He quickly dressed in his best suit and cape, placed his black silk top hat
On his head at a jaunty angle. One last look in the mirror, and he ran down
the staircase and out the front door
The shiney black and gold coach was waiting. It was pulled by four large, sleek horses

As he walked briskly past the horses, they got a whiff of his scent in their flared nostrils
And instantly began to move about nervously, the whites of their eyes showing. Tossing their heads. The driver was having trouble controlling them
The awaited passenger got into the coach, and shut the door, " To Whitecastle" he shouted to his driver

The driver took the whip to the backsides of the horses, and they began to run. Their silken manes flying wildly
in the wind. Running as if trying to get away from the evil that was in the coach. The passenger was tall and thin
with oddly pale skin. His lips were etched in a snear. He stared straight ahead, and never blinked. "Faster" he hollered at the driver. HIs anticipation growing with every passing moment.

Finally the coach arrived at Whitecastle, and was pulled to a halt .The tall passenger stepped out of the coach. He told his driver. "Wait here, I won't be long",then he disappeared into the shadows. As he moved away from the coach, the horses became calmer. He stood in the darkness and waited and waited. Finally, he saw what he had been hunting for. A whore. Walking all alone down a dark and quiet side street. His eyes were intensly focused on the woman. HIs eyes appeared to be yellow, from the glow of the gas lights on each street corner. He stood perfectly still, the pupils of his yellowed eyes were pinpoint. Drool trickled down from the corner of his mouth.

The whore walked by him. He held his breath, then stepped out in front of her, and tipped his hat to her. She was startled at first, but his fine manners and expensive clothing set her at ease. "Interested in some company" she coyly asked him. "Oh, yes", he softly answered. She lead him to a dark place behind an old building, and started to lie down on the dirty street. "That won't be necessary, he said in a flat tone of voice. He lunged towards her in just one step. He pushed her hard against the wall of the brick building, and roughy pulled up her skirts. She smiled at him with half closed eyes.

Her breath sickened him, it smelled of cheap whiskey and rotting teeth. "This won't take long", she thought, "he's already breathing heavily, and he is so anxious. Maybe I'll make enough to buy another drink at the pub". She felt him fumbling with something at the front of his trousers, and she waited. The first thrust was brutal. He covered her mouth with his left hand. He then pulled back slightly. There was a second thrust, deep, visceral. This time he twisted the large blade of the knife in her gut and then ripped the knife up the length of her abdomen.

He watched the silent scream and the pain in her dying eyes,then let go of her and she fell to the ground. He calmly bent over and pulled his knife out of her dead body, and wiped the filthy blood from the weapon on her skirt, then turned and walked back to his coach. The horses again began to dance and snort, trying to rear up. The tall, thin man got into the coach and said " Go" to his driver. The driver, a rough looking sort of man, never looked left or right, never verbally responded to his master. He sharply snapped the reins, and the horses and the coach disappeared down the street and into the night.

He returned to his home and went quickly up to his large, elegant bedroom. He stripped off all of his clothing, and removed the boots. He then threw them all into the fireplace, he had to rid his clothing of her stench and her diseased blood. The bright red flames of the fire reflected in his black eyes. He then called for his maid. She came to his room and nervously asked, "How may I help you, Sir"? " Fetch me a pan of water and a bar of soap", he commanded. The maid scurried off to do his bidding. She returned with the water and the bar of soap, set them on a table and left the room without looking at her master.

When the maid shut the bedroom door, Jack placed the large bloody knife into the pan of water, and began to lovingly caress the blade of the weapon with the bar of soap, as if it were part of him, for indeed it was. Jack The Ripper was impotent. Raised by a cruel and uncaring stepmother, and given syphylis by the first prostitute he ever bedded. He truly hated women.

Mary Ann NIchols was not his first kill
She would not be his last

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