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Michael Lance Kersting

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The Whitechapel Horror.
By Michael Lance Kersting
Tuesday, October 18, 2005

Rated "R" by the Author.

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Some portions of this narrative should be best read after mealtimes!

( Jack the Ripper is the name that has been given to an unidentified serial killer responsible for murders occurring in the impoverished Whitechapel section of London in 1888. "Jack the Ripper" became the first internationally known serial killer. The name Jack the Ripper comes from the signature of a letter, dated 25 September, 1888, and received by the Central News Agency on 27 September, 1888.

There were 11 murders of prostitutes in the Whitechapel area from 1888 to 1891, known as the Whitechapel Murders. Five of these are commonly identified as the Jack the Ripper murders. Those of Mary Ann Nichols at Buck's Row, Whitechapel, on Friday 31 August 1888, Annie Chapman at Rear Yard at 29 Hanbury Street, Spitalfields on Saturday 8 September 1888, Elizabeth Stride at the yard at side of 40 Berner Street, St Georges-in-the-East on Sunday 30 September 1888, Catherine Eddowes at Mitre Square, Aldgate, City of London on Sunday 30 September 1888 and Mary Jane Kelly at 13 Miller's Court, 26 Dorset Street Spitalfields on Friday 9 November 1888.)

Four of the women were in their forties who,from descriptions,medical reports,and photographs, were harldly glamorous sex objects.Destitution and dissipation had aged them beyond their years.The fifth was twenty-four and no beauty. She was over three months pregnant at the time of her death.

the Ripper murders took place in a one square mile area of the East End and the City of London surrounding Whitechapel. )

"Damn !, " cried Chief Inspector Petrie of Scotland Yard, as he finished reading the letter addressed to him.

His assistant Pims, sitting at his desk across from him looked up and said "What is it, Peter,?"

Pims put down the letter, looked at his superior, and said, "This could well be a ploy to put you off the scent, he’s clever chap,you know,."
"No, Pims, I have a gut feeling he means it.’ He replied, " Now ,damn, We will have to spread out our search"

A few days later.

Spitalfields, London, November 1888.

1.00 am.

The night was cold and foggy. The street was almost deserted ,but for a few coaches passing by occasionally. A tall, lone figure was walking hastily,his head bowed,He was carrying a black bag.  His footfalls echoed on the cobblestones. The thick mist swirled around him as he made his way along the deserted street.
"Feeling naughty,Sir?"asked a seductive, husky voice coming from the shadows of an alleyway . The tall man stopped. From his bearing, having a top hat and a long overcoat the prostitute figured he was a "gentle man" possibly on his way home. she emerged from the alleyway near a a street lamp. .
She was a bit on the plump side in her twenties, wearing a fur collared ,well worn brown frock that fell to her ankles.  Her hair was a light red.  A small artificial dot was on the right side of her red pouted lips and she smelled of cheap liquor.
The man stiffened at her sight. "It is her," he thought , " At last I’ve found the slut" In a well modulated voice ,he asked "How much?"
The prostitute, Mary Kelly, smiled, showing a missing tooth,
‘For you, Sir, two Shillings!’ she responded hopefully.with a slight smile.
"Slut!"He thought furiously.

"Where shall we go?" He asked bluntly .
"I have a room at the back "she replied softly," Follow me ".

The man clutched the handle of the little black bag he carried tightly.

The room was approximately 12 feet square. Opposite the door was a fireplace. On the left of the door and at right angles to it were two windows, one of which was close enough to the door as to be able to reach through it and unbolt the door. To the right of the door was a bedside table so close that the door would hit it when opened. Next to the table was a bed with the head against the door wall, its side against the right wall. The room contained two tables and a chair and a cheap print entitled "The Fisherman's widow" hanging over the fireplace. Opposite the fireplace was a small cupboard which contained cheap crockery, empty ginger beer bottles and a little stale bread.
"The money first, please" she requested politely.
"Money ? ah yes." the man replied evenly".You bitch !" he thought bitterly. He set the bag down on the bed and turned his back to her , she began undressing.
The man rummaged around a bit ,then turned suddenly." You?' she cried, recognizing him.

