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Murder in Whitechapel

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You dive into the mind of a man who lived in London in 1888. He lives together with his wife. In the Whitechapel area the amount of murders are going up. It seems to drive a distance between him and his wife, but why. Find out in Murder in Whitechapel! IMPORTANT!!! : This story is fictional, but based on events that really happened. None of the real full names are used in respect to the real victims. This story does contain graphic parts in regards to murder. If you are triggered by this, skip this story.

Thriller / Mystery
Age Rating:

Chapter 1

Today I killed again. Twice to be nice and precise. I can still feel their blood streaming over my hand, their muffled screams are still in my ears and the smell of their dirty, wine-soaked clothes still lingers in my nose. Two times really is a charm, even when it isn’t finished. They knew what they got themselves into. Women who sell their bodies, are not worth their bodies. Yes.....They are great...... experiments.

Months earlier I wouldn’t even have dreamed about actually doing, what others would call, a heinous crime. But I knew this was my calling. That same year, everything changed. January, 1888, I had an amazing job, people adored me, I was the best surgeon anyone could find. I had a beautiful wife; other men could only dream about. The regular things any aristocratic gentleman was used to. I had come home from a hard day of working and my wife Mary had cooked a beautiful and delicious dinner for us together with our chef. I sat on the long brown dinner table. It had a beautiful golden rim around it. Showing that it was worth a fortune. On the other side of the rim was Mary, drinking from her glass of wine. She had this gracious look on her. It always captured me when she looked at me.

‘Is dinner to your likings my dear?’ Mary asked me, her eyes staring deep into mine.

‘Indeed, it is. Delicious as always. My love.’ I returned her sweet words and smiled gentle as I ate the steak that was so well cooked. She continued to tell me about her day.

‘I read in the papers that there is a rise of violence in the Whitechapel area, here in London. Truly horrible where this world is going to. Those poor women getting attacked by men who don’t have any standards. Much less than a true gentleman.’

Mary was always interested in what happened to the poor people in London. I on the other hand, couldn’t care less. They brought themselves there, so they have only themselves to blame for what happens to them. I never let my wife into these thoughts of mine though. I’d rather talk along with her.

‘The police certainly have their hands full with all that violence going on.’ I replied to her, smiling, as I always did.

After dinner I retreated into my study. The study was filled with files, books and jars. The jars were the most interesting thing there. They contained human organs. So fascinating. I’ve always had an interest in the human body. It is why I became a surgeon. I was writing on my report about the last patient I had, the whiskey Mary had prepared for me stood beside me and every now and then I took a sip during my writing. After a while my head starting hurting so badly. I think I overworked myself too much. I decided to go to bed and sleep my headache off, I was gone in seconds. So far gone, I don’t even remember laying down on my bed.

That night I dreamed so strange. This was not the typical dream a gentleman of my standards would have. In my dream, I was following a woman. I didn’t know her. I was carrying one of my knives. I wasn’t sure why, but I had to follow her, I had to do something. This sentence kept repeating in my head. This one sentence. The woman turned into a dark alley, I followed, creeped in, muffling her voice. Then it happened, I couldn’t control it, her muffled screams stopped, her body got heavy. Even trying to remember it all is hard to do. Especially the next morning, when everything seemed so normal. It was just a dream after all. I went downstairs with the smell of coffee hitting my nose. Mary always made sure I could have a normal morning routine.

‘Good morning dear. Did you sleep well?’ My wife greeted me with her sweet, soothing words and I replied. I didn’t want Mary to know anything about my strange dream. So, I lied this once to her.

‘Yes, I did my love.’ I said to her. I grabbed the newspaper that was lying beside my cup of coffee and began glancing over it. Until I saw the big headline. A murder, there was a murder last night. In the Whitechapel area of London. This headline brought me right back to my dream. But it couldn’t be, it was just a dream. Even though I wanted to, I couldn’t hold such a headline secret from my wife. So, I told her about it.

‘There has been a murder last night. On a prostitute in the Whitechapel area. Her throat was savagely slit open almost decapitated. Poor woman.’ I said as I looked at Mary for a response.

‘That is so unfortunate indeed. What does the newspaper say about it?’

