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The Ripper

En spennende historie om massemorderen kjent som "Jack The Ripper"

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The material in this text is mostly based on real persons, events and locations but yet there are something/one who are made up by the author. The extra information needed to complete this work is to be found on

It was a rainy Friday night, in the end of August 1888.
Thunder and lightening were flashing everywhere and the sky was lit red by a huge dockfire.
Large raindrops fell down on the drunken 42-year-old prostitute who was walking eastwards through Whitechapel Road towards the east part of London.
She walked down an alley and came out between Essex Wharf and Brown & Eagle Wool Warehouse and Schneiders Cap Factory in a gateway entrance to an old stableyard.
She had just been thrown out of the lodging house and was on her way to a familiar of hers who lived a few miles across the town.
The thunder and lightening had a little stop when she exit the ally.
She stood and appeared lost before she sat down on a bench to rest.
Her mind floated around like glue as she sat there resting out the absinth she drank to much of. Suddenly she heared something, a sound that was different from all the thunder above her.
“Hello Polly” said a dark and whispering voice some feet away from her.
“Who is it”, she asked in a worried tune.
No answer.
A sudden lightening cast a large shadow on the wall behind her, but she saw nothing in front of her.
She started to believe it was just the absinth speaking, but suddenly the voice continued from behind her, “Are you satisfied with your life? Will you be satisfied in your death?”
“Who are you”, she replied frightened, and she was still drunk when she raised from the bench and walked into the middle of the street.
Suddenly she felt a tight grip around her neck which forced her down to the ground.
It was to tight for her to scream, and she was to drunk to make any resistance, so she could just wait for her life to float away like the rain water beneath her. When the loss of oxygen made her unconscious the shadow above her took forth a knife and slit her neck in less than five seconds. She was left bleeding in the middle of the road while the rain washed away the blood from the ground.
A few minuts later a driver saw the body and rapported it to the police.

Next morning a man knocked on private detective Clyde Barkins` door.
He was soaking wet because of the still bad weather and was carrying a black suitcase.
Clyde opened the door and the man introduced himself with a sad tune.
“My name is Robert Nichols, and I am the brother of Mary Ann “Polly” Nichols, who passed away last night”.
“I am so sorry” Clyde replied.
“They don`t know who killed her... `cause she was killed. But I know how slow Scotland Yard is working, and the London police to, so I... I wanted a privat detective on the case, and because of my eh... you wasn`t the expencivest I found so therefore I come here.
I have been up all night, since four A.M. checking the catalougs and now, finally I found one who might be able to solve this for a reasonable price.”
It didn`t take long before Clyde was on the case with photos, journals, diarys and all sorts of other personal stuff about Mary Ann “Polly” Nichols.
But still Clyde had nowhere to start looking, but he started interigating all the witnesses Scotland Yard had found. He didn`t get much information though, since none of the witnesses were actually there at the murder, but he got to know from a friend of Mary`s that she was awfully drunk.

Seven days later he got to hear of another murder comitted in Hanbury street, just two days after the funeral of Mary Ann Nichols where Robert had complained about Clyde`s work.
The 8th of November 1888 Annie Chapman, another prostitute, had been killed in Hanbury Street. Either Scotland Yard or the London police had any suspects except for one Francis Thompson who`s testimony was clean enough to make the cops have no interest.
The only suspect Clyde had found was a man he accidentially met looking for evidence near Buck`s Row, where Mary Ann had been killed.
The reason for suspicion was first of all this guy`s interrest in the case.
He was a doctor by the name Thomas Neil Cream, he had studied in Canada and had moved to England a few months ago. He lived mostly of performing abortions for a fair price in the south end of London.

