Hell, March 13, 1919

“One badly injured man is found by his brothers half out of bed, pinned by the body of his dead wife. He dies waiting for the police.

“Another man is found injured by a man delivering bread; his mistress, found injured, dies a few days later after fingering her husband for the crime.

“A pregnant woman is found injured in her home; she survives and gives birth to a healthy baby.

“A girl wakes in the night to see a tall, thin man in black standing over her bed. She screams, and her badly injured uncle tells her to call police, then dies. The girl is uninjured.

“A woman is found injured, clutching her dead two-year-old daughter, with her dead husband on the floor behind her. She recovers and accuses her rescuers of the crime.” Ezra put down the papers. “What, precisely, is going on here, Joe?”

“That’s what I was hoping you’d find out for me, Ezra.”

Esteemed Mortal:

In the darkness, the lights of the city were ghostly, wavering things. Ezra turned the key to his rented house, humming to himself. Locking the door securely behind him, he paced the ground floor, breathing in the remnants of scent left from the dying day.

“The Axeman,” the werewolf murmured, moving to the small kitchen. “He wants me to find him the damn Axeman.” He turned on the stove, warming up the cold coffee he’d brewed before his visit to the station. “Why me?”

“You are the most highly decorated paranormal crimes detective in the state, you know.”

Ezra spun to face the intruder, coffeepot in one hand, pistol in the other.

Darius blinked at him. “I doubt the coffee would do me much damage. You already know the gun won’t. Besides, you can’t tell me you didn’t know I was in here.”

Ezra pocketed the pistol and reached for a mug in one smooth motion. “Coffee?”

“Only if you’re not throwing it at me.”

They have never caught me and they never will.

“So, all these people were attacked with an ax, and moreover, each family was attacked with their own ax.”

“So far as we know.”

“The only other sign of foul play is a panel chiseled out on the victims’ back doors, each too small for a person to enter through, and each situated in such a way that unlocking the door through the panel would be impossible.”

“Yes.”

“No footprints or fingerprints were found.”

“No.”

“We have precisely one eyewitness – a young girl woken from a sound sleep. All she saw was a tall, dark-clothed male figure who fled when she screamed. Curiously, she says that he was light on his feet, and that ‘it seemed as if he had wings’.”

Ezra leveled his pistol at Darius’ head. “We’re being watched.”

They have never seen me, for I am invisible, even as the ether that surrounds your earth.

Darius ducked; Ezra fired. Glass fell; something dark fell with it.

“There goes your window. Your landlord will be pleased.”

“Shut up, Darius.” Ezra scuttled over to the window, gun still extended. The vampire followed him.

Both men blinked; Ezra stood up, looking out the window into the moonlit darkness. “Nothing.”

Darius’ gray eyes glazed over. “There was blood.”

“I know; I smell it.”

“You hit something.”

“I know.”

“Where did it go?”

Ezra ran his fingers lightly over the jagged remnant of the window. “He flew away.” He could feel the heavy weight of Darius’ stare on his back. “We didn’t see him, but he did. It fits, doesn’t it?”

“Through that?” Darius pointed at the hole in the window. It was far too small for any man to pass through.

“Of course. It enters the houses, doesn’t it?”

I am not a human being, but a spirit and a fell demon from the hottest hell. I am what you Orleanians and your foolish police call the Axeman.

“What is it?” Darius asked, carefully tipping the broken glass into the trash can.

“Don’t know.”

Ezra wandered off down the hallway; Darius followed. They stopped at the back door.

“Chiseled open; just like all the victims.” Darius ran his hand over the missing space.

“That’s how it got in, then.”

“But…?”

“It was intact when I entered. I didn’t hear it being chiseled out, did you?”

The vampire shook his head. “No.”

Ezra pulled open a nearby closet. “Your hearing’s better than mine. I was humming to myself; I might have missed it. There’s no way you would have.”

“Why you, though?”

Ezra pulled out his shotgun. “Why not?”

When I see fit, I shall come again and claim other victims. I alone know who they shall be.

The two men sat at the kitchen table; Ezra’s shotgun lay between them.

“Planning on shooting it?”

Ezra nodded.

“Do you really think you can catch it?”

“He’ll be back.”

“Why? He’s never returned to the other victims, and fully a third of his intended victims have lived.”

“He’ll be back. He knows we’re on to him.”

“You switched pronouns again.”

“You switched the first time. Couldn’t you tell by the blood?”

“…No.”

“Neither could I. Something in his blood – anyway. There was a lingering scent on the back panel. He’s male, and I think I know what he is, too.”

“What is he, then?”

Ezra smiled; his razor-edged teeth glinted in the darkness. “A demon.”

I shall leave no clue except my bloody axe, besmeared with the blood and brains of him whom I have sent below to keep me company.

The sky was taking on the gray tint of very early morning. Finally, the two residents of the rental house were asleep.

The ax made just the faintest sound as it swung.

The demon grunted in surprise; the tall man who held his hand grinned, revealing long fangs.

“Wake up, Ezra,” Darius said.

Ezra glared up at the two figures standing over him. “Ah.”

