Ripper: The London Years by xXSirenofMidnightXx and LestatLombre2nd (best book recommendations .txt) 📖

that was to become familiar to the nights of London. The scene that was witnessed currently is a scene no parent should ever be forced to lay eyes upon. Nestled gently and looking as though a china doll had been discarded with the trash from local homes, were it not the pure hearted mother and father that were already searching for her then there was a strong chance that she would have been left for the night to welcome her soul alone. Were anyone else to have found her then it was possible that upon a simple glance they would have thought nothing of her. Upon looking further they would notice that what lay there was not an oversized doll but that of a child, only noticeable by the blood that trailed softly down her cheek. As the parents cries rang out more and more through the night local members of residence and last minute passers-by had begun to gather near, the continuous chorus of “fetch the police” was the final sound that rang through many ears that night until the police made their way to the scene.




8am

3rd March 1888

Rose Dawson, by any other name she still would of been the Dawson's first beautiful girl. It was a crime against nature for her life to be taken so drastically at such a young age. As her small white coffin was laid into the ground of a private cemetary a stones throw away from the parents house.

As her coffin was lowered a loud scream came from her mothers lips, tears streaming down her face. She was holding on to her husbands coat tightly. His arms wrapped around her; he himself holding back the tears for his little Rosie had left this world. He would never forgive himself, for not keeping a closer eye on his beloved daughter. 2 seconds was all it took for her to be taken and killed in the most unusual and mysterious way. The Police were baffled by her case and and promised that the case will remain open until the sadistic killer was caught.

Walking away from the grave, many sobs and words of comfort are muffled. While the graveyard men slowly fill up the whole.

This funeral was better than Annie Milliwoods, there was a lot more sadness a lot more tears for the beautiful china doll. Well now she will remain as beautiful, Time will not be able to touch her delicate features and turn them into hideous wrinkles. I slowly walk up to the grave and place a single white rose upon it. Smiling down i touch the tombstone and trace over the letters of her name 'Rose' I could feel strings in my body being tugged. I would remember her name. I would remember the distraught parents faces, there cries of pain. oh how it turned me on.

5th March 1888

A Man's body is laid over the grave of Rose Dawson a hand placed near the tombstone and a letter clutched in the other. The pain was too great for him to take. He had failed his daughter and he had failed his wife.

The letter explained to his wife how much of a failure he was that he could not save her from her grief as a mother. A few feet away from the man's feet was a large bottle of arsenic that he bought from his local apocathary earlier that day.

London seems to be taken over by a plague of death and this was only the beginning.




10pm

10th March 1888

William was a small boy he couldnt be much more than 12 in age. He was small for a boy of his age he and cropped mousey brown hair and piercing blue eyes. He was stubbling all over the place. He been at his masters gin all night to which he'll surely get a beating if he finds him. Stumbling on Commercial Street he walks right into a strangers path. A path he would wish he never have stumbled upon.

I wasn't looking for a new victim. I'd just found out that 'Rose's' Father had commited suicded 2 days after her funeral. It was moments like these that made me proud. Not only had i killed the little girl i in turn killed her father. This brought great joy to me. How one life affect another and then another in turn. The domino effect.

As the peasant boy stumbled into me, he muttered a small sorry before stumbling into an alleyway behind the Commercial public house. Annoyed that he had stumbled into me and gave the most appauling apology i follow him closely behind. There he was laying against the rotten woodern fence



12am

10th March 1888

The Master of the boy was extremely pissed. Not only had is gin been taken the boy wasn't around to get his usual punishment. Wrapping the leather belt around his hand he walked furiously through the alleyways, his eyes scanning every alleyway, every doorway for this brat of a boy that cost him 10 shillings. The boy would be in for some serious beating that would cripple him for life. Turning onto Commercial street the man grew even more frustrated. The boy was rightfully his, and his alone...

