Year 1888, White Chapel,
East London,
A nightmare, I saw a nightmare every day since my adulthood, and I can only struggle with it. But my mother woke me up.
"I think it is due to the last time." I thought the reason was a nightmare.
I looked upwards and saw my mother. My mother, now fairly old, took care of me throughout my childhood, but I always wanted to return to her something—a better life. I woke up to a disappointing morning; I wished her a good morning.
"Good morning," she replied and walked straight to the kitchen to make breakfast. She saw me with a side-eye and yelled.
"Jack! Go to the yard quickly, or there will be no restrooms or basin you could use."
I quickly understood the command—in White Chapel, there were a few restrooms in poor condition, and they were meant to be shared by dozens of people.
I stood up, put on my coat, and went to the restroom.
In London, a thick yellowish smog covered the whole city, which caused people to suffocate; it gave off a metallic-like smell. It looked like the smog tried to stop me, but I still walked through the slums and reached there.
The line for the restrooms was long and visible from far away, and their conditions were terrible, but I still managed to use one. I walked home and cleaned my teeth with salt, scrubbing them carefully.
Then my mother gave me a cup of tea. I picked up the newspaper from the table and began reading. A bold headline dominated the front page.
"A killer has killed 3 innocent ladies by far and may kill more. The public is calling him "THE RIPPER."
I was shocked. "A serial killer?" I said to myself. I told my mother about it, and she didn't say anything, but her face told everything. Crime wasn't new in Whitechapel; there were crimes everywhere and diseases, so three women being killed was the least of her care when we were barely able to survive.
"Take care." She said with a slightly disturbing face.
I nodded, picked up my suitcase, and left the house.
I wore a mask and purchased a broom with money my boss sent. In a dark alleyway, I started sweeping. My job seems to be a bad profession in people's eyes, but for me, it is a necessity. I swept the whole alley slowly. After some time, a fat man came there wearing a brown coat and hat. Then a different person approached, wearing a red hat and a red coat. This man had a suitcase.
Upon reaching him, he slowly gave him the suitcase.
When I saw it, the situation was out of my hands, so I followed the process.
I shot them with my gun, which I pulled up from my suitcase. My hands shook a bit, but I succeeded.
The gunshot was loud; the birds sitting everywhere flew like they knew what had just happened, and the smell of gunpowder and smoke filled my surroundings.
Both men were on the ground, bullets in their heads, and blood flowed like a fountain; then I immediately hid the gun in my suitcase and escaped.
I ran through alleyways in the hope no one would find me. When I reached the end of the alleyway, I took a long breath of relief.
"That was close!" I said.
"But at least work is finished for a day."
I stood in the corner of the exit of the alleyway while many people ran towards the corpses. I, too, in a sense, check the condition of those.
While running, I thought.
I feel disgusted while killing, even though it is a necessity for my family's survival.
I see nightmares every day during assassination and at night because of guilt.
A person in the crowd came forward to remove the hat from the corpse's face.
"He is the former leader of the district from the opposition," he yelled.
The other person was not recognized by anyone; probably a small messenger.
I was standing in the back of the crowd, seeing everything. Police arrived at the scene, and after some time, they picked up the bodies and wrapped them in cloths. One officer picked up the suitcase that the messenger had. While picking up the suitcase, he dropped it on the ground, and it opened. Everyone took a look at it.
"Money!" A person in the crowd screamed.
Gossip started in the crowd.
"Was he taking a bribe?..."
"Was…corrupt?"
Police took the bodies along with the suitcase and left the scene. I waited there to see if there were any witnesses, but there were none. It was a very successful mission because the majority of the time I needed to kill at least two people.
"Phew…" I took a breath of relief.
I slowly started walking towards home. As the sun started setting, the visibility decreased, and all the fog gave an orangish glow to the whole White Chapel Street. The smell of sewers filled those streets so much that it didn't even bother anyone.
I entered the slums: a lady sitting outside of her home hopelessly, a few beggars begging, and a few children playing freely in the world, but I kept walking for some time, and my home became visible.
I reached the entrance of the house, a relatively good house compared to the average house in Whitechapel. It was like I felt privileged from my house; our financial condition was bad, my mother worked in a factory to support me, and she always wanted me to marry quickly so her burden could be lifted.
I was standing in front of my wooden door with a wooden handle on it. I slowly rotated it.
"Huh! It's open already?" My eyes widened.
At this time, Mother is always at the factory, so how is the door open?
"Did she forget to lock it?" I asked myself.
Thoughts filled my head-
Our condition is not so good that she could make this mistake. I know her; she wouldn't let it be open because robbery was very common.
I paused and sighed
"Ok, she must've mistakenly left the door open."
I slowly opened the door just to check, I shouted.
"Mom?"
There was no response. The room was filled with darkness.
My eyes widened as something moved in the dark. I quickly lit a candle that was kept outside the door.
As I lit the candle, my heart dropped, my legs shook—the ground felt like it was moving.
A person with a pitch-black coat and a silver-lined black hat was trying to cut his mother's neck.
The atmosphere was heavy and silent, so suffocating that it started to choke me. But he didn't budge; his hand didn't tremble once. It felt like he enjoyed it. He was not bothered that someone had entered the room. He just quietly kept cutting… cutting and cutting.