Prompt: Drip. Drip. Drip.
From: Book girl fan
WARNING: Contains graphic content of Elizabeth Stride's murder.
...
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Louis Diemshutz stared in horror at the sight illuminated by the candle flickering against the Whitechapel breeze.
At his feet, lay a woman, dressed in somewhat shabby dark clothes. On her throat, was a gaping wide cut, as though someone had taken a knife and sliced into her neck like a housewife cutting up a roast ham into slices.
Dull red blood dripped from her gash and ran into a small brook by the club door. The expression on her pale, shallow face was fixated into a gaze of terror, sending chills down Diemshutz's throat. Looking to his left, he saw the same sight brought up his friend's evening meal. He exchanged looks with his horrified companions, and found them all staring with a mixture of fear, repulse and the morbid curiosity which accompanies sensationalism.
Judging from the dead woman's appearance, she was a poor Whitechapel prostitute. And a drunk one at that, judging from the smell of alcohol on her.
Her throat was now cloaked in scarlet, and the smell of copper gagged him. A burning sensation rose in his throat, but he forced himself to swallow rather than make a fool of himself in front of everyone present.
...
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Diemshutz and a companion ran along Fairclough Street, hunting for a police officer to report the body's discovery.
The sound of the blood dripping from the fleshy, throat ripped hole made him feel weak in the stomach; but he would not repeat the shameful steps of his friend. He- they- must report the murder immediately.
"Police! Police! Murder! Murder!" He and his companions cried, as they ran down the street. Of course, in this area, this sort of cry was all too common.
But they had every reason to believe that 'he' had struck again...
...
Drip. Drip. Drip.
As they reached Christian Street, one of his friends, David Bowles, exclaimed "Look, police!" Sure enough, under the street light, a policeman strolled round on the beat.
"Thank God!" Diemshutz cried in heartfelt relief, turning the policeman's attention to them.
"And what's going on here, gentlemen? I hope none of you are drunk." He warned them.
"No, sir! We just want to report a murder!"
The policeman- PC Spooner- shrugged. He knew murders were all too common in this district. Bloody sods didn't know where to keep their knives in their kitchens, their guns in their pockets and their grudges in the grave instead of their victims.
"But, sir- it's a woman! A prostitute! Her throat's been hacked open!" Bowles cried in terror. "We think it may be"-
"Dear God! Why didn't you say so?!"" Exclaimed Spooner in horror, as the truth sank in. It made sense, after all. An old acquaintance of the force- Inspector Lestrade-in addition to his own superior, had warned him to be on the guard for any signs of the 'uncatchable killer.'
"I'll come with you chaps right away!" He exclaimed. "Where is the victim?"
"Dutfield's Yard, sir! Right this way!"
...
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Several people- must have been at least ten odd- were gathered round the body, whispering about the possibility of this being another one.
"But this one doesn't look so bad as before." One man said in confusion. "The last victim had her womb stolen - and the killer also mutilated the wench." He spoke as though he was commenting on a sudden change in the winds, which sickened Diemshutz when it reached his ears.
Spooner elbowed his way past the crown to the corpse and knelt beside the body, before gingerly tilting her chin upwards.
To his surprise and horror, she was still warm. That could only mean one thing... and that was that the killer had only just been here.
Diemshutz, meanwhile, caught sight of the fatal neck wound again- and it horrified him anew. The throat was emblazoned with a cut over two inches wide. He felt the image burn into his memory- that someone of the same species as he had attacked a poor, unfortunate wretch and slit her throat in such an appalling manner left him keeling.
...
Drip. Drip. Drip.
As Spooner rose, he saw PC Henry Lamb approach him- along with Edward Collins. "Well, heard there's been another one," Said Lamb. "When those chaps there told me about the victim, I got backup and came here as quick as I could."
"I'm glad for it," Replied Spooner. "This crowd's getting bigger than I can handle."
Lamb cracked his knuckles grimly and cleared his throat. "Right, get back, now!" He yelled authoritatively. "If you get blood on your clothes, you're in trouble! Move back!" He waved the crowd of 30 people away and turned to Collins. "Go and fetch Dr. William Blackwell. I know e happens to live at 100 Commercial Street. Hurry, man!"
Collins nodded and dashed off to fetch the doctor.
He then turned to the two men who had summoned him, and ordered Morris Eagle to go on to Leman Street Police Station and say that PC Lamb had sent for backup, as another victim had been murdered in Dutfield's Yard.
Lamb then checked the woman's face by placing a palm carefully against it. It was still warm- albeit not as warm as when Spooner had checked it earlier. A quick examination for a pulse revealed a negative result. She was dead.
But why was only her throat mutilated? Surely, if this was his work, a uterus would be stolen, or a kidney, or some other unspeakable organ theft. And her abdomen would not still be intact.
...
Drip. Drip. Drip.
At 1.16AM, the doctor arrived, and confirmed the victim- a prostitute named Elizabeth Stride- to be deceased.
"Judging from the rigor mortis, I say that Miss Stride was murdered sometime between 20 and 30 minutes ago," Said Doctor Blackwell.
"Well, Mr. Diemshutz, from the looks of things, you may have interrupted the Devil in his crime." Lamb said thoughtfully. "Not at the right time to save her life, perhaps, but enough to save another mutilation. Now, the question is, where is he?"
"If I may be so bold, sir," the doctor interrupted his musings. "I know a man in the medical community, sir- a Doctor Watson- who has a friend whom is a specialist in crime solving. Perhaps he could use his great powers to help catch the Ripper before he kills another victim."
"We don't need some amateur, Doctor," Sneered Lamb, cockily. "We'll catch Ripper ourselves! Besides, I've heard about this Sherlock Holmes fellow- and he sounds like a man smart enough to be the Ripper himself!"
...
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Not an hour after Miss Stride's murder, word rippled round that another prostitute lost her life to 'Leather Apron' in Mitre Square.
This next victim was Catherine Eddowes, and her body had been horrifically mutilated. Not only that, but her uterus and a kidney had been taken- like Jack the Ripper's second victim.
When Lamb heard the news, he wondered about two questions which occurred to him, due to him unable to focus on little else but Elizabeth Stride and the damned killer.
The first question was; had Diemshutz's accidental interruption of the devil's work inadvertently condemned Catherine Eddowes to die so painfully and needlessly?
The second question was; would Sherlock Holmes be interested in taking on Jack the Ripper himself?