London, 1870

It was one of those nights that were feared by most clear-thinking people. The clouds coated the hell-hole of a sky, and a heavy mist hung about the streets like a child in distress. Most people were safe inside their homes, so there was little in the way of noise or life. The only sorts of any living beings were either animals, drunks and the odd prostitute. That night, there was one of those women on the streets, coming back from where she was 'needed'. She was walking through the back alleys, as she knew that this was quicker and (supposedly) safer than having an encounter with the drunks.

It was cold. She wrapped her shawl around her arms tighter, and hurried along. It was one of those sorts of cold that made you wonder if it would snow. To give it its 'cherry-on-top', the air was deadly silent. She just hoped that she was lucky enough to be walking safely (or rather, hurrying safely). She soon came to the alley behind her home. At last, she thought.

'Excuse me, Miss…' came a voice from behind her. She was about to unlock her door, but she decided to be polite and see what the voice wanted. She could tell from its tone that it was a male. She smiled sweetly, turning her head to face him. As she was about to ask what he wanted, he grabbed her by the throat, forcing her against the brick wall. She gasped for air, whilst trying to scream for help. It was no use, though. All that came out was a wheeze. When she had calmed down (knowing that no one would hear her), she stopped thrashing. Instead, she just watched him. He was dressed in a black trench coat, and he wore a black hat that covered his eyes with a shadow. When she didcatch a glimpse of them, he saw two blue, almost transparent, eyes. The next thing that she knew was that he was taking something out of his pocket. She looked up from his pocket and into his face. He bore a maniacs grin. She was confused. Everything seemed to be happening so fast.

He held the item up to her. It was a silver-coloured object. On closer inspection, it turned out to be a knife! The blade shone in the dim light of a far-off street lamp. Her eyes lit up with fear. He could see that, but he continued. What he continued with happened too fast for her to try and stop. He quickly plunged the knife into her slender throat and slid the remainder of it across the rest of her neck, making a straight, yet very bloody, cut. The blood oozed from the wound like an ocean tide on a beach.

He let go of her with a jerk of his arm. She dropped to the floor like the dead woman that she now was. This was yet another addition to the Ripper's collection. He left as quickly and as calmly as he had appeared.