“You were right. I don’t know how you knew he’d be back tonight, but here he is.”

“Yes. Now, what shall we do with him?” The werewolf reached for the shotgun propped by his bed.

The demon moved, and slid from Darius’ grip. Darius tried to grab the demon again, but the creature was gone.

Darius and Ezra looked at each other; Ezra got up. “Let’s get some breakfast. I can’t sleep after that.”

If you wish you may tell the police not to rile me. Of course I am a reasonable spirit.

Darius stared at his friend, who twitched at the stove as if he could feel it. Amused, Darius stared harder.

“Stop that,” Ezra snapped.

“What’s wrong, Ezra? You’re more edgy than usual.”

“I don’t know, Darius, why don’t you tell me? I was just attacked – twice – in my own house in the span of a night, and to make matters worse, the attacker is a demon who can move faster than any being I’ve ever dealt with. What would be wrong?”

“Don’t start. Something else is wrong, and you know it.”

Ezra scrambled the eggs with a truly unnecessary viciousness.

“Ezra?”

The chef’s knife in Ezra’s hand began hitting the cutting board hard enough to leave dents.

“How did you know that the Axeman would return last night?”

At that softly-voiced question, the werewolf seemed to deflate, but there was a disconcerting mania in his brown eyes. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t?”

“No. I just knew. It was like I’d read it in his scent, but scent doesn’t give that kind of information.” He turned to fully face his friend, and Darius was taken aback by the strangeness of his face. “That’s what worries me the most.”

I take no offense at the way they have conducted their investigation in the past. In fact, they have been so utterly stupid as to amuse not only me but His Satanic Majesty, Francis Josef, etc. But tell them to beware.

It was nearly noon; the silence was unbearable. Finally, Darius had had enough.

“Do you know what kind of demon he is?”

Ezra seemed to be struggling with himself. “Yes,” he ground out.

Darius’ gray eyes narrowed. “What is he, then?”

“I can’t tell you.” Strain was evident around Ezra’s eyes.

“Why not?”

“He won’t let me.”

“Ezra-”

“Darius. Just leave. There’s nothing you can do here.”

The uncomfortable silence descended again. Once again, it was Darius who broke it.

“Untrue.”

Ezra glared. Darius refused to glare back.

“I can kill you if he completes his hold on you.”

For the first time since his visit to the police station, Ezra relaxed.

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.

Night had fallen once again; once more, Darius and Ezra sat in the kitchen.

“Anything new?”

“No.”

“Any ideas?”

“For dealing with the demon? One – but it’ll have to wait for two days, and it may make things worse.”

Darius paused. Ezra’s head was bowed over his coffee mug; he refused to look up.

“Will he come back before then?”

“…Yes.”

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.

But nothing happened that night. Ezra padded out of his room, only to trip over the vampire sleeping in the hallway. Darius awoke long enough to give his friend a sleepy glare, then fell back asleep.

Amused and annoyed, Ezra half-dragged, half-carried his unconscious friend to the guest room, dropped him unceremoniously on the bed, then left.

Ten minutes and two cups of coffee later, a much more grateful Ezra returned to tuck his friend under the covers and pull the curtains, then went to put in a call to the police station.

It would be a late night.

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.

“One more night.”

“Hm?”

“One more night. That’s all I need.”

“Ah. For your plan, which may or may not work?”

“It’ll either work or make things much worse.”

“No in-between?”

Ezra was silent for a long moment. “Not that I can see.”

Darius leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “So, when you go werewolf on him, you’ll either what? Kill him or be killed?”

Ezra glared. “I’ll either kill him or give him the opening he needs to solidify his hold over me.”

It was Darius’ turn to pause. “Of course,” he said, unusually subdued. “He can’t kill you, can he?”

Ezra stared at his friend.

Darius smiled crookedly. “I’m slow, not stupid.”

At will I could slay thousands of your best citizens, for I am in close relationship to the Angel of Death.

The fifteenth of March dawned; across the city, people roused themselves for work.

In a rented house with a taped-up window, two people were just going to sleep.

“I thought you said he’d show before then.”

“There’s still time, Darius.”

“He comes out during the day?”

“…Not usually. But he’ll make an exception.”

“Or he’s just toying with you.”

“Or that. Get some sleep. You’ll need it if it comes to killing.”

“If it comes to killing, I’d rather not be awake enough to remember it. I’ve had to kill too many friends already.”

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

The sun was setting. Darius busied himself over the stove, trying not to burn the coffee. A muffled thud from the stairs caught his attention.

Something black flew at Darius as he emerged from the kitchen, and only his fast reflexes saved him from a nasty blow. The demon slid around the vampire and disappeared toward the back door.

Darius was already moving toward the stairs.

Ezra lay in a heap at the bottom, blood running down his face. As Darius watched, the gash on the werewolf’s temple sealed itself and scabbed over. Dazed, Ezra scrubbed at the blood with his shirtsleeve.

“Are you alright?” Darius asked.

Ezra waved his hand in a “so-so” gesture.

“Headache?”

