Disclaimer: The story that follows is completely and utterly owned by me. The only things I do not own is the general idea of Jack the Ripper. However, in this story the portrayal of Jack and all other characters are my own and are not to be used without my permission. The street mentioned here is fictional, any similarities to the street or any other aspects are purely coincidental.

Enjoy

PROLOGUE

Before you continue I want you to forget every theory you have ever heard about Jack the Ripper. I want you to unfold this story without any previous knowledge of who – and what – he was. If all you knew was that he murdered countless prostitutes and was never caught, then that's perfect. That's all you really need to know at this point.

My name is Alex. I was born as Alexandra Kent, in a small town just outside of London, about a hundred years before Jack the Ripper. My mother and father died when I was very young, and I lived with my grandmother and younger sister until the day I died.

Let me back up for you a little, I'm sorry if I may have startled you.

My family was very poor, and we would be lucky to have a loaf of bread on the table each night as our dinner. Many times we went to bed trying to ignore the hunger pains, and trying not to cry in desperation.

In all sense, my life was going nowhere. If not for my family – what little I had left – I might have thrown myself into the Thames.

Some days I wonder how differently things would have turned out I had done just that. Truthfully it would probably have made little difference to the world you see every day, but it would have made all the difference to the world I saw.

You see, shortly after my nineteenth birthday my dreary life was changed forever, and I do not say that to be boastful. No, the prince did not all madly in love with me nor did we discover gems in our yard. What happened to me was the worst possible thing I can think of.

Worse even, than death.

My grandfather had given me what few money we had so that I could go into the city to buy something for my sister, as her eleventh birthday was rapidly approaching. I had taken the money without a second thought. After all, what was a trip to town going to do?

How naïve I had been.

After I foolishly managed to get myself thoroughly lost in the darker part of the city, I realized how eerie it was. The sun had long ago set, and what little light there was came from the flickering glow of the gas lamps that lit the street every few feet.

I had been to London many times after dark, but it had never bothered me before. This time I felt chills run up and down my spine, with each step wishing I had taken a left instead of a right.

A movement behind me caused me to freeze under a street lamp. In reality this was not the best place to stand, seeing as whoever they were could clearly see me, while I was staring into darkness.

I wish I could tell you that when I was attacked I fought back, that I didn't give up without a fight.

I wish I could, but I can't.

I never saw it coming, and in the next ten seconds I was grabbed from behind and had my throat ripped out.

Literally.

The next thing I knew I was looking up at a tall, vacant looking building wondering when my life would turn around – for the better.

I wanted so badly for it to all be a dream, a hideous dream. But no, each word they spoke to me made it even more real, and the truth so much more horrifying.

I don't think it was the fact that I was dead that bothered me. No, I think it was that not only was I dead, but that I was among the living as well.

I am sad to say that I was now one of them, the undead that my grandmother had so often told me stories about. I had never believed her, nor listened as she rambled on about them. Perhaps it would have done me better to have paid her attention.

From that day forth I was no longer a poor, simple farm girl. I was now one of the fifty-four vampires that lived in the heart of London.

And with that immortality came a terrible burden, a burden we called Blood Lust.

ONE

Night fell softly over the city of London, as residents prepared to retire to their beds, turning off their gas lamps and changing out of their clothes.

True, in the nicer parts of the city people slept. But there was none among them that did not wonder about the murders that now haunted their city.

In the seedier side of London, pubs were open late, serving up liquor to any who entered the door. Drunks laughed gaily, swinging their mugs above their heads in a lively manner. A few sat along in the corners, reading the evening paper. The title declared that yet another young detective sought to apprehend the infamous Jack the Ripper, who was feared by all in this part of town.

Looking at this particular pub you wouldn't have thought that someone had been killed only a few streets away the previous day. In fact, once the initial shock of the third (or was it fourth?) murder wore down, each subsequent one meant little to them.