’Friday 31st August 1888, Constable Neil was walking down Buck’s-row, Thomas-street, Whitechapel, at about a quarter to four O’clock this morning, he discovered a woman between 35 and 40 years of age with her throat cut from ear to ear, the instrument with which the deed was done having traced the throat from left to right.

’The body was immediately conveyed to the Whitechapel mortuary, when it was found that besides the wound in the throat, the lower part of the abdomen was completely ripped open, with the bowels protruding.

The wound extends nearly to her breast, and must have been effected with a large knife. The woman murdered in Whitechapel has not yet been identified. She was wearing workhouse clothes, and it is supposed that she came from Lambeth.

’Another telegram says: -The brutality of the murder is beyond conception or description. Not only was the unfortunate woman’s throat cut in two gashes with a sharp instrument, but the knife was stabbed into the lower part of the abdomen, and savagely drawn upwards twice, one cut cutting the left groin and hip, and the other slitting the abdomen as high as the breast bone.

This is the third brutal murder of the kind in the locality, and the police believe the perpetrator must be a ferocious maniac.’ After I was done reading the newspaper for my wife, a silence fell for a while. Murders in Whitechapel happen often enough, but none has ever been this brutal. After the silence, my wife was the first to speak.

‘I hope that whoever did this, will get locked up. Not even a prison would be enough. Such a maniac is better suited for the asylum.’

Her response to it all was awfully avoidant. It was the most generic speech someone could give as a response. The same type of generic from a good morning or something similar to that. I didn’t respond to her. What’s there to respond to. The tension began to rise since none of us was talking, until it was time for me to go to my work. I stood up, gave Mary a kiss and told her I would see her that evening again after my work. A carriage was already prepared for me and when I sat down it drove me of to my destination.

My days went on as normal for the next eight days. I talked to Mary in morning, went to work, came back home to have dinner with Mary, to talk about our day, finished up some work in my study and went to sleep. Then the 7th of September came around and it happened again. I was working in my study, drinking from the whiskey to calm my mind down and the headache started. I had to lay down and sleep. It was strange, but again I blamed my ambition to work hard on it. Then the nightmares started again, but this time, it was so much more vibrant. It was another woman, she was attractive, but I hated her so much. I wanted her for myself, I wanted her to live in my darkest fantasy. As soon as she was done talking to the old man at the house, I came up and before she could even make a sound, it was over, but it was not enough. I wanted more, I needed more. My blade did all the work for me, I mutilated her beyond any dignity. The rush felt so good and what does it matter. Anything can happen without consequence in a fantasy or a dream. My rush only lasted minutes, after that, I disappeared into the night. No witnesses, just me and the fantasy I created.

If I have to be honest, although I called it nightmares, in reality it was a dream. A dream I enjoyed and wanted to experience again. I finally explored the deepest and darkest parts of my mind. The following morning when I came downstairs to greet Mary, I told her that I slept wonderful. Which was the truth. I was happier than ever and she was aware of it.

‘You seem to be more chipper today than usual dear.’

‘Indeed I am. I had a wonderful sleep for the first time in a long-time sweetheart.’ I explained to her as I sat down to drink from the coffee, she had made for me. To my surprise there was no newspaper on the table. Every morning I read the newspaper, but today there was none.

‘No newspaper today my love?’

‘The paperboy didn’t come by today. I’ll make sure there’s a newspaper for you to read tomorrow morning my dear.’

There wasn’t much I said after that. I was a man of not too many words. Mary was a lovely woman and took good care of me, but she hasn’t been acting like her usual self lately. I have caught her a few times near the basement. This is one room I strictly forbid her to go to. The basement is full of chemicals and I don’t want my wife to get sick from them. It’s already bad enough that I have to in order to search some kind solution to soften the pain of my patients. My eyes were focused on Mary and my mind wandered around. It wandered around so much that Mary had to pull me out of it to let me know I had to go to work. Once I was out of my wandering state, I gave my wife her usual goodbyes and left. Across the street there was another paperboy. So, before I went into the carriage, I bought a newspaper from the boy. I read it on my way to work and was shocked to find out that last night there had been another murder. The shock wasn’t really about the murder itself, but about the woman that was found and the spot where she was found. It finally reached my mind that my dream was in fact a reality. I was the one who killed her. I wasn’t sure what happened to me, but I was changing. My mind was changing. Slowly a smile was visible on my face and when I stepped out of the carriage, I threw away the paper that I had bought. It was my secret and no one was going to know about it.

