A/N: Hello! this is my first story published, Yay! ok so this is definitely twisted. This is a first person account of Jack the Ripper's horrifying deeds. There is blood. There is gore. There is madness. I tried to be historically and anatomically correct as well,so if you have a weak stomach, you should probably stop reading. Still with me? Good. I hope you enjoy this little bit of insanity!
Thank you to for providing me with the information to write this piece. I don't own Jack the Ripper, I don't know who does, but it's not me. I just toy with the idea of him :3
Saturday, August 31, 1888 the last day of summer.
The night is silent and still. Overhead, the stars flicker dimly and the moon is lost behind clouds. On the cobblestone road, no one is present, save a few desperate prostitutes and drunkards staggering home. All noise seems to be deadened by the dark. In the shadows of the looming house encroaching on the street, we see a dark man, covered by a coat and broad hat, slip silently along Whitechapel road, stealing glances from side to side. He glides in and out of the shadows, seen by no one. Softly, he takes a prostitute by the arm, murmurs a few words into her ear and leads her to the darkened Bucks row. Not even a sound will escape from that alleyway this night.
Friday, August 30th, 1888
I hurry through the lowly street of Whitechapel, and find myself wondering, how I, the miraculous doctor Johnathan Ashdown, became stationed in these filthy outskirts of London. The streets are lined with the poor and and the drunks who waste their pennies on drink, the cobblestones reek of sewage and trash, and everywhere you look you see filth. Filthy people living filthy and sinful lives in the filthiest part of Her Majesties empire. I used to feel sorry for those cast aside by God, believing that everyone could be cured, but no longer, after having seen the villainy that inhabits these streets. A man carrying a bottle and singing his woes stumbles into me as I make my way home. I must simply grit my teeth as I wind my way through the crowd. I must ask myself why I choose to have my office down by Bucks row while my home is closer to Commercial street, on high Whitechapel, and what insanity told me it was a good idea. As I get closer to home, the throngs of people start to thin a little, as the vagrants prefer their own company to that of the well-to-do. I slide through the lines of carriages and to the front of my apartment. I unlock the door and slide it open, and I glide upstairs to my rooms. I take off my coat and hat, hanging them on the door, and poor myself a glass of gin to help me relax. Violet, my wife, calls through from the kitchen to inquire of my day.
"Dreadful." I replied " Had two more of those bloody prostitutes come in and beg me to look at them for free. I should put a sign on the door that prohibits any filth from entering, but alas, only a quarter of them can read!"
Violet gave an uplifting laugh, and came in to sit beside me.
"What else, dear John? You never make such a ruckus unless a multitude of things went awry." So true. My precious Violet knows me almost better than I know myself.
"You see, I lost another today. It wasn't a peaceful passing. The blood went everywhere in the operating room. The poor man had a tumor on his kidney. I tried to remove it...but..."
"I see. Get something to eat, then you should get some rest, it must have been a trying day."
I finished my glass, had a bite of supper, and with that, I went to bed. That night, I had a peculiar dream. I was standing in a darkened street, with prostitutes all around me. The world was spinning. Suddenly, blood started to pour from the ladies necks, and some exploded in a violent and gruesome manner. A whispering, transparent voice echoed all around. "You know what to do, kill the filth." over and over, building in volume and urgency as the women started to stare blankly at my and claw at my legs, I recoiled, but they just kept coming, closer, closer CLOSER.
I awoke with a shock, still in my bed, but mornings early light had begun to shine through the windows. I swung my feet over the side of the bed, and sat there for several minutes, catching my breath. The dream words haunted me. "kill the filth, kill the filth, kill the filth" reverberating around my brain. Shaking my head, I dressed, quickly said goodbye to Violet, and set off to work.
Saturday, August 31st. Afternoon.
All day today the women, who have no grace, were wandering around outside my office, and one even had the audacity to plead for an abortion, as if I would commit such a crime against God's will and against the law. I had one of my assistants shove her out the door, and her screams fell on merciless ears, for people like her deserve no mercy. The day long, the chanting words hummed in the back of my head, occupying every spare thought. The more I pondered, the more it began to have reason. They serve no purpose but to usurp the supplies from the wealthy. There is no place for these villains anywhere in the mortal world, they all belong to an eternal suffering in hell. So I began to make plans.
