completely. There we are, the whisper cooed as a refreshing chill took over his body. We’re together again. Perhaps it was the hot tears streaming down his cheeks that made him wake up with a start. It didn't matter. All that did was that he could tell he wasn't in the sewers anymore. No more dank smelling water and hot air on his face. Just the cooling wisps of mist blowing across his wicked soul. He felt the hard street beneath him and grimaced. Something slimy slid between his shaking hands. He began to weep. He still couldn't see but he knew where he was, what had happened. He felt the sharp blade of the knife cut into his skin as he squeezed his palms into fists and slammed them into the ground. "Why?" he whimpered. "Who am I? Who am I?!" The question was only answered by his own echoes.

He could see now. Saw that he was in another alley, only not as dark as the first since there was a flickering gaslight above him. The flames were just enough to illuminate her face. Her screaming but silent face. He put a hand to his mouth and winced as his fingers touched deep scratch marks that had been burdened into his flesh. He saw the bloody stigmas on his hand, the crimson fluid that stained them was pointing the finger of guilt directly at him. He knew what he had done and here he sat with his dark crime. And all because of the ring. Not anymore, he thought. With a rapid movement, he rose the knife that he had used to kill twice before and sent it down upon his pulsating wrist. But he was suddenly held in his place, just as the blade nicked his skin. It's over now, the evil whisper told him. You belong to us.

Slowly, the warm essence he had felt before began to flow like slow-moving magma from his finger and throughout his whole body. It wasn't a threatening feeling. It was so inviting that he felt himself giving in to it completely. Whoever he was, whoever he had been, existed no longer. Only this new identity reigned. As the essence swallowed the last of the man's consciousness, a sly smile crept across his new face. He might not remember that pathetic being he was, but he knew who he was now. A new man, a new being. He held the knife close to his face, the brilliance of the blade matching that of his own smile. "Jack", he whispered.