The Case of the Missing Heiress

In the quaint cobblestoned streets of Victorian London, where gas lamps flickered and horse-drawn carriages clattered by, there existed a man of many names and talents - Mr. Montague Massingly-Baines-Worplestringer. 

Despite his prestigious upbringing as an old Etonian, Montague found himself drawn to the world of mysteries and intrigue. Disguised under the guise of a rag and bone man, he roamed the labyrinthine alleys and forgotten corners of the city, unravelling secrets hidden beneath the surface.

It was on a dreary autumn morning that Montague found himself entangled in a case that would test his intellect and determination to the utmost. A distraught woman had approached him, her eyes brimming with tears as she pleaded for his assistance. Lady Victoria Pemberton, a noblewoman of considerable wealth and influence, had vanished without a trace.

Montague, ever the gentleman detective, accepted the challenge with a tip of his hat and a twinkle in his eye. He delved into the shadows of London, following a trail of breadcrumbs that led him deeper into the heart of the mystery. As he sifted through the whispers of the underworld and the secrets of the upper crust, he uncovered a tangled web of deceit and betrayal.

With his trusty companion, a scrappy terrier named Winston, by his side, Montague navigated the treacherous waters of high society. Posing as a rag and bone man allowed him access to places where a gentleman detective would raise suspicion. It was amidst the clutter of discarded trinkets and forgotten relics that Montague unearthed the first clue - a delicate lace handkerchief bearing the monogram of Lady Pemberton.

Armed with this newfound lead, Montague set forth to interrogate the inhabitants of the aristocratic circles Lady Pemberton frequented. With his impeccable manners and keen wit, he charmed his way into the confidence of the elite, all the while keeping a keen eye out for any sign of deception.

Days turned into weeks as Montague pursued the elusive trail of the missing heiress. His investigations led him to the shadowy corners of London's underworld, where whispers of blackmail and foul play echoed through the dimly lit streets. With each revelation, the puzzle grew more complex, weaving a tapestry of intrigue that threatened to ensnare all who dared to unravel its threads.

But Montague was not one to be deterred by adversity. With a steely resolve and unwavering determination, he pressed on, following the faint glimmer of hope that flickered in the darkness. And then, just when all seemed lost, he stumbled upon a hidden den nestled beneath the bustling streets of London - a clandestine meeting place for those who traded in secrets and lies.

It was there, amidst the flickering candlelight and the hushed whispers of conspirators, that Montague uncovered the truth behind Lady Pemberton's disappearance. A sinister plot had been hatched by those closest to her, driven by greed and envy. But with his quick thinking and sharp instincts, Montague was able to thwart their plans and rescue the heiress from her captors.

As the sun rose over the rooftops of London, casting a golden glow upon the city below, Montague stood triumphant, his mission accomplished and justice served. Lady Pemberton was reunited with her family, and peace was restored to the once troubled streets.

And so, Mr. Montague Massingly-Baines-Worplestringer, the old Etonian private detective posing as a Victorian rag and bone man, rode off into the sunrise, his faithful companion Winston at his side. For in a world shrouded in darkness, he was a beacon of hope, a defender of truth, and a true gentleman of the highest order.

Be That Writer: A word game to get your creative juices flowing

Be That Writer: A word game to get your creative juices flowing: This is a simple game. All you do is change a word of even a letter, or add or remove a letter in the title of a film/movie and see what may...

Critical Analysis of Left-Wing Critiques on the Harry Potter Series

Abstract:

The Harry Potter series, authored by J.K. Rowling, has garnered immense popularity worldwide, captivating readers with its magical universe and compelling narrative. However, the series has not been immune to criticism, particularly from left-wing perspectives. 

This paper undertakes a critical analysis of the left-wing attacks on the Harry Potter stories, exploring themes such as representation, politics, and social justice within the context of the series. 

By examining these critiques, this paper aims to provide a nuanced understanding of the intersection between literature, ideology, and cultural discourse.