That night I stayed late, and told my assistants to head home early, and let them celebrate the weekend. I closed all the shutters and locked all the possible entrance ways. For this, I wouldn't need a lot of tools. I chose one of my finest surgical knifes, approximately 7 inches in length, and tucked it into my waistband. I knew that if I was recognized, then my whole life would be jeopardized, so I borrowed a deceased patient's long black coat, and took my broad brimmed hat that cast a mysterious shadow over my whole face. When I saw myself in the mirror, I had to stop and admire my genius. I could barely recognize myself. I had just the kind of profile that could slip unseen, and if spotted, would be easily confused or forgotten. I turned out the lights, and embarked on my heroic task of ridding London of filth. Kill the filth.
As I slid in an out of the shadows, making my way down Whitechapel street, I reviewed how the lady must be killed. Stabbing and bludgeoning are out of the question, because a sound escape the vagrant's lips and alert someone to her death. That would simply not do. She would have to be strangled. Strangled until she is at least unconscious, then I will rip her muscles holding the neck, then cut the arteries to the brain to insure death. Half dead sluts were of no use to me. Scanning the street, I see many women selling themselves. But being a prostitute is not sin enough. Those will be purged later. I will start with the lowest of the low, the least worthy of the miracle of life. Across the street, under a light, almost as if it was wanted she would be selected, a short, pale woman with brown hair, was swinging a bottle and was obnoxiously inebriated. She is the one. Kill the filth.
In the still night, a cloud comes to cover the moon, casting an eerie half light over everything. Silently I slip over to the lady. I caress her arm and mumble into her ear, "I would like to employ your services, but secretly, and silently" she smiles up at me and I notice five of her lower teeth are missing "Whateva you want, sugar." I take her arm and lead her to Bucks row, smiling inwardly at how easy this will be. Kill the filth.
In the alleyway, we stand facing each other. She started lifting her skirts, and I wanted to vomit at the idea of having intercourse with someone so riddled with sin. While her hands were buried in the folds of her skirts, I lunged. I closed my fingers around her neck and squeezed. I could feel her esophagus fighting for air, but my hold was so tight that nothing could get in, and no sound could get out. Slowly, after what felt like and eternity, I felt her going limp and her pulse weakening. When she slumped in my arms unconscious, I wanted to throw her to the ground, repulsed by the touch of her tainted skin. But wary of the noise, I lay her down carefully, leaning her head to the left side. Crouching by her right, I drew my scalpel out of my waistband and set to work. I worked quickly, faster than in my office, lest I be discovered. I cut across her neck, severing the air-pipe to ensure that she would breathe no more. Then I slashed across her major muscles and veins. My grasp must have killed her because the blood didn't spurt like that of a live patient's, but rather it flowed lazily down her neck to the ground, however, it pulsed with a slight heartbeat, meaning she must be feeling the pain. The blood ran down her flesh to the ground where it pooled between the cracks in the road, glistening a beautiful shade of crimson. But I had no time to admire my work. I felt unstoppable with my knife, sliding it across the flesh, severing the blackened soul from the soiled body with every slice. I had no need to stop at these meager throat incisions. I could do so much more. I held the knife and plunged it into the lower abdomen, ripping the knife along in a jagged wound. Again and again the knife sliced and tore and plunged. I could rid the world of all evil in this way. Across and across the knife flew. I am all powerful. Suddenly, I heard a noise behind me. It was but a stray cat. Nonetheless, it brought me back to my senses. If the woman was not already dead she soon would be. Wrapping my knife in a piece of cloth torn from her petticoat, I covered my identity yet again and exited the alleyway and melted into the shadows. As my back was turned on the dead lady, I heard the clock strike 2:30 am. Involuntarily, I grinned. The deed was done. And what a good deed it was.