As Clyde got to know this Dr. Thomas Neil Cream better, he also joined Scotland Yard in their pursuit for the killer. It didn`t turn up to be as effective as Clyde had hoped, but at least he got to be a part of an exciting news on September 27th .
Without anyone knowing where it came from a letter with the heading, “Dear Boss”, showed up at the Central News Agency.
It contained two pages inside an envelope.
It was written with a red pen and said;

Dear Boss,
I keep on hearing the police have caught me but they wont fix me just yet. I have laughed when they look so clever and talk about being on the right track. That joke about Leather Apron gave me real fits. I am down on whores and I shant quit ripping them till I do get buckled. Grand work the last job was. I gave the lady no time to squeal. How can they catch me now. I love my work and want to start again. You will soon hear of me with my funny little games. I saved some of the proper red stuff in a ginger beer bottle over the last job to write with but it went thick like glue and I cant use it. Red ink is fit enough I hope ha. ha. The next job I do I shall clip the ladys ears off and send to the police officers just for jolly wouldn’t you. Keep this letter back till I do a bit more work, then give it out straight. My knife’s so nice and sharp I want to get to work right away if I get a chance. Good Luck.
Yours truly
Jack the Ripper

Dont mind me giving the trade name
PS Wasn`t good enough to post this before I got all the red ink off my hands curse it No luck yet. They say I’m a doctor now. ha ha.

Now that the madman had got a name, and signature, it was just finding the right guy left.
Clyde could swear he had seen that handwriting before, and it didn`t take long time before he remembered. He remembered the writings on an old piece of paper, just like this one, used to write down suspects, victims, targets etc. related to the Mary Ann murder case,
buy Dr. Thomas Neil Cream.
He knew it must have been him, but he waited one whole day with research, to seek the doctor who lived in the south end of the city.
It was late on Saturday 29th, Clyde had decided to confront the doctor with the facts he had come up to and turn him in to the police if it showed up he had right.
He walked all the way down to the doctor`s old and half-ruined house in the south of London.
He knocked on the door, but he couldn`t hear anyone.
Instead he heard a man walking behind him, towards the town.
It started to get dark, and Clyde didn`t see anything but shadows in the dark.
He could only hear footsteps of a typical, calm gentleman in front of him.
He followed the footsteps through some alleys, pass the London prison and towards a place called Dutfields Yard. The footsteps stopped for some minuts nearby a woman talking to a tall man until they finally split up and the woman walked downwards on Berner Street.
The footsteps started moving after the woman, through Berner Street and into a back alley.
Clyde followed carefully, and got a shock when suddenly the woman fell to the ground, with a shadow hanging over her, while she struggeled to get loose.
Suddenly her neck was cut over and blood filled the ground.
Clyde was just standing watching until he suddenly realized what danger he found himself in.

He could no longer hear the footsteps, they were gone, just as the womans life.

On his way back home he heard a loud scream, a woman`s scream.
Clyde ran as fast as possible in the scream`s direction. He ran up through all the alleys until he came to Mitre Square Aldgate where he was met by three men who had followed the scream to. In the middle of the square a body of a woman in her thirties lay with a cut over her neck and a ripped up stomach.
Later on the two bodies was identified as Elizabeth Stride and Catherine Eddows.

Clyde stayed up the rest of the night checking Dr. Cream`s files.
He found them quite occasionally, because of a prison chief of staff named Jackson, who was at the London Penitentiary due to the Ripper case. Jackson came from Illinois State Penitentiary where Dr. Cream had been imprissoned in 1881 for poisoing a number of women and died lately by an unknown disease.
He called Clyde a fool and laughed good at him when Clyde said that the guy on the picture from the Illinois files was that same dr. Cream.
“You better write some more of those letters which keeps on showing up, that`ll give you public relations”, he said in a superior tune.
Clyde was suprised and wondered if another letter had showed up.
Then a guy from Scotland Yard took forth an old paper with the same red pen writing as the “Dear Boss” letter. Clyde unfolded it and read it;

I was not codding dear old Boss when I gave you the tip, you’ll hear about Saucy Jacky’s work tomorrow double event this time number one squealed a bit couldn’t finish straight off. ha not the time to get ears for police. thanks for keeping last letter back till I got to work again.
Jack the Ripper