Back in the richer side of town there was a street by the name of Harding, and on this street there was a house. Not just any house though, the monstrosity spanned the entire block, surrounding all sides with cold brick and windows that were always shuttered. This house had often caused whispered discussions at social gatherings, for no one had ever seen a soul enter in or out of the mansion. But they knew it was occupied by the lights that were on occasionally. In spite of all the mystery, none suspected that Jack the Ripper could be living inside those very walls. After all, there was no chance that such a murder could be residing near the rich, and so they felt safe.

A young woman peered out a window on the topmost floor of the building, watching the few who still roamed at this time of night. Her name was Alex, she was nineteen.

She had been nineteen for one hundred years.

Her black hair, wavy and loose, was a shocking contrast to her pale skin. Her eyes, a deep blue, were the most expressive part of her. To any who glanced her way it would appear that she was tired and needed rest.

But she had been tired for so many long years.

It was not fatigue that caused her weariness; it was the emptiness of her life.

She stood, pulling her black silk robe around her tightly, trying in vain to turn away the chills she was feeling. It was the same feeling she had gotten the previous night when the woman had been murdered. It was the same feeling she got every night since the chain killing had started.

Barefooted, she stepped down the stairs quietly. Glancing at a small clock on the wall, she noticed how early it was now. The sun would rise in only two hours. She tried to mentally count the residents she had seen leave the house, and tried to determine which of them had not returned. They had a strict curfew here in the House of Grenger, so as not to lose any souls to the sunlight that they all feared.

Forty-five; that was how many vampires resided here now. Since the previous leader of the house had been slain eighty years earlier, they had steadily lost a few of their own each year. Now that Alex was one of the co-leaders, she had placed rules upon the house in a desperate attempt to prevent any more casualties.

They hadn't lost anyone in twenty years.

She carefully lifted the lid of the icebox and scanned the contents. It was filled to the top with milk bottles, but they were filled with blood.

Each was marked with a color on the lid. The red ones – which took up the majority of the space – were human blood. The blue ones were filled with animal blood. These were hers.

When she had been appointed the next leader by Harold – the previous ruler – there had been an enormous outburst among a few of the residents. They all liked Alex just fine, but it was common knowledge that her customs were varied from theirs.

Since her turning she had refused to consume any human blood, instead she received shipments of animal blood from a butcher across town.

But soon enough everyone eased into the acceptance that she was now in charge of their safety.

Since Harold's rule the vampires of London had no need to kill for blood. One of their own worked a night shift at the local hospital. Shortly after a patient died she would harvest the blood and send it to them. Gathered, it was not the freshest method, but it did grant them safety, and it prevented anymore souls from joining them.

She leaned against the marble counter and sipped slowly from her glass. She was still trying to determine if everyone in the house had returned when another entered the kitchen.

She didn't look up as the figure moved silently over to the icebox. She knew everyone by their footsteps.

"Hello John," she said quietly.

He jumped a little, surprised to see her sitting there so silently. "Alex, I didn't know anyone would be in here,"

She smiled, "It's perfectly all right."

He lifted out a glass – one of her's, "May I—?"

She was startled at this question. Never before had anyone else shown any signs of wanting to switch to her drink.

She nodded slowly, "By all means, please."

He popped off the lid and leaned against the ice chest, eyeing her as he drank.

"How long have you been—" she started.

"Three weeks," he seemed nervous, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but I didn't want you to be disappointed if, you know, it didn't work out."

"No, it's fine. It's just; no one has ever wanted to try it before. Why did you?"

He traced the lip of the glass with a finger, brow furrowed, "I don't want to be a monster anymore."

She set her glass on the counter and walked over to him, placing an arm around his shoulder she whispered, "You're not a monster John. This is just who you are, who we are."

He shrugged her off and walked across the room, looking at the tightly closed shutters, "Then why do I feel like one?"