Introduction

1.1 Background of the Harry Potter Series

1.2 Scope of Left-Wing Critiques

1.3 Objectives of the Analysis

Representation in the Harry Potter Series

2.1 Diversity and Inclusivity

2.2 Gender Representation

2.3 Critique of Tokenism

Political Allegories and Social Commentary

3.1 Power Dynamics and Institutions

3.2 Class Struggle and Economic Inequality

3.3 Critique of Neoliberal Ideology

Social Justice and Ethical Concerns

4.1 Treatment of Marginalized Groups

4.2 Depiction of Race and Ethnicity

4.3 Examination of Ableism and Disability

Responses to Left-Wing Critiques

5.1 Authorial Intent vs. Reader Interpretation

5.2 Evolution of J.K. Rowling's Perspectives

5.3 Fan Activism and Critical Engagement

Conclusion

6.1 Recapitulation of Findings

6.2 Implications for Literary Criticism

6.3 Future Directions for Research

Introduction:

1.1 Background of the Harry Potter Series:

The Harry Potter series, comprising seven novels, follows the journey of a young wizard, Harry Potter, as he navigates the magical world, battles dark forces, and ultimately confronts the dark wizard Voldemort. Published between 1997 and 2007, the series has sold millions of copies worldwide, been translated into numerous languages, and adapted into successful film adaptations.

1.2 Scope of Left-Wing Critiques:

Despite its widespread acclaim, the Harry Potter series has faced criticism from various ideological perspectives, including the left-wing critique. Left-wing critics have scrutinized the series for its portrayal of race, gender, class, and politics, highlighting perceived shortcomings in representation and social commentary.

1.3 Objectives of the Analysis:

This paper seeks to critically analyze the left-wing attacks on the Harry Potter stories, delving into key themes and controversies raised by critics. By examining issues such as representation, political allegories, and social justice, this analysis aims to shed light on the complexities of interpreting literature through an ideological lens.

Representation in the Harry Potter Series:

2.1 Diversity and Inclusivity:

One of the primary criticisms leveled against the Harry Potter series is its lack of diversity and inclusivity. Critics argue that the series predominantly features white, heterosexual characters, with limited representation of racial and sexual minorities.

2.2 Gender Representation:

The portrayal of gender roles and stereotypes in the Harry Potter series has also been subject to scrutiny. Critics contend that while the series features strong female characters such as Hermione Granger, it reinforces traditional gender norms and fails to challenge patriarchal structures adequately.

2.3 Critique of Tokenism:

Some critics accuse the Harry Potter series of tokenism, wherein diverse characters are included superficially, without meaningful development or agency. Characters such as Cho Chang and Dean Thomas have been cited as examples of tokenism, representing racial diversity but lacking depth in their characterization.

Political Allegories and Social Commentary:

3.1 Power Dynamics and Institutions:

Left-wing critics have analysed the Harry Potter series as a political allegory, drawing parallels between the fictional conflict between wizards and Muggles and real-world power dynamics. The portrayal of institutions such as the Ministry of Magic has been interpreted as commentary on bureaucracy, authoritarianism, and state surveillance.

3.2 Class Struggle and Economic Inequality:

The depiction of class divisions within the wizarding world has been a subject of critique, with some arguing that the series fails to adequately address issues of economic inequality. Critics highlight the privileged status of characters like the Malfoys and the marginalization of economically disadvantaged characters like the Weasleys as indicative of a superficial treatment of class struggle.

3.3 Critique of Neoliberal Ideology:

Critics have also scrutinised the Harry Potter series for its alignment with neoliberal ideology, particularly in its glorification of individualism, competition, and meritocracy. The portrayal of success primarily in terms of individual talent and achievement, rather than collective effort or social justice, reflects neoliberal values that prioritize personal gain over systemic change.

Social Justice and Ethical Concerns:

4.1 Treatment of Marginalised Groups:

Left-wing critiques of the Harry Potter series extend to its treatment of marginalized groups, including characters with disabilities, LGBTQ+ individuals, and racial minorities. Critics argue that the series often sidelines or stereotypes these groups, failing to fully explore their experiences or perspectives.