Ezra nodded. Darius disappeared into the bathroom, reemerging with some medicine, which the werewolf took gratefully.

“Told you…”

“You did. But how will this affect your plan?”

“He’ll be back later. He knows what I’m planning to do; I’m counting on that. He’ll be back to try and claim me as his minion.” Ezra shot a wavering glare at his hovering friend.

Recognizing his cue, Darius replied, “Good luck with that.”

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.

The moon rose, full and bright. Ezra fiddled with the phonograph. “Fancy some jazz?”

Darius grimaced. “If you want.”

The werewolf grinned. “Don’t like it?”

“Not so much, but I don’t really mind it.”

Jazz riffs filled the air. Ezra returned to his chair, facing the risen
moon.

“When will you change?”

“When he shows.” Even as Ezra said it, his hands crept to his neck. Without so much as a flinch, Ezra drove his nails into his flesh.

Darius winced as the werewolf across the room peeled off his human flesh. Within moments, Ezra the human was replaced with Ezra the giant wolf – but this wolf had an unusually manic glint to his eyes.

As if at a prearranged signal, the demon fluttered out of the darkness.

One thing is certain and that is that some of those people who do not jazz it on Tuesday night (if there be any) will get the axe.

Demon and werewolf leapt for each other; in the ensuing clash of teeth, claws, ax, and sinister darkness, Darius couldn’t see a thing. Even still, he fully intended to watch, but some half-buried instinct forced him to look aside.

Pieces of darkness were being flung across the room, torn off by Ezra’s powerful jaws. But they weren’t dead – they were creeping across the floor back toward the battle.

Darius turned back to the fight, then stepped back.

Only the demon stood before him, holding a bloody ax. Then the demon bulged, and a piece of darkness was flung aside, and Darius realized what he was seeing – the living darkness was wrapping itself around Ezra, pulling the werewolf inside the demon’s body.

Ice trickled down Darius’ spine, yet he remained where he was. Interfering now would be suicidal – and pointless. No vampire could kill an Ankou – especially not a rogue one, that might have no compunction about eating him.

I wonder if the Society keeps immigration files on graveyard demons, Darius wondered, trying to distract himself from his rising sense of dread. I’ll have to check sometime.

The fight spilled over into the hallway.

Well, as I am cold and crave the warmth of my native Tartarus, and as it is about time that I leave your earthly home, I will cease my discourse.

And then it was over. A bewildered werewolf, back in human form, sprawled on the floor. The demon hovered in the air, then settled to the ground. A broken ax fell from his grip with a clatter.

Without a word, the demon fled. The remaining pieces of darkness twitched and died, fading into the silvery night.

“What the hell was that?” Darius asked, kneeling next to his friend.

“He’s gone,” Ezra said.

“I see that.”

“No – he’s gone. Out of my head. I don’t know why,” Ezra snapped, forestalling any further questions with an unsteady glare.

As Darius led him up to his room, Ezra added, “And he was winning, too.”

The jazz still played downstairs.

Hoping that thou wilt publish this, and 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 fantasy.

“So, Tuesday’s come and gone without incident,” Darius remarked half a week later. “Do you think he’s gone?”

“No. He’s still around. He may lay low for a while, though.”

“Why was he killing people?”

“He’d gone rogue. Most rogue Ankou are dispossessed – that is, they don’t die when they’re replaced, like they’re supposed to. They become a kind of zombi, but stranger and more vengeful.”

“Why did he let you go?”

“I don’t know.”

Darius paused. “You’re lying.”

“Weren’t you going back to Providence today?”

“Yes, and stop changing the subject.”

“Why did you come here, anyway?”

“I felt like visiting an old friend.”

Ezra shot Darius a wry, halfhearted glare. “Now who’s lying?”

The Axeman

Eight Months Later

Ezra pulled the letter from its envelope, unfolding it in one smooth motion.

Ezra,

You asked why I came down to the city back in March. It was for one simple reason – Society business. We suspected the supernatural nature of the Axeman, and I was sent to look into it. That’s the whole of it, but knowing your dislike for the Society, I chose not to tell you.

That is the whole of it.

Your friend,

Darius

“You damn liar,” Ezra murmured, crumpling the letter. He tossed it over his shoulder, and disappeared down the street.

Behind him, a rented house with a broken window burned. In the flames, bloody shadows writhed, though the entity that ruled them was long dead, exorcised with an ax to the head.

Inside the house, a different letter burned.

*****
Author’s Note:

The red italicized text is that of an actual letter sent to a New Orleans newspaper during the height of the Axeman murders.

The Axeman of New Orleans terrorized the city from May 22, 1918 to October 27, 1919. He killed or fatally injured eight people (3 women, 4 men, and 1 small girl), injured four more people (2 men and 2 women, one of whom was pregnant), and was seen by one girl and one woman, though neither could give very good descriptions.

The facts about the murders presented in this short story are accurate as of the time this story is set; after March 19, 1919 (the Tuesday referenced in the Axeman’s letter), the unreferenced events took place.

To this day, no one knows who the Axeman was, and no truly credible theories exist.