During my work I only thought about what I had read in the newspaper. Multiple times nurses had to get me out of a dazed state I was in. Killing was more on my mind than saving people. One could argue that if I wanted to kill, my patients would form perfect targets. But the rush from my dream, no, my kill, wasn’t from the power to make someone live or die. It was the chase, the risk, the darkness of the streets during the night. Those women, oh, those women no one of my stature would ever look twice at, that’s where the rush comes from. Above all, who wouldn’t want to have some kind of excitement during the night. I never mustered up enough courage to do so though and after a few days I even had forgotten all about it. In the beginning it was hard to hide what I was thinking about towards Mary, but the moment I forgot about them, it was easy enough. Life went back to normal and I didn’t catch my wife hanging around the basement anymore.

It stayed like that until the 29th of September. That day I had such a horrible working day. So many complaints, serval people died eventually on this new disease. There’s no name for it yet, that there isn’t any cure for it and that people die from it is the only known information about it. When I came home, I was so silent. More silent than I usually am. Mary picked up on it and asked me about my day.

‘Did you have a hard day today my dear?’

‘Yes, I did. This new disease is killing people faster than I can heal them and there is no cure. All I can do is have them taken care of until they die.’

‘You do your best and you’re best in all of London. If you cannot help them, no one can.’

Her words were strange, but also soothing. She prepared a whiskey for me to enjoy and relax. Just for today I didn’t go to my study to continue working. I took my whiskey to the sitting room and sat down by the fireplace that was burning. Mary always knew what to do to help me calm down from my work. The fire let feel calm and collected. My mind began to wander again. The thoughts I had at the beginning of the month came back. Even stronger this time. The anger began to stream into my veins, boiling my blood. I was so angry; I didn’t even know at what. The anger boiled all over my body, but there wasn’t any motivation to do anything. I just sat there, staring at the fire with my anger. It took a while, but I fell asleep in the chair. As soon as I was asleep, I entered my night state. The chase began. Another woman, alone and separated from everyone else, as perfect as a target can be. I followed her to Dutfield’s Yard and when I was finally close enough, I slit her throat, making sure she didn’t make a sound. I wanted to start my masterpiece, when I heard a sound. A horse, someone was coming, I had to go. I went back into the darkness, but I wasn’t happy. This wasn’t enough by far, I walked around, looking for something to do to satisfy my desires. I was about to give up when I saw her. She was drunk, could barely stand. I grinned and began to follow her. On Mitre Square I took my chance. I slit her throat and finally finished my work. The most beautiful piece yet. My body was filled with the rush of making this masterpiece. Making my fantasy. This is the night I was telling about before. The night where there was a shift in my thinking, in my acting, in my whole life. When I was done, I admired my work for just a moment before I left. That night I did one last thing, it came to me and I just love the idea of it. It made my rush last just a bit longer and it would be a nice conclusion for a while. I left a letter for the police to find, written in the blood of my victim. I gave them a nice trail to follow.

The following morning when I woke up again, I sat in the same chair I fell asleep in. I stood up and walked to the dining room where Mary was waiting for me. Her smile was gentle and as promised, the newspaper laid on the table. I wished her a good morning and immediately began to read the newspaper to see if there was any news about last night. As I suspected, there was. Two victims this time and murdered in exactly the manor I fantasized about last night. I told my wife about the murders. About how the police thought that the perpetrator got disturbed.

‘The lunatic is getting more violent it seems. How could anyone miss such a brutal murder. I’m telling you; London is going downhill very quickly.’

There it was again. Her typical speech about how people could do such a thing, how London is going downhill. Her words didn’t make me feel anything and it was as if she didn’t feel anything for it either. It took me a while to answer and as my focus was on her, my eyes lingered on her hands. Her right hand had a discoloring on it, a few burn marks, how strange.

‘Did you hurt yourself my love?’ I asked to get some information out of her about her hands.

‘Oh, yes I did dear. I burned myself when I spilled some coffee over my hand.’

