Whitechapel Killer: Jack the Ripper

Teaser

Night of August 31, 1888..

The stench of smoke from the factories lingered in the air as dusk settles on the horizon. The buzzing city of London now known as one of the most revolutionized cities in the world if not the most. The privileged in their lavish homes, laughing as their guests continue to gossip regarding their businesses and all sorts for the purpose of splurging on wine and riches squeezed from the underprivileged living in filthy alleyways, dark tunnels in an effort to keep themselves warm in the night. In contrast to these, a group of young women tarted up in faux diamonds as well as other jewelry display themselves on the streets in an effort to attract any potential customer for a bit of filthy lucre just enough to last for the day.

Children loitering the streets were being ushered back into the safety of their homes as the night. A young girl wailed as she was forcefully dragged by a woman wearing a white sunbonnet inside their house, "Quit whining, Lilibeth!" The woman scolded the girl. Their high pitched voice become muffled as the woman closed the door shut. 

One by one, the streets become a tad bit more quiet till only one young boy was left crying. By the looks of it, he was apparently shoved back by his playmates and his clothes were stained brown  by the mud he was left sitting on. 

A glimpse of black caught his attention while wiping his tears with the back of his hand. Looking closely through his blurry vision due to his crying, the figure seemed to become bigger until he was a few meters away from the boy.

The man's footsteps echoed as he walked casually, seeming to enjoy the night stroll even if there was the seemingly permanent whiff of smoke lingering in the air. The young boy watched the man as he strode proudly on the street, shoulders broad and wide, worn his tall hat in usual fashion but even without it the man was tall and brooding but no doubt muscular frame beneath his dark leather overcoat.

However, his face as covered  with cloth down to his and and into his undershirt. On his left hand wore a thick dark leather gloves that obviously could've seen better days. The boy noticed the his right hand was veiny and bare, he wondered if the man's hand isn't freezing cold. 

The masked man was about the pass by the boy still looking at him, apparently intrigued. Then the boy saw a glimpse of red, his gaze following the hand. It has dark red liquid dripping down the man's fingertips, leaving an unnoticeable trail of blood obscured by the color of dirt and the lack of sunlight. 

There was a faint metallic stench too, the smell of blood lingering as he passed the boy. He never needed a glove for his right hand to fight off the icy weather.

It was still bathed in the warm blood of his recent victim.