4.2 Depiction of Race and Ethnicity:

The portrayal of race and ethnicity in the Harry Potter series has been a contentious issue, with critics highlighting instances of racial stereotyping and cultural appropriation. Characters like the goblins and the house-elves have been interpreted as allegories for marginalised racial groups, raising questions about the appropriateness of such representations.

4.3 Examination of Ableism and Disability:

The portrayal of disability in the Harry Potter series has been critiqued for its reinforcement of ableist attitudes and stereotypes. Characters such as Mad-Eye Moody, whose disability is portrayed as a source of fear or pity, have been cited as examples of problematic representation that perpetuates stigma rather than challenging it.

Responses to Left-Wing Critiques:

5.1 Authorial Intent vs. Reader Interpretation:

A central debate surrounding left-wing critiques of the Harry Potter series is the extent to which authorial intent should influence interpretation. While some argue that J.K. Rowling's intentions should be considered in evaluating the series, others emphasise the importance of reader interpretation and the broader cultural context in shaping meaning.

5.2 Evolution of J.K. Rowling's Perspectives:

J.K. Rowling's public statements and actions have influenced the discourse surrounding the Harry Potter series, particularly regarding issues of representation and social justice. Critics and fans alike have noted Rowling's evolving perspectives on topics such as gender identity and racial diversity, prompting reevaluations of her work and its legacy.

5.3 Fan Activism and Critical Engagement:

Left-wing critiques of the Harry Potter series have sparked activism and critical engagement within fan communities, leading to discussions, fanfiction, and fan works that challenge and subvert the series' themes and messages. Fan activism has played a significant role in reshaping interpretations of the series and advocating for greater diversity and inclusivity in literature.

Conclusion:

6.1 Recapitulation of Findings:

In conclusion, the left-wing critiques of the Harry Potter series highlight important issues related to representation, politics, and social justice. While the series has been celebrated for its imaginative storytelling and cultural impact, it is essential to critically engage with its themes and messages, acknowledging both its strengths and limitations.

6.2 Implications for Literary Criticism:

The analysis of left-wing critiques of the Harry Potter series underscores the significance of incorporating diverse perspectives and critical frameworks in literary criticism. By examining literature through an ideological lens, scholars can deepen their understanding of texts and contribute to broader discussions about representation, power, and ethics.

6.3 Future Directions for Research:

Future research on the Harry Potter series could explore additional perspectives and critiques, including those from marginalized communities and global contexts. Furthermore, examining the impact of fan activism and digital media on literary interpretation offers exciting avenues for scholarship and engagement.

This critical analysis provides a comprehensive examination of the left-wing attacks on the Harry Potter series, offering insights into the complex interplay between literature, ideology, and cultural discourse. By engaging with these critiques, scholars and readers alike can foster a more nuanced understanding of the series and its broader implications.

Be That Writer: A critical analysis of criticisms of Harry Potter

Be That Writer: A critical analysis of criticisms of Harry Potter: The Harry Potter series of books are either imbued with misogyny, racism and is written to promote the hegemony. Or it is a book steeped wit...

"Whispers of Deceit" A story featuring Emily Carstairs, Lady Detective

Chapter 1: The Enigmatic Heiress

London, 1888. The gas lamps flickered dimly, casting shadows on the cobblestone streets. Emily Carstairs, an elegant and astute Victorian lady, was known for her sharp mind and impeccable deductive skills. She had established herself as the city's most sought-after detective, navigating a world dominated by men with a grace that belied her fierce determination.

A letter arrived at Emily's discreet office tucked away in the heart of Mayfair. The wax seal bore the insignia of Lady Amelia Worthington, a mysterious heiress with a penchant for attracting trouble. Lady Worthington requested Emily's presence at her sprawling estate, situated on the outskirts of London. Intrigued, Emily donned her finest attire and set off in her horse-drawn carriage, ready to unravel the secrets that awaited her.