Alex could not answer this question. She had taken an immediate liking to John ever since he became one of them several years ago. She had never seen someone who had so easily taken in the fact that they were no longer living. Most newborns would scream and deny it all, but he had only nodded and accepted. He wasn't like the others, not at all.

He had been twenty-four when he was turned ten years ago. He had left behind his wife and son, both who had no idea why he had vanished. Alex knew that of all the things he missed most in this world, they could never add up to the pain of leaving your loved ones to survive on their own. She had felt this way when she had left her own family, however small and broken it may have been.

Another pair of footsteps entered the kitchen, this time they carried a gas lamp with them.

The visitor – a redheaded girl named Diana – seemed surprised to see both of them up, but smiled all the same. She had been here longer than Alex, and was only three years older when she had died. Her short hair and green eyes often turned newcomers away from getting to know her. Alex liked Diana a lot; she had been one of the first few people to make her feel truly welcome in the house.

Diana also retrieved a bottle for herself. "It seems like everyone is thirsty tonight aren't they?" she eyed Alex, also knowing that something felt off.

As she poured the blood into a clean glass she casually asked, "I wonder, where could Jack be so late at night?"

Alex sighed, of course, of all the vampires that decided to rebel against her rules it was Jack. She couldn't really blame him, as co-leader he wasn't entitled to obey any of her demands, but she would have hoped he wouldn't be stupid enough to be out this late.

Alex sipped her drink and frowned, "Yes, I wonder."

Ж

A dark, solitary figure made their way down the cobbled side street, the sound their boots made echoing off the alley walls. A rat scurried out in front of him and he kicked it away.

'Filthy creatures,' he thought disgustedly.

He turned sharply around the corner and entered the local bar. It was nearing closing time, but there were still a few who managed to stick around as long as possible, begging for a free drink or two.

He sat on the closest stool to the door, away from everyone else. He didn't have to wait long before a scantily dressed woman took the seat beside him.

"Care to buy me a drink, stranger?"

He gave a little smile, "It would be my pleasure."

He ordered her a drink and tried his best to look pleased with her company. He couldn't help looking at her and thinking of how low she had sunk to earn a living. Each time she touched his arm he had to prevent himself from shuddering. After all, he was a man of stature; he shouldn't be caught for a second in a place like this, let alone with a woman like her.

A few moments later she was following him down the alley again, thoroughly drunk and disoriented. She didn't seem to find it strange when they stopped near a garbage can and a cat's carcass.

She smiled a crooked smile, and the man cringed to see her rotting teeth, but he forced himself to smile back.

When she had turned for a brief moment to gather their location, he swiftly placed his hands around her neck and twisted it sharply to the right, breaking it and causing her to slump over, paralyzed.

He didn't try to catch her body as it fell to the ground, he didn't have time for that. Besides, she wasn't deserving of any dignity.

He leaned over her and nearly gagged on the rotting stench of her perfume. He could feel her quiver slightly under his cold touch and whispered in her ear.

"Don't worry love; his will only hurt for a second."

His teeth ripped easily through her skin, slicing her jugular vein. She gasped briefly before turning silent and limp.

He fed quickly, knowing he would not have enough time to drain her completely. When he had finished he pulled a small, silver stake from his cloak pocket.

He thrust it into her stomach, watching grimly as the flesh around it smoldered and hissed. After a few moments he pulled it out and placed it alongside her.

He pulled out a scalpel he had stolen from one of his previous victims (a high end doctor who had snooped around too much) and quickly finished the job. He would have to remove all signs of puncture, or else someone would get suspicious.

As he made his way quickly down the street he tossed his collection to a couple of dogs that were chained in a nearby yard. The police would never be able to trace it.

As for the stake, he would wash it later. It was made especially for him, with a cork grip so that the silver would not touch his skin. He couldn't afford to leave it behind.

As calmly as he had exited, he slipped silently through the mansion's front door.

Just as the sun started to rise over the city.

so...I know that must have seemed very odd, but I would very much like to hear what other people think.