I came in late last night, but luckily Violet didn't notice me. I changed quickly out of my bloodied clothes, and washed the now rusty liquid from my hands and blade. Silently, As I put it all away, I felt pleased that I had succeeded. I have killed some filth. But there is still so much to do. I wanted to go out again, feel the rush of power, but I must be cautious, if I went too fast, I will surely be discovered, and that would be simply unacceptable. The more I think about it, the more obvious it seems that my dream must have been sent from God. I now know my purpose in life. To rid London of filth. However, I must not get ahead of myself. I can start with the streets that I know, right here in Whitechapel, besides, it is one of the poorest regions, I would start here even if I lived somewhere else! Yes, I will start small. And I will space the murders. I will wait at least one week before my next victory.
Friday, September 7th
I can barely contain my excitement. It has been one week. My last killing has been spread all over the news. The girls name was Mary Ann Nichols. I am honestly quite proud of this achievement. But it has been a week, and the papers have quieted down, it is time for me to strike again. But this time, I will do more. Recently, I have been paying closer attention to where the organs are in the body. I now know the human anatomy inside and out, and can remove any organ with one clean stroke. I have been practicing after hours this week on bodies in the morgue, and I can execute any operation in near-total darkness. I am a master of organ removal, and couldn't be more ready to exterminate the dirt of this city.
LATER THAT NIGHT
Tonight again, I sent my assistants home early. If they noticed that I had let them out early two weeks in a row, they were too wise to bring it to my attention. I gathered the necessary equipment, and upon hearing the clock strike midnight, I set out along the darkened streets of London. Today, I will not return to the main street, but rather, I will delve among the alleyways and rows that riddle my tarnished, yet beautiful city. So I slip into a side road, and the sky disappears between buildings leaning in, to hide the sky, or to hide the sinners? One will never know. Again, I use my flight feet to carry me to where I feel I will have the most luck in my endeavor. I, Johnathan Ashdown, will be blessed by God, I can feel his presence all around me. Gliding in and out of the shadows, the prostitutes start to appear more filthy. My lip curls at the sight of them, but the regular disgusting type will not do. She will have to be the worst on the streets tonight. For several hours, I prowel the streets, looking at the many women lining the streets as a wolf would look at a herd of sheep, knowing I could take any one of my prey, but taking the time to select the perfect one. Perhaps she will be the black sheep. Black sheep, Black sheep, have you any wool? Yes sir, yes sir, a body bag full. Finally, as the the bell tolls 5 am, when I almost am ready to give up, I see the perfect quarry. She is drunk beyond reason, and is promenading along the street, demanding a man to try her. I follow her for a little under a half hour, until I am sure she has no destination in mind and is just a rambling drunk whore. As we turn on to Hadbury street, I emerge from the darkest shadows and slam her against the fence. I am aware that there are other souls around, but they all seem to be in a hurry to get home to their warm fires and lives, caring not to linger to long on these filthy streets. As I hold her up against the fence, feeling her sinful heartbeat contradict mine, and a say to her " I wish to use you, but silently and secretly. Help me with this, Will you?"
she breathes back, "Yes" and I lead her to a patch of darkness.
Once more, my muscles tense, like a cats ready to pounce. Indeed that is what I am, a black cat in the shadows of the night, bringing woe to those who deserve it. As she gathers her skirts, just like the late Mary Ann Nichols, I attack, but there must have been hesitation in my grasp, for a pleading NO escaped her cracked lips. Furious, I squeeze my fingers as hard as I can, and I feel her windpipe collapse. But she made noise, so I will not release her until she is deceased. As she goes limp, I do not stop my assault, but rather, I grip harder, until I can no longer feel her heartbeat or taste any breathe on her lips. Again, careful not to make a sound, I lower the corpse to the ground. Quickly, I set about my work. There is no time for precision cuts, and she doesn't deserve such pretty wounds. I slash the neck violently, throwing all my strength onto the blade. I feel the knife hit bone before I draw it across the rest of her pretty, pale throat. Blood spurts from the wound and it splatters against the fence beside us. It forms a beautiful, almost ethereal pattern, perfect droplets flying free, sparkling in the moonlight.
After administering a fatal wound, I set about defiling her horrid body. Just like I practiced, I slashed open the abdomen and saw her glistening innards, lying peaceful inside, like pieces of a puzzle. Letting my hands do all the work, with only a few incisions from my flying blade, her womb sits in my palm. Carefully, I tuck her womanhood into my jacket and continue the operation. Next, I grab her intestines, wrap my fingers for a good hold, then rip them out. I throw them over her right shoulder and wipe my bloody hands on her frock. Then, I make my final alteration, and remove a kidney. I have heard that kidneys do taste very good, and why let one go to waste? I slide it in next to the uterus, and slide away into the night.