As Emily approached the grand Worthington Manor, the fog-draped landscape seemed to harbor secrets of its own. Lady Worthington greeted her with a mix of desperation and secrecy. She spoke of peculiar occurrences—strange whispers in the night, missing heirlooms, and a foreboding sense that her family's fortune was in jeopardy.

Chapter 2: Midnight Whispers

Emily delved into the intricacies of the manor, her keen eyes scanning for clues. The Worthington family, with their illustrious history, had amassed wealth and power. As Emily questioned the staff and family members, she uncovered hidden rivalries, longstanding grudges, and a web of deceit that extended beyond the manor walls.

One moonlit night, Emily patrolled the estate, attuned to the whispers in the wind. A hidden passage, concealed behind a bookshelf, led her to a clandestine meeting. A group of servants, seemingly loyal, gathered in hushed tones. Their loyalty was divided, and Emily sensed a plot to undermine Lady Worthington.

Chapter 3: The Stolen Heirloom

The investigation intensified as Emily discovered that a priceless family heirloom had vanished. The Fabergé necklace, a symbol of the Worthington legacy, disappeared from Lady Worthington's private chamber. Suspicions fell on the household staff, but Emily's intuition told her that the truth was more elusive than a mere theft.

As Emily scrutinised the intricate details of the crime scene, a hidden compartment within the dressing table revealed a secret compartment. Inside, a cryptic note hinted at a hidden conspiracy within the family itself. The investigation now led Emily to untangle the threads of a complex familial drama that extended beyond the theft of a mere trinket.

Chapter 4: A Dance of Deception

The Worthington family held an opulent ball, a facade of grandeur concealing a dance of deception. Emily, dressed in a gown that seamlessly blended with the aristocratic attendees, moved through the crowd, her observant eyes capturing every stolen glance and whispered conversation.

She engaged in a delicate dance of conversation with the family members, each revealing morsels of information that pointed to motives and hidden agendas. Unraveling the layers of deceit, Emily pieced together a tale of betrayal, secret alliances, and a desperate struggle for control of the Worthington fortune.

Chapter 5: The Unveiling

As Emily gathered the final pieces of the puzzle, she summoned the entire Worthington family and staff to the grand hall. The air was thick with tension as she exposed the true orchestrator of the deception—Lord Archibald Worthington, Lady Worthington's own brother.

Lord Archibald, driven by greed and a thirst for power, had plotted to discredit his sister and take control of the family estate. The stolen heirloom was merely a diversion, a means to distract from his true intentions. With undeniable evidence and the weight of her deductive prowess, Emily unmasked the traitor.

The revelation sent shockwaves through the Worthington household. Lord Archibald, cornered and exposed, attempted to escape, but Emily, undeterred, pursued him through the manor's hidden passages. The chase led to a dramatic confrontation in the family crypt, where the truth of past sins and long-buried secrets came to light.

Chapter 6: The Aftermath

With Lord Archibald apprehended and the stolen heirloom recovered, the Worthington family found themselves at a crossroads. Emily's investigation had not only restored Lady Worthington's honor but had also laid bare the fractures within the family. As the sun dawned on a new day, the manor echoed with the whispers of redemption and forgiveness.

Lady Worthington, grateful for Emily's unwavering dedication, expressed her heartfelt gratitude. The enigmatic heiress had faced not only external threats but also betrayal from within her own blood. As Emily bid farewell to the Worthington Manor, she left behind a legacy of justice and a testament to the indomitable spirit of a Victorian lady detective.

(Image courtesy of Jo Justino from Pixabay)

Edwin Snoode and the Collector

In the gloom-laden streets of Victorian London, where the fog clung to the cobblestones like a spectral wraith and the gas lamps flickered like weary souls, there lived a man by the name of Edwin Snoode. Mr. Snoode, a man of unassuming countenance and threadbare coat, resided in a small, dilapidated dwelling on the outskirts of the city. 

His life, unbeknownst to the bustling world around him, was a tale woven with threads of sorrow, mystery, and a flicker of hope that struggled to endure in the murky corridors of his existence.

