Beginning, Middle, and End--In the Night

Born in the slums of New York, a year after my family came over; I knew poverty for the first bit of my life. We’re Irish, both my parents born and raised in Ireland, and then in 1889, they took a ship over to American and landed on Ellis Island. Twelve or so months later I arrived. My first memories of my father are all right. He was a good man, but had a pretty nasty temper, especially when he drank. It wasn’t until I was about seven or eight that things started to go down hill. My father lost his job at the factory and at first it was all right, he would go to the lines and wait for his name or number to be called, but it never was, he was always too late. He then turned to drinking and even gambling, which made his temper even worse because he’d almost come home empty handed and waste what little money we’d made for the week. 1

The most beautiful woman I’d ever seen stepped in front of me while we crossed the street. Her long, flowing hair was a dark red; her skin seemed to glisten in the moonlight. Her dress was red, yet plain, for all I knew it was her only nice dress. That usually meant one thing in a place like this, working the streets. Many times I’d passed them and only stopped once, I was eighteen and confessed to the Father that Sunday. 52

My name’s Patrick James Murphy and I wander the streets, looking for you. I’ll find you and I’ll kill you. I’ll drink your blood and maybe, just maybe, I’ll make you like me