Disclaimer: The characters in this story are fictional, and I do not own the character Jack the Ripper. Thanks!
Return of the Ripper
The legend of the mysterious murderer known as Jack the Ripper has faded to a vague reference, the harlot slayer forgotten. He remained a semi-infamous killer to blemish London's history, his gleaming blade grown dull in the minds of the world. Until now.
Elle had just returned home from a day of work where, at the end of the day, she was ready to get violent. She dismissed the urges and went home. But then there was that… thing that stood on her street corner. He was dressed in what she made out to be a black coat and top hat, hiding all but a dark, toothy grin. She didn't recognize him, so she sped up a little, paranoia setting in. Her mental monologue was cut off by an insistent knocking on the door.
Police were called to the home Elle Wetston, social butterfly and office worker, at about 7:35 am by a neighbor on a fearful suspicion. She had also seen the shadowy man on their street, and had watched him simply glide to the door, feet not even seeming to move. When Elle hadn't left for work at 7 like usual, she knew something was up. What they found inside sent several veteran officers straight back the way they came, hands over their mouths. We won't discuss what it did to the poor rookie who happened to traipse in first. Bits and pieces of what was hopefully once Elle Wetston were strewn haphazardly about the entire first floor. A trail of bloody footprints went up, which the lead investigator followed to the second level. He found more prints leading into the hall, and separating off into three rooms. The light around him flickered, died for a moment, than steadied. The poor investigator realized too late that the electricity in the house wasn't on. He called for backup, but no sound came from his mouth. He felt a swift, stabbing pain in his temple, then nothing at all.
Another officer headed upstairs to find the investigator, and stumbled on another sickening sight. The inspector lay dead in a pool of his own blood, a steak knife driven brutally into the side of his head. A set of fresh bloody footprints led to a closed window. After cleanup, the place was condemned, knowing full well no one would want to live there after what had happened.
It's been fifteen years since the brutal double homicide closed the Wetston house and rocked suburban London for years to come. Every year, there is a call to the police leading them back to the house, simply stating that there was "another mess to clean." Most times it's only bloody footprints leading into an empty house, but sometimes there are… pieces. The words "I am the Ripper" are scrawled in blood on the living room wall, but only when a body is found inside.
A/N-Sorry I've been gone so long. I just needed to get some things taken care of. I hope this makes up for it, and RotR 2 and 3 are on the way.
Thank You!