" Yes, me , Slut!,Remember?" she then froze with terrror at the sight of the long blade knife he held in his gloved hand. She tried to get away , but the man quickly grabbed her, covered her mouth with his other hand, and with a deft stroke,slit her throat.  He then threw her squirming on the bed.

"Slut! "He screamed as he began slashing at her face "You must die!,whore" he raged," Die! like the rest of your stinking lot!". He went into a frenzy.  He began cutting off her pair of still warm breasts and placed them on a bedside table. Then he gutted her from her breasts to her pubes in a single gash and ripped out her intestines, enjoying the gurgling sounds it made. Muttering to himself,he then piled them up beside the breasts,. Searching around the body cavity, he found her kidneys and cut them out .He then took out heart and began eating it, enjoying the texture.  Afterwards he licked the blood that ran from between his fingers ,and continuted the mutilations . Cutting off her ears and nose,he placed them on top of the pile. Exhausted , he got up, wiped his brows, then slashed her face several times again and finally spat on her in disgust before he left and disappeared into the night.

"Here, ,"He said, handing over the letter," read this for your self, another letter from the Ripper".

Pims took it and read :

I’m not a butcher, I’m not a Yid,

Nor yet a foreign skipper,

But I’m your own light-hearted friend,

Yours truly, Jack the Ripper.



London, Nov. 1888- The city is again stirred to its very center, and again mysterious murder is the cause.
Excerpts from the Boston Globe, November 9th 1888 :

  The cause, this time, is evidently another in the dread Whitechapel series, though it differs from the others in some particulars. In the first place, this latest addition to the list of horrors was made indoors. A house in Dorset street, near Hamburg street, was the scene of the murder. A woman was the victim, as in the other cases, and her body was shockingly mutilated. It was found not many hours after the violence had been done.
The murder had been committed in the woman's own room. 

News of the discovery spread rapidly after it was once given out, and in a short time the vicinity was thronged with excited and morbidly curious people.

The police authorities took charge of the body and the house at once after the fact of the murder became known to them. They brought into use bloodhounds, which were lately tested for the purpose of hunting own the Whitechapel murderer in hope that the brutes could catch the scent and follow up the trail of the assassin.


The Lord Mayor's parade made an emergency which called a great portion of the police force to special duty in controlling the crowds in the streets. Hence the rigid patrol which has been kept up in the Whitechapel district was somewhat relaxed.


This gave the murderer his opportunity, which he was not slow to seize.
He is evidently more vigilant than the police, and has the advantage that he can study their movements without being himself subject to espionage.

The present victim is the eighth who has fallen before the Whitechapel fiend. 

The fourth one was found in Hamburg street, not far from the location of this one, and at the time she was discovered there was written on the wall near the body the legend:
"Fifteen before I surrender." 

According to this, seven more lives are yet to be taken, and from the success which has thus far attended the murderer's operations, it seems entirely possible, perhaps probably, that he will be able to fulfil his horrible intentions. 

The appearance of the remains found last night was frightful, and the mutilation was even greater than in the previous cases. The head had been severed and placed beneath one of the arms. The ears and nose had been cut off. The body had been disemboweled and the flesh was torn from the thighs. The womb and other organs were missing. The skin had been torn off the forehead and cheeks. One hand had been pushed into the stomach. 

The victim, like all the others, was a lewd woman. She was married, and her husband was a porter. They had lived together at spasmodic intervals. Her name is believed to have been Lizzie Fisher, but to most of the habitués of the haunts she visited she was known as Mary Jane. 

She had a room in the house where she was murdered. She carried a latch key, and no one knows at what hour she entered the house last night, and probably no one saw the man who accompanied her. Therefore it is hardly likely that he will ever be identified. 