Her explanation didn’t make much sense, but I disregarded it. I had other things on my mind. It was Sunday and I didn’t have to go to work. Which was a nice change. Me and Mary went on a walk together. Doing some shopping and meeting up with acquaintances of ours. It was a good day where nothing much happened. The happenings of the night before quickly vanished from my mind. How quickly the urge came, it also went away. For the longest time after this it stayed away. A full month without any notable things to happen. Life became boring again. But my urge started to grow on its own. It became hard to contain myself and to keep my fantasies out of my normal life. Even the relationship between me and Mary began to strain. It wasn’t as lively anymore as it used to be. Concentrating on normal life became so hard that I didn’t want to live it anymore. I wanted my more eventful night life. Over the month of October, the urges and thoughts became more present and the night of the 8th of November was the night where everything changed for good.

That night when Mary was preparing my whiskey, I walked up to her as a surprise and what a surprise it was. There she was, putting something in my drink. I was so angry; how could she do this to me. Her husband, the one who loved her. The one who gave her a roof on top of her head, gave her food, everything. I balled my fists, yelling at her.

‘What do you think you’re doing! Poisoning me? Is that what happened all those nights? You Poisoned me!’

‘Dear, it’s not what you think. I didn’t poison you, I helped you calm down.’

She was lying. Her voice was shaking so much, it gave her away.

‘You lying whore!’

‘I’m not lying, when you drink you hurt others, I wanted to help you sleep, please, I just wanted to help.’

‘Liar, you’re such a liar! Ungrateful!’

I walked towards her, whatever it was that she gave me, it changed me. She did this to me and so she brought this onto herself. I wanted to kill her. I grabbed my knife, but she got away from me. She ran outside and I had to follow her. I chased her in the darkness of the streets of London and there came the rush again. The chasing excited me. I wanted her to keep running just a little longer. For a moment I lost her out of sight and I had to look for her. Trying to figure out where she could be. Then I remembered, she used to work as prostitute before I found her and made her my wife. That house, it must be where she was. Miller’s Court, her old rental place. When I arrived, I was right, her silhouette betrayed her. To get in I had to be smart, I was still angry, but had to hold it in for now. I knocked on the door and told Mary I just wanted to talk. It took a bit of pushing but eventually she gave in and allowed me inside. This was the most stupid mistake she ever made in her life. As soon as I was inside and the door was closed behind me, my anger disappeared and was replaced by joy. I began to laugh.

‘Why are you laughing, you’re not making any sense dear. Please, come to your senses. You told me you wanted to talk.’

She was so afraid and I loved it. I loved every single bit of it. It was time to reveal myself to her and complete my fantasy.

‘Come to my senses? I’ve already come to my senses and what you have done is beautiful. You didn’t poison my body, but poisoned my mind. I can’t stop thinking about killing. Those nights you put that stuff in my whiskey, I killed those women. I already killed four of them. Each in my own beautiful way and I love it! I love the thrilling rush it gives me by doing so.’

‘You killed them? You killed them all?’

Mary was shocked to hear this. Maybe she didn’t see this coming, but I didn’t care anymore. She was now my perfect target. I walked towards her with a wide grin on my face. Continuing my talk for as long as she could still hear it.

’Oh yes I did and it will be five very soon. How ironic that you end where you started. Thank you for letting me in ‘’my dear’’ ’

These were the last words I said to her before I ended her life. I totally let myself go, I did what I desired and made sure there was barely anything left of her body. She was even more mutilated than my last victim. I enjoyed every last bit of it. Painting the walls with her blood. Everyone will see my beautiful work and admire it. I stared at my creation for a bit before I left. I began a new life and created a legacy. I didn’t need any more killings to brand my name into London. So, I left London short after, making sure never to be found. And remember the letter I was telling about? This is what it said:

’Dear Boss,

I keep on hearing the police have caught me but they wont fix me just yet. I have laughed when they look so clever and talk about being on the right track. That joke about Leather Apron gave me real fits. I am down on whores and I shant quit ripping them till I do get buckled. Grand work the last job was. I gave the lady no time to squeal. How can they catch me now. I love my work and want to start again. You will soon hear of me with my funny little games. I saved some of the proper red stuff in a ginger beer bottle over the last job to write with but it went thick like glue and I cant use it. Red ink is fit enough I hope ha. ha. The next job I do I shall clip the ladys ears off and send to the police officers just for jolly wouldn’t you. Keep this letter back till I do a bit more work, then give it out straight. My knife’s so nice and sharp I want to get to work right away if I get a chance. Good Luck. Yours truly

Jack the Ripper

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