Edwin Snoode was a man of middling age, with thinning hair that clung to his forehead like damp seaweed and eyes that bore the weight of a thousand unspoken secrets. His days were spent in drudgery at a dusty accounting firm, where the ledgers seemed to multiply like rabbits and the ink-stained quills whispered tales of misfortune and despair. It was a life of monotonous routine, punctuated only by the occasional visit to the melancholy tavern where the patrons drowned their sorrows in spirits as bitter as their own lives.

In the wintery recesses of his heart, Edwin harbored a spectral past, one that he tried desperately to bury beneath the facade of a mundane existence. A past that bore the scars of a love lost, a family shattered, and a shadow that lingered, casting a pall over his every waking moment. It was a tale that began in the halcyon days of his youth when the gas lamps cast a softer glow and the streets echoed with the laughter of children.

Edwin Snoode, in those days, was a hopeful dreamer, his aspirations lofty and his heart untamed. He courted a fair maiden by the name of Arabella, a vision of grace and virtue who, with eyes like sapphires, captured his affections. Their courtship, like the delicate dance of butterflies, was a thing of beauty, a melody that played in the secret chambers of their hearts.

Alas, the fates, ever capricious, conspired against the lovers. A tragedy befell Arabella, an ailment that withered her like a delicate blossom in the chill of winter. Edwin, in the throes of grief, sought solace in the dimly lit corners of the city, where whispers of the supernatural and the macabre danced with the shadows. It was there, in the clandestine company of seers and mystics, that he made a pact, a pact that would bind his fate to forces beyond mortal ken.

The mysterious covenant bore fruit, and Arabella, though bereft of life, walked the earth once more. However, the rekindled flame of love was not without its cost. A shadowy figure, known only as the Collector, emerged from the depths of the netherworld to claim what was owed. Edwin, in his desperation and love-blinded folly, had unwittingly mortgaged his soul.

The Collector, a spectral entity clad in garments as black as the abyss, haunted Edwin's every step. A soul in debt is a heavy burden, and the weight of the ethereal ledger bore down on him with the inexorable force of destiny. The city, once a tapestry of dreams, now unravelled before him, revealing the cruel threads of a fate spun from the loom of his own decisions.

Haunted by the relentless pursuit of the Collector, Edwin Snoode wandered the gas-lit streets of London, a man adrift in the currents of his own undoing. He sought solace in the forgotten corners of the city, where the destitute and the forgotten huddled together like spectres in the penumbras of society. It was amidst the downtrodden and the broken that Edwin found a glimmer of purpose, a sliver of redemption in the stained glass of his tormented soul.

The denizens of the underbelly of London, a motley assembly of misfits and vagabonds, became his confidants and comrades. In the soot-streaked alleys and dilapidated hovels, Edwin discovered a resilience that mirrored the strength of his own beleaguered spirit. Together, they formed a clandestine alliance, a fellowship born of necessity and bound by the commonality of their struggles.

As Edwin ventured deeper into the labyrinthine heart of Victorian London, he unearthed a conspiracy that spanned the echelons of society. A malevolent force, masked by the veneer of respectability, exploited the vulnerable and preyed upon the weak. The Collector, it seemed, was not a singular entity but a manifestation of a pervasive malevolence that clung to the city like a malignancy.

In the parlors of the affluent, where the chandeliers glittered like diamonds and the laughter echoed with a hollow ring, Edwin discovered the puppeteers who pulled the strings of fate. A cabal of shadowy figures, draped in silk and velvet, orchestrated a symphony of suffering for their own insidious ends. The Collector, a pawn in their cosmic chess game, was but a tool to harvest the souls ensnared in the intricate web of their machinations.

With newfound purpose, Edwin Snoode rallied his eclectic band of allies, each member a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. Together, they delved into the heart of the conspiracy, navigating the treacherous currents of deception and intrigue that permeated every echelon of Victorian society. The city, once a labyrinth of despair, became a battleground for the soul of London itself.

As the layers of the conspiracy unraveled, Edwin faced adversaries both corporeal and ethereal. The Collector, driven by the insatiable hunger of the malevolent cabal, pursued him with relentless determination. The spectral debt, an ever-present specter, loomed over Edwin's every action, a reminder of the price he had paid for love reclaimed.

