#9200529

[penninstitute]

FILE #0002

Statement #9200529 includes the following evidence as part of the case file: a letter written by the Axeman of New Orleans, published in newspapers at the time.

Hell, March 13, 1919

Esteemed Mortal of New Orleans: The Axeman

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 conducted their investigations in the past. In fact, 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 (and the worst), 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 just 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 out on that specific 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.

--The Axeman

[penninstitute]

CASE #9200529

Statement recovered from a journal of an unnamed author, claiming to be the Axeman of New Orleans. Statement recovered May 29th, 1920, original date unknown.

I love the sweet sound of jazz. It relaxes the gnawing and pressure inside my head to pick up an axe and swing. Dear reader, do you know the sensation? The pounding of your own heart in your ears, this building pressure that if you don’t relieve your head will explode? I feel it so very often. You may not, of course, considering that you are mortal and I.... am not.

I used to be. I used to be a mortal, small and weak such as yourselves, but always had an urge. One that drove me to find the enlightenment that I eventually reached, creating the monster that you, dear reader, may know as the Axeman. 

I like that name, it is rather intimidating. It instills a fear in your hearts whenever you hear it- the Axeman of New Orleans, although that is not where I hail from. I hail from far away- somewhere you may have never heard of. Or maybe you have, in your books about Hell and whatnot. 

You may wonder if I feel remorse. My answer is simple- no. I feel no such sadness for slaughtering you humans, in fact, I find it quite rewarding. Fulfilling, if you will. It gives me a purpose on this plane so that I may not die out of utter boredom. But I cannot die, not anymore, for I am not mortal, and I am quite close to the Angel of Death. You should know if you read my letter, it was published everywhere.

When I gave my life to the Violence I was weak. Weak and human, barely able to fend for myself, bullied and beaten for a lot of my childhood. Was it even a childhood? Can one who was never truly human have a childhood?

But I started feeling the urge, the pressure, and I killed for the first time in my life. It felt good to slam the axe into my mother’s brain, her skull cracking and caving under the sharp blade of my weapon. Her brains spilled out all over the pillow. She didn’t even scream. She whispered my human name and something in her native Italian, though, in horror, when she saw me above her. There was a glint in my eye and a grin spread across my face. 

My father was next. He woke up when the spray of his wife’s brain and blood hit his face from the spot in the bed next to him. The drunken bastard was the one that yelled at me. I didn’t want any of that, so I swung the axe into his mouth, unhinging his jaw and slicing through the tongue. I slammed again, and eventually the top part of his head was detached from the rest of his body. It was quite the sight to behold, my dearest reader. It was beautiful.

I cleaned up after that and went to a local jazz club where I came down from my murderous high. I love that music. It would be a shame to kill someone who created it, you know? I mean, a saxophone player without any hands isn’t much of a saxophone player. 

That night, when I slept in my bed so soundly for the first time in ages, a vision was beheld to me. It changed me into the person I am today. A monster, a demonic spirit full of all this rage against you humans. It was only a year later when I found myself in New Orleans, a place full of the music that I love, but also of so many idiotic people.

And the pressure in my head grew. The Violence was speaking to me, telling me I must kill, that I must feed it. Feed it with the violence and the murder. And that’s what I did over some nights in this gorgeous city. I killed six people. I almost killed more, but it can be tricky sometimes, when you’re in a frenzy. But they will be dead soon. 

As I write this, I’m heading to Satan knows where. The unbridled anger inside of me desperately calls for me to kill, kill, kill, and I will do that. The United States of America needs a monster like me. I can kill so much, I can bring so much horror and rot and blood and death into this world. The Violence says that I must transform this world into another living Hell. I will do what I must.

If you are reading this, you found my journal. Congratulations. Who knows how or why you may have it in your possession, but I hope you love this token of the Axeman, the bringer of Slaughter...

See you in Hell.

FOLLOW-UP NOTES

- For obvious reasons, this statement is... incredibly difficult to do follow-up on. The Axeman of New Orleans was a real figure, an American serial killer active in New Orleans, Louisiana (and surrounding communities, including Gretna), from May 1918 to October 1919. He was never identified, and the murders are unsolved to this day.

- A majority of the Axeman’s victims were Italian immigrants or Italian-Americans, leading some to believe the killings were ethnically motivated, but if this statement holds any truth to it, that may not be the case.

- It’s questionable if the Axeman was a demon, though this statement claims he was human... once. He seems to believe that he became something else, and it is assumed that that something else is a demon. I can’t exactly disprove this aspect of the statement.

- There is a famous letter written by the Axeman that was published, which is also in our files and can be found here. It is interesting how, oftentimes, statements will tie music and violence together. I wonder if there’s something more to that.