As the sun rose that morning, the morning of September the 8th, I was found in my office, anointing the uterus in the proper preserving herbs and medicines, and frying up the kidney for my breakfast. I had cleaned my tools and disposed of the dirtied clothing. In all honesty, my duty had been fulfilled, and I had left no trace. It was, in a manner, the perfect crime. And truth be told, human kidney is delicious. This shall be my reward.
When I returned home that evening, Violet gave me the paper with my supper. The newsmen were having a field day. I seemed to be the talk of London! And this was only the beginning. Every few days, the paper would publish a letter written from "me". Oh, what fools they are! It is beginning to become a jolly good game. However, the police promised to be extra vigilant, so I will wait a while before my next quest. I don't want to establish a predictable pattern.
Tuesday, September 25th
For the past 3 weeks, the dream visited me almost every night. It remained unchanged, except the two ladies I have killed are present now. I'm beginning to itch to practice my night job again. My day life is so terribly boring. And even more irritating, the police keep "arresting" the Whitechapel murderer, but only I know the truth. I must make my reappearance soon.
Wednesday, September 26th
I know what I am to do to keep me fresh in the minds of London. I will write a letter. They have received so many hoaxes, this one will fit right in. And I will become active again very soon. Very soon. My fingers itch to strangle a neck, to hold a knife, to feel the life leave a body. Yes, this is what I live for now. The letter will be addressed "Dear Boss" and I will promise to take a bit of a ladies ear, and then when I kill the next whore, I will take her ear. This game will be ever so fun! And I will write in red ink to make them think I am writing in blood. The only problem with my perfect plan is that I cannot sign the letter with my proper name. No. perhaps... Jack. Yes I will be jack, and my job is ripping women. Jack the Ripper. It's got a nice ring to it, doesn't it?
Sunday, September 30th
Tonight. I can wait no longer. Tonight I will return. Jack will be back. Ripping up all of London. Kill the filth.
Again, I polish the knife for the 60th time today. I only have to wait until darkness descends and the city falls asleep. Only a few more hours. The knife gleams in my hand. A few more hours.
Outside the sun sets, casting a reddish- orange glow to the city. Red, like the blood of tonight's victims. Soon.
The clock strikes 12. Off I go, Jack is on the move. Melting in and out of the shadows, I move unseen down Commercial road, the east side, my eyes searching the gutter greedily for someone, anyone, to rip.
12:30am
Across the street, at the entrance to Berner street, I see a young woman hugging and kissing a man indecently on the doorstep. How utterly shameful and disgusting, I shake my head, ready to move on, when I see the man present her with a bag of coin and step into the house, leaving her on the stoop. The villainy of that woman! How sinful! How disrespectful! How shameful! She deserves death. Fortunately, death and I are good friends. I smile.
She walks to the archway across from the Working Men's International Education Club, and leans nonchalantly on the fence. Angrily, I approach her from across the road, forgetting all thoughts of caution and obscurity. I grab her, and hiss "You are a woman of sin. You will come with me to hell."
I pulled her to the street, but she struggled, so I threw her down. She screamed three times. Panicked, I whipped my head around. There was a man, watching me! But also it seemed a thug had an eye on that gentleman. Damn. "Look-see!" I cried. The well dressed man hurried away, and for my luck, the thug followed his mark. Quickly, I dragged the woman to Dutfield's Yard, warning her to keep her mouth shut otherwise I'd carve out her tongue. She was a smart lass and did as she was told.