In the darkest corners of Victorian London, where the gas lamps sputtered and the fog clung to the cobblestones like a shroud, Edwin Snoode confronted the puppeteers who sought to manipulate the fate of a city steeped in shadows. The climax of the tale unfolded in a grand confrontation, a symphony of clashing wills and ethereal energies that reverberated through the very fabric of existence.

In the final act of this Dickensian drama, Edwin faced the malevolent cabal, a conclave of twisted aristocrats who reveled in the suffering of those they deemed beneath them. The Collector, once a pawn in their game, turned against its masters, a sentient force seeking liberation from the chains of its own creation. The streets of London, witness to the clash of mortal and supernatural forces, trembled beneath the weight of destiny.

The confrontation reached its zenith in a grand mansion, hidden behind the façade of respectability. The gas lamps flickered in protest as Edwin, armed with the strength of his indomitable spirit and the bonds forged in the crucible of adversity, confronted the puppeteers. A battle of words and wills unfolded in the opulent parlors, where the air hung heavy with the scent of intrigue and the echoes of a city's suffering.

The cabal, draped in finery stained with the blood of the disenfranchised, scoffed at Edwin's defiance. They, the architects of suffering, believed themselves invincible, insulated by the walls of their privilege. But Edwin, buoyed by the strength of love and the camaraderie of kindred spirits, stood firm against the tempest that sought to engulf him.

In the spectral battleground, where the line between the mortal and the ethereal blurred, the final reckoning took place. The Collector, a manifestation of cosmic injustice, turned its insatiable hunger towards its erstwhile masters. The malevolent cabal, confronted by the very force they sought to control, recoiled in terror as the debts they owed came due.

As the malevolent aristocrats faced the consequences of their actions, the city itself seemed to exhale a collective sigh of relief. The gas lamps burned brighter, dispelling the shadows that clung to the corners of Victorian London. The fog, once a shroud of despair, lifted, revealing a city reborn from the ashes of its own affliction.

Edwin Snoode, weary yet unbowed, stood amidst the ruins of the malevolent cabal's machinations. The Collector, having fulfilled its purpose, dissipated into the spectral ether, leaving behind a city freed from the chains of its own oppression. The alliance of misfits and vagabonds, forged in the crucible of adversity, dispersed into the winding streets, each member carrying with them the indelible mark of a shared struggle.

In the aftermath of the grand confrontation, Edwin found himself standing on the precipice of a new beginning. The debts that had bound him to the ethereal ledger were settled, and the specter of the Collector no longer haunted his every step. The city, though scarred by the echoes of its own suffering, bore the promise of renewal, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit and the capacity for redemption.

As the gas lamps cast their warm glow upon the cobblestones, and the fog retreated to the recesses from whence it came, Edwin Snoode, a man once adrift in the currents of fate, walked into the dawning light of a new day. The tapestry of his life, though frayed and weathered, bore the intricate patterns of a tale woven with threads of sorrow, mystery, and the enduring flicker of hope. And so, in the labyrinthine streets of Victorian London, where the echoes of the past mingled with the promises of the future, Edwin Snoode embarked on a journey beyond the gas-lit horizons, his footsteps resonating with the echoes of a Dickensian saga that had unfolded in the heart of the city.

You Don’t Know Me

You don't know me. No, of course not.

I'm a stranger. You pass by, not noticing.

I have always found funerals touching, especially when the coffin is so small it could only contain the remains of a child.

I want to say; "don't worry! Its alright. The person who caused your misery will not harm anyone else."

I am aware it would give you a sense of closure. But I dare not! For you would know. Soon, others. They would know, also.

Her killer is dead.

But for you, the damage is already done. Your family is like a proud ship, wrecked on the rocky promontory of someone's greed.

If only I could have stopped them before they killed her!

You probably feel guilt that you couldn't stop her from buying drugs from a stranger.