Clyde decided to keep shut about the information he had, since he would only be laughed of anyway. He decided to go to Dr. Cream`s house once more, to interrigate him.
While he walked to the house he thoughed about the death of Dr. Cream.
“What if he really is dead, if he is some sort of undead, or maybe he is just “paper dead”, maybe it is some protection program of some sort, but he is still the killer of at least four prostitute women.”
He approacted the house, not knowing what he really indulged into, but he needed answers.
He didn`t care knocking on the door, but opened it carefully and unnoticed before he sneaked in. Upstairs he could hear someone walking, at the exact same way as last night.
He whent carefully up the stairs until he could see the room the doctor was in.
Dr. Cream`s feet could be seen through the open door, dead calm.
Clyde approacted the doorway as carefull as he could until he was only three feet away from Dr. Cream.
Suddenly he jumped towards Dr. Cream, until he was shocked by what he saw.
The body in the chair was not Dr. Cream at all, but another woman from the streets.
Clyde fell backwards in shock when he saw it, knewing she had just been killed.
He aslo knew that “The Ripper” was inside the house, probably even on the same floor as himself since he had just heard the footsteps.
He had to get out of there so he whent downstairs again.
Now the door to the outside were shut and complete darkness were filling the wide hallway.

It was just a hole in the roof that let in a smal ray of light to the darkened room.
Clyde sneaked down and tried to open the door, but it was locked.
He knew now that he was in the same room as some sort of ghost of Jack The Ripper.
The silence in the room was terrible, he could have heard a mouse moving on the roof, as dead calm as it was in that dark hallway.
Suddenly he could feel breathing in the back of his neck, before two hands took a grip
around it.
“We don`t need some disturbances in the pattern here, do we?” He could hear it was Dr. Cream`s voice that spoke him in his right ear.
The hands squized him hard in his neck, like it was a threat, before they let go and Clyde was free to go again.
The door was now open, so Clyde whent home as quick as possible.

After this event, things was beginnig to slow down in the “Ripper” killings but P.R. started to grow. The newspaper started to write about this problem, and Jack the Ripper was soon known all over the world.

Knowing this was some supernatural stuff, Clyde whent to a friend in Wales, Mark McDouglas, who was very interrested in such things.
Mark told him that his motiv might be that he wanted life back, and therefore he tried to find the certain “Dark” souls in the sinners, because of their superior power to the non-sinners.

Clyde left back to London with much more information than expected.
When Clyde returned to London it was October the 16th and constable Walt Hamilton from Scotland Yard had a report of a new letter to Clyde.
It was sendt to George Lusk, the president of the Whitechapel Vigilance Commitee, and since it was packed as it was when it was first opened, Clyde could see for himself how it looked.
It was made of filthy, yellow/brown paper as the two others, and he could see the same old red penwriting inside. Clyde opened the envelope and the half of a pink, dried out kidney fell to the desk below. Hamilton whent quickly outside while Clyde was staring at the rottened kidney piece.
Clyde unfolded the paper inside and read the disturbing text;

From hell.
Mr Lusk,
I send you half the Kidne I took from one woman and prasarved it for you tother piece I fried and ate it was very nise. I may send you the bloody knif that took it out if you only wate a whil longer
Catch me when you can Mishter Lusk

The letter, as the others, contained numerous writing errors.
The kidney the letter contained belonged to Catherine Eddows who was murdered several weeks before.
Clyde decided to visit Dr. Cream, or “Jack The Ripper” once more, in an attempt to get motives about the killings out of him.
His job was not only to track the killer down, but send him to prison, something that isn`t really easy when the killer is dead, but still alive.
Clyde took a horse-taxi to Dr. Cream`s house and did not hesitate on entering.
He whent quite quickly inside the house, upstairs, until he finally saw The Ripper. He was sitting in a chair, looking out of a big window with a top hat on, facing his back
towards Clyde.
Clyde walked slowely towards him until the chair he sat on suddenly turned around showing a rotting corps of the man he was looking for.
Clyde screamed as the dead eyes stared at him, and he felt sick, sicker than ever, so sick he had to throw up.

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