It was dark. Perfect. There I strangled her, as customary, but it was more difficult because she fought me. But in the end she slumped unconscious. When she went limp, I didn't bother to wait to starve her brain of oxygen, I went straight away to the slicing. Death was more guaranteed that way. Down to the ground head to the left. I squatted at her feet, and pushed the legs up as to get closer to her body. Suddenly, I heard the sounds of a cart and horse nearing the entrance to the yard. I frantically cut her left artery. Spurt. The cart is getting closer, right outside the gate... slice. The rights done. No time. I hope the whore dies. I can hear the pony refusing to progress, and a man urging it forwards. I let the darkness absorb me, and I slip along the wall, near to the exit. Finally, the man gets his cart inside, and stops a moment at the body. I wait no more. I escape out and run. I run up streets then down others. Left, right, shortcut, until I'm positive no one could have followed me. I was safe.
However.
This would not do. I had no ear. And I didn't get to have my fun. No good at all.
I would have to rip again tonight.
I decided revisiting my old territory was predictable and stupid. I decided to try somewhere new. I walked down to Duke street, a block away from Mitre square. However now, I was more cautious of which woman I picked. The last one was a rush job, this time I would be deliberate. Only select the finest of meats. Or, the lowest of the low. As I was flowing with the shadows, I saw a woman who seemed a good candidate. The clock tower struck 2 am. Watching her, you could tell she was a drunk, she had that desperate look in her eyes. She was trying so hard to get the men to notice her, but to no avail. I chuckled softly. Yes. She will do nicely. This time, I observed my surroundings carefully. Naught a soul was to be seen behind me in the square, so that's where I will take her. I swooped down on her, like a bird of prey on a mouse, and whispered to her that I desired her services. She named her price, and I took her arm to lead her to the square. Once we were alone in the square, I looked for a place where a body would be overlooked. I saw it. It was all coming together perfectly. I tiny little corner in a tiny little alleyway, somewhere no one honest would dare venture. I lead her straight into the darkness of that hole, and she never saw my smile, or my knife.
It proceeded as normal. Choking, I held her long enough. Not a peep out of her little mouth. Down to the left, kneel on the right. Swish. Splash. What a pretty necklace. Muscles and arteries as well, don't want her to wake up on me. Shhh, better cut your vocal cords to keep you quiet! What a pretty face, that's not fair. Slit, take away the beauty. One two right, three four left. And I wouldn't want to break my promise, off with your ear! It felt different under my knife. Rougher. I tried again with the nose. How peculiar. Across. Oops, the tip of the nose came off. Looks like I hit the eye on the way as well. Oh well. Even it out, left right left right. Enough of that. Lets get rid of her organs so she can never perform sinful acts ever again. What a villain! Stab, dribble. The heart must have stopped. Good. Less red ink on my clothes. Jack will rip down her leg. Flapping, that's interesting. How about Jack makes it even? Both legs flapping! Now lets get these intestines out of the way, twist and pull. Lots of red, tastes rather metallic. Hmm. Ohh, whats this? Liver? Poke clip rip. ha. And here's the pancreas. One'll do. Ah. There's the beautiful deep red kidney. So pretty. I'll save this for myself. Out you come! And the woman's treasure, the thing allowing her to be filth. Kill the filth. Kill. Rip. Ha! Without this she'll never practice her awful art again. Tuck it away with the kidney; womb kidney, all Jacks! Time to go, I dare not tarry too long.
Off into the shadows.
Monday, October 1st.
Last night was good. I found my way back to my office, and recollected myself. I will admit that I went into a little craze as the adrenaline overwhelmed my senses, but all is well now. The womb has joined its sister in the basement, floating gently in the preservatives. I also had time to write a little letter to the news, boasting of my double murder and apologizing for my inability to send them an ear. I had little appetite, so I ate only one half of the kidney, and preserved the other half in wine. For a later date perhaps.
Saturday, October 6th
How the media is enjoying this. The whole the commonwealth states are terrified of me! I am the most famous man under her Majesty's rule! I'm sure she'd be proud of me if she knew of my identity and my purpose. However not everyone is as happy as I am about my valiant quest. Some believe I am the villain here! Some think that I will go to hell, instead of realizing that I am following orders from god to ensure my place in heaven. It doesn't matter what others think.
Monday, October 15th
The bugger Mr. Lusk, head of the vigilant committee of Whitechapel, has been spreading all sorts of propaganda about me. He says I am sinner of the worst kind, and is telling women to stay off the streets. Well I have a little surprise for him. That kidney that has been marinating, well, it's just about right for a recipe of horror. I wrapped it up all nisely1 and wrote him a little letter "From hell". Ha. We shall see what he makes of that. I do hope he dies of shock.