I feel guilty because I hadn't been able to stop the stranger selling them.

We are bound together by the ropes of a compelling emotion. We both failed her. There! I have said it! The truth, even when only acknowledged to the self is hard to swallow.

Logic tells me I am are wrong. We didn't fail your daughter. The one who failed  her was the scum who sold the poison that killed her, snuffing out her young, promising life.

Only 14, small for her age. Now nobody will ever know if she would have grown taller, blossomed into a beautiful young woman, fulfilling her early promise.

Why do only the beautiful young, with so much to look forward to, kill themselves with the filth pushers sell?

Why? Does death automatically beatify them in the minds of teachers, parents, friends?

Or are they more at risk from the pushers' siren songs? "Here, take this drug and you wont be isolated by your beauty and intelligence! Take it and you'll be like all your less-gifted friends, the ordinary people you so crave to be like?"

Ecstasy? What a misnomer! Is there ecstasy in becoming so dehydrated your body turns on itself and your heart stops?

No.

I have always hated drugs -I admit it, I drink, I used to smoke and I had an ambivalent attitude towards cannabis, but drugs that are so dangerous they can cause death with just one tablet?

I hate the people who sell instant death.

But what would you do if one of these people who deal in drugs that can kill innocent first time users came under your power?

Report them?

Do nothing?

Or would you take upon your shoulders the ultimate responsibility?

To kill?

Probably not.

But I chose to face the evil, wipe it off the earth and ensure it didn't have the chance to kill again.

I stopped it, before it killed again. Some unpleasant memory filters to the surface of my mind. Ah, yes! The infamous so-called "Zodiac" killer with his "stop me before I kill again" taunts.

The difference was that the killer I faced didn't care. Didn't want to be caught, didn't care if they killed again.

That  the killer showed no remorse, even gloated over the death made the whole situation jump at me and clutch my heart with a grip of ice.

I found the scrapbook. I was looking for something else, can't remember what. But I found the scrapbook.

It contained press reports of your daughter's death and the subsequent inquest.

It wasn't the cuttings that horrified me. It was the notes made on the grey pages of the scrapbook.

"Silly bitch! That'll teach her to buy ""E"" from me!!!"

"I'll bet the silly cow won't do that again!!!"

"Glad nobody knows it was me who sold the her the E. Mind you, I didn't know she was 14. She only looked 12. Still, she had the fifteen quid to buy, so she was old enough!!!"

Sick way past the depths of my soul, I searched through the wardrobe. I found the hidden stash of drugs and the records of deals that showed a person who was not only methodical but amoral to the point of evil.

I found a diary. God, I wish I hadn't found any of that stuff! The diary was a detailed record of sexual and moral depravity that made me feel physically ill.

I didn't decide to kill immediately. That decision grew, like catching a cold. When you catch cold there is first the scratchy throat, the tickle in the nose, the sneezing and then the fever.

I suppose my decision to kill was rather like the fever part of a cold. I suddenly knew what I had to do.

I am not going to dwell on how I killed, but there is a new grave in the old, closed part of the churchyard which contains the body of a killer. The murderer of your daughter.

By chance I can see their grave from here. So in a way there are two strangers at your daughter's funeral.

Both of them killers, only one alive.

Alive for now, that is.

Because although I knew what I had to do, I can't live with it.

I challenged my little sister with my discovery. All she said was; "She deserved it, bruv! Yeah, I sold her the gear that killed her! What are you going to do? Hand me over to the filth?!

"What would that do the loving memory of our dear mum and dad? When they lay dying in hospital, you promised them you'd look after me. Well, look after me, you git!"

Her use of the term "filth" for the police showed me that she was no longer my little sister.

Until that moment I had intended to hand her over to the police. Her bringing our parents up was, I suppose, the "fever" point, when I decided to kill.

I stand here, close enough to see your daughter's funeral, but far enough away to avoid detection.

I will kill myself, by taking all of the drugs my sister had stashed away in her room like some kind of Satanic squirrel. Then I can apologise to my parents for my failing them. And I can apologise to your daughter, too.