More Than Murder (Part 1)

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
Based on the murders committed by the infamous Jack The Ripper. Rated R for some rather graphic content.. or so I think. O.o I tried to make it as accurate as possible, going with what known facts I could find.. but if theres something horribly amiss please let me know.

I've always been rather interested in why/how Jack The Ripper did what he did.. so.. I wrote a little story about it. Depending on the response I might continue with the rest of the murders he supposedly committed, but we'll see.

Enjoy!

Submitted: May 26, 2008

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Submitted: May 26, 2008

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Whitechapel, London, August 31st 1888


He watched her from the shadows, as the house manager threw her out, saying she shouldn't be there if she didn't have the money. He smiled slightly at her spunk. Telling the manager exactly where he could go, and that she'd be back soon with the money, thanks to her new bonnet. He followed her, staying in the shadows, as she made her way down Whitechapel Road. Swaying and looking coyly at the many men that lined the streets.

She was disgusting, how she could sell herself to these men. She deserved exactly what was coming to her. But it was only two in the morning, and there were far too people about. He could wait, he could wait all night if he had too. He felt his sweaty palm start to slip on the handle of his bag, and he switched hands. Even though the other one was just as sweaty. Jack couldn't believe he was about to do this. He had dreamed of a time like this for most of his life ever since he had found out about his mother. That his mother, his very own flesh and blood, had once lived like this. That this very lifestyle was the reason he was alive! The disgrace of it! His blood started to boil, and he had to remind himself of the task at hand. There would be lots of time for reminincing later. After the deed was done. He was going to go down in history for this. People would talk about him for years. About how he had revolutionized the world, and made classless scum like the woman ahead of him, afraid and weak.

Her name was Mary Ann Nichols, and she was 43 years old. Married, with 5 children, and now divorced. He knew it all, he knew her entire history. And he didn't care. He glanced down at his time piece. 2:30am.. They were at the corner of Osborn Street and Whitechapel Road. There was almost no one in sight. Now was his time.

He motioned for his carriage, which had been following behind him, to pick him up. The carriage came up beside him and he hopped in. His driver was in on the plan, and although he didn't like it, he needed the money enough that it was satisfactorily guaranteed he would say nothing. Using a before agreed upon hand signal, he motioned for the driver to pull up alongside Nichols.

"Good day my Lady." Jack leaned out of he carriage slightly. Opening the door and offering Nichols a hand inside. She smiled and started off about how it was so nice to finally find a gentleman on these streets. Jack just smiled and nodded and tapped on the ceiling of the carriage so his driver would know that it was time for the next stage in his carefully constructed plan. Nichols was looking at him oddly as the carriage started off, towards their destination, the location of her impending doom.

"Yes?" He finally allowed himself to speak. He knew he had to keep her calm and under-control for a just a tiny amount of time. Allowing her to draw attention to herself, and in turn him, would be dangerous.

"Where are we off too?" She spoke, her voice a little hesitant, the odd look still upon her face. He knew what she was thinking. He wasn't acting like he should be, sitting on the opposite side of the carriage, his face was stiff and his hands were wrapped tightly around the handle of his bag, he made no moves toward her and made no invitations for her to come closer.

"Somewhere a little more private. A gentleman of my.. stature can't be seen with a lady of your profession. You understand." The words slipped off his velvet tongue with ease, and they seemed to pacify her.

"Of course." She bowed her head, and seemed content to look out the window from behind the almost sheer blood red curtains.

"Would you like a drink my lady?" It was almost time, and he could feel his pulse racing, even as the carrage began to slow down.

"Yes, thank you." She took the drink he offered with a wide smile, he smiled weakly back. More concerned with keeping his hand from shaking. She sipped it quietly for a few moments before speaking again. "Dear me, that goes straight to your head doesn't it."

"That it does." He said more to himself than anyone else as she started to sway a little bit. He set his bag on the seat beside him and leaned towards her, as her eyes started to close slightly. He wrapped his hands around her neck before she could move and closed tightly enough around her windpipe that it cut off her air supply, further reducing the time it took for her to pass out. "Oh how I love modern medicine." Came a dry, quite remark.

The carriage came to a halt and he assumed they were at his destination. He pulled Nichols off her seat, to lay her on the floor, accidently hitting her mouth on various things. He was sure she had lost a couple teeth, but that didn't really matter now, now did it? He opened his bag and pulled out his instrument for the night. It was a sharp, long-bladed surgical knife. Perfect for what he had planned.

He gently slid the tip of the knife under her left ear and down the left side of her jaw, dragging it towards him slightly, just testing how sharp it was. He brought it up, and found it wet with blood. Perfect, he thought to himself. Driving his knife into her neck he severed every thing connected to the vertebrae. Leaving her alive, but unable to move from the neck down. She was his. Even if she managed to wake up by some miracle there was nothing she could do about what was happening, it would only cause her pain, that this way she was spared.

At first, he had planned to just cut her throat and leave her like this, but now. Now that he could do whatever he wanted, he started thinking. Why leave her like this? If he wanted to make his mark on history he had to do something unique. Something no one else had done before. Something that was a little more difficult to copy. Then it hit him, and he carefully lifted up her dress. Why not leave his mark the centre of her profession?

He slashed in a fury.. Not really thinking about what he was doing, but still mantaining an air of.. profressionism, if you will. Within seconds he was done, and satisfied with his work. He placed her dress back in its proper fashion, and quickly slashed her throat like he had first intended. He opened the carriage door where his driver was waiting, and they set her down, on Buck's Row. Right in front of a gated stable entrance. Eagerly awaiting morning where some poor stable boy would find her.

Jack retreated back to his lair, planning his next attack, while waiting for the morning paper to come with news. Jack the Ripper was in town.


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