Turning into the alley there the boy was, stone cold, asleep against the wooden fence.
"Get up you lazy brat" The man slapped him with his leather belt across the left cheek making his head bang onto the fence and move around to face him. Where there was a cut on his cheek of a cross. It was a clean cut. "Didn't you hear me boy get up" He grabbed onto the boys chin and made him look up at him. The boy's hair moving from his now cloudy grey eyes. The man moved back quickly and looked the boy all over. 2 marks about an inch and a half apart was on his neck. His clothes bloodstained.

The man just stood there in horror, this was not what he had in mind for this poor boy and he couldn't somehow feel responsible for his death. He just stood there in horror, with some blood on his hands. An unfortunate and her fare walked down giggling into the alleyway. Her eyes glimpsed the man standing there frozen, then she spotted the young boy a scream echoes around the alleyway the fare looked closer at the boy and then the man. "you murderer"




9pm

13th March 1888

It was a cold and stormy day, The only people who attended this young lads funeral were his master who was chained to 2 constabules beside him and the unfortunate and her client. They felt that the master presence was disrespectful to the boys memory. But all in all he wanted to be there to apologise and wish that the boy had never suffered a horrid death. The client gave the master and evil glare he wanted to make sure he suffered for all eternity for what he had did to that young boy. Not only that but he has been connected with other murders. Like the 5 year old Rose Dawson. He has not only her death on his head but her father too as he committed suicide. The master was not at all pleased. He felt set up. Framed. He'd never commited any murders and had alibi's for all of them... Well was supposed to the stupid unfortunate won't come clean... He knows his time is up and he will be sent to the gallows for his supposed crimes.. Tears began to fall as he was led away and the dirt to fill up the small hole that laid the murdered boy.

Its getting exciting, leaving my mark on the victims, not only does it message the police i'm here but it also give them the oppertunity to frame innocent men. i laugh heartedly at the thought of him being hanged for his supposed crimes. I will have to be there to watch, i hope its painful and he suffocates to death. Its a amazing a life i have not yet touched with my bare hands but yet.. i can affect that life with my none excistant breath...




Four AM

22nd March 1888


The air was thick on the quiet streets of London. Cats made their way through the alleyways in search of rats to feast themselves upon. It didn’t matter if they were well fed or not, a predator’s instinct will never be squashed. Just as my life of hunting will never be over, or placated. I made my way softly and easily over the rooftops of the streets surrounding Whitechapel, a predator amongst the weak. Not one single soul could be seen in sight, yet within earshot to those who are able a soft voice carried along the winds.

Dropping from the roofs i thought it would be better to approach on foot if i were to obtain this prey. Mild fog had crept its way along the deserted streets hampering the sight of any that were to look out of their windows at this ungodly hour. I followed my way to the noise and it came to be an apparently senile old lady. She was walking around the streets just opposite the Manor of Whitechapel. Listening closer i could make out some of what she was saying. "mine...should be mine...they wont understand....don’t remember....should be mine..." i thought that it would be safer to make some noise so i began to purposefully make my footsteps heavier, a wise choice it would seem as the old lady finally turned to look at me.

She was small, hunched over as though the very force of the upper half of her body was too much for her spine to hold. Long silver hair that hung ragged and unkempt to her waist so that when hunched it acted as though a veil was pulled around her to hide her from the world. When her eyes met mine they were the blackest of starless nights. Like pools of black oil never seeming to end. I dropped my voice as low as possible hoping that she would still hear me. "Greetings m'lady, are you quite alright?" More incessant mumblings from her, again repeating about things being hers and that they should remember. I stopped listening and subtly started to lead the woman away. I was not about to take my time with her, the hour was getting on and i could feel the dawns power weakening my very being. "Allow my to take you somewhere warm for something to eat." shock struck her face briefly but she nodded. Clearly even in her depraved mental state she could still enjoy the typical things of us English folk.

We hadn't made our way past the Manor that she was roaming outside of when i took my chance. I wrapped my arm around her neck and pulled her off of the dimly lit street. Before any essence of sound left her lips i clamped my hand over her lips and parted mine before sinking my teeth in to her neck. The life force that filled me was tainted with her memories. She was once the proud owner of the Manor, running it with a grace and elegance that would rival the royals themselves. It was deep seated scandal that brought her down, a scandal seated deep within the family. It