Thursday, November 1st.
It has been a month since my last. I long to work again. The press is quieting.
There has been an addition to my dreams from god. At the end I feel a terrible pain around my neck, then collapse struggling for breath. Every night, just before I feel the life leave my lips, I awake, drenched in sweat. I have no idea of the meaning, but I believe that god is punishing me for my inactivity and laziness in his mission. The hour dawns for Jack to rip again.
Thursday, November 8th
Tonight. Jack will rip. Waiting no more. Time to go. Kill the filth.
Gathering up my things, wrapping the scalpel to prevent suspicion. Just a man looking for a prostitute, that is the mask I will wear. What a fun game!
Darkness falls. Only a few hours more.
Ding-dong, the clock strikes 12, onto the streets I go, to roam and choose my prey. The game is afoot!Being on the streets again calms my frantic mind. I gather my peace as I ooze in and out of the shadows, looking for the perfect quarry. Tonight, the woman will not be the poorest kind, like my victims of the past, but more of a rich kind. Filthy rich does have a meaning behind it. This will be my finest victory yet.
I head up Commercial Street, away from most of my previous sites. I pause a moment at Thrawl street, and watch a drunken woman beg for money. This appears odd to me, as she is dressed richly. Then it dawned on me. She has wasted all her fortune all frivolities. I have my target.
She tottered close to me, and a grabbed her and whispered to her, "Lost all our riches, have we?" she laughed in response, and I laughed at my good fortune. "All right," she replies, and I assure her, "You will be alright for what I have told you." And with that, we make our way towards Dorset Street, and I wait for the right moment, like a scorpion in a matchbox.
She takes me to her home in Millers Court, and I pause. I ask her if I am to employ her services on the street, to which she replies that it is a lot more comfortable and enjoyable in her home. This is a slight dilemma. I know not what a murder in a house might be like, but I realize that it might even be better, as there is less chance of someone happening across us. So I agreed, and we went to her room.
Once there, she started to undress, and once she was in her petticoats, I lunged. I strangled and I went onto a bloody rage. I pulled out the scalpel, raised it above my head, and swish, down over her neck, causing a bright line of blood to appear. Then as if someone had flipped a switch, I blacked out.
Where am I? What am I doing? The last thing I remember is cutting... oh god. Before me is a decimated corpse. It seems as though a madman with a knife came and disassembled this woman. Her body parts were scattered around the room and her corpse was unrecognizable as human, just a bloody mass of meat lying on a bed. Did I do this? I must have, the door has been locked this whole time. I put my hand over my mouth, and taste blood. What have I done? I have been taken over by my own mind, and have become insane. This is no mission from God. I have become the worst sort of monster. I let one nightmare rule my life! This is horrible. Utterly awful. I am the true filth of this city. Thinking I am better than others because of my income, then killing them for their rotten luck? I am a villain worthy of eternal punishment in hell. Tears started to stream down my blood soaked face. I am filth. The worst filth in all of London. In all the world. I am unfit for my profession, unfit for my gentle wife, unfit to even live. Blinded by my hatred for my deeds, I ran out the door. I ran, not knowing or caring which was I went, until I ran to the edge of the river Thames. Staring at my bloody hands, distorted through my teary eyes, I fell to my knees. "WHY! WHY WOULD YOU TORTURE ME SO! WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS!" I cried to the heavens. Only silence replied to my plea. I looked down at the river flowing perpetually, calmly, witnessing all the deeds done by sinners like me. It is enduring, and I am ephemeral. I lean forward, slowly, and tumble off the wall down towards the water. I am numb, but the cold shock of the water robs my lungs of all breathe. I am being strangled by nature, a fitting end. My last thought before I drift out of consciousness, is that perhaps God will take mercy of me, for I have killed Jack the Ripper.
The filth is dead.
A/N: I hope I didn't scare you too much! Anyways yeah I'd appreciate reviews and whatnot, have a good day!
Oh and also nicely is spelled nisely in this case because in the "From Hell" Ripper letter, that is how the author wrote it. I am perfectly aware that is is misspelled.