He might easily have left the house at any time between 1 and 6 o'clock this morning without attracting attention. The doctors who have examined the remains refuse to make any statement until the inquest is held. 

Three bloodhounds belonging to private citizens were taken to the place where the body lies and placed on the scent of the murderer, but they were unable to keep it for any great distance, and all hope to running the assassin down with their assistance will have to be abandoned.

Later that day, he stood among the crowd and watched as her remains were placed in a covered wagon and quickly removed to a mortuary adjoining the old Shoreditch Church. The crowd dispersed.

Later, the Ripper was in his flat sitting before the fire place sipping some Port. He was deep in thought. "Some how, he’s got to end this torment" he thought .He knew what he must do" .he got up went over to his writing desk and began writing. Dear Sir….

Just then came a loud knocking at his front door.

"Who is it?"asked the killer.

"Police!" came the sharp reply. His heart pounding, he quickly threw the letter in the fire place, then composing himself, went to the door and opened it.

A pair of uniformed police officers stood on the threshold, one tall and thin, the other short and fat.

"Yes, Officers, what can I do for you?"He said trying to keep himself calm.

" I am Officer Percival," said the tall one, " and this is Officer Newton," indicating his friend who nodded.

"We are checking the neighbourhood, we saw that your light was on, so we came to tell you that should you hear any unusual sounds, please note the time and description. We have reason to believe the Ripper is hereabouts . The net is closing in on him,"

"I see ,is that all, Officer ?"
"Yes, sir, Just be careful."The officers wished him a good night amd left.

The doctor closed the door gently. 

 A few days later, the Chief Inspector received a letter addressed to him.He opened it and began reading :

Dear Sir,

By the time you read this letter I will be  dead.  I cannot go on like this. I must confess the torment is too much and weighs heavily on my soul. I cannot carry this secret for the rest of my life . I must now put an end to it. I confess that I am responsible for the last five recent murders here in Whitechapel namely that of Mary Nichols ,Anne Chapman, Cathrine Eddoes ,Elizabeth Stride and finally ,Mary Kelly in Spitalsfield ,the woman I was searching for, the woman who had caused my only son to commit suicide because she spurned his love. I have travelled far and wide looking for her. When I heard that she was in whitechapel working among the gloom was lifted and I made the long trip from Dublin.I do not wish to live any longer so I must do what I have to. I was bent on revenge . Last friday I found her again and I killed her .I went into a frenzy in the room, it was as if some demon had possessed me , an unholy rage gripped me. I also killed the others to prevent them from warning her that some one was looking for her.Now that the deed is done a sense of relief flooded my mind,but it later proved too strenuous for my conscience and may all forgive me.

Signed , John Hanbury ,F.R.C.S. Alias : Jack the Ripper.

Later that night his coat pockets filled with heavy stones.he went to a bridge. After looking around for a last time he plunged into the dark murky water below

Damn!  he was right under our noses." said the Inspector, shaking his head in disbelief as he handed the letter to his deputy.

“What are you talking about ?”

The Inspector handed him the letter. After reading the letter Pims exclaimed

‘Dr. Hanbury? I-I can’t believe it ,why –why ,he is our own Police coroner !”

“Yes,” replied the Inspector still in shock, “no wonder we couldn’t catch him, he knew our every move.” !He looked up at Pims and said, " The public must not know about this, It would make us and the department look like fools.  Destroy it!" He ordered.

He did.!

Copyright 2011 by Michael Lance Kersting






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Reviewed by Shawn Cormier 9/23/2006
Vivid, gruesome, chilling. A few spelling typos and punctuation typos you may want to correct, but very good.
Reviewed by Nickolaus Pacione 7/8/2006
"Some portions of this narrative should be best read after mealtimes!" -- thanx for the warning :laughing:

All in all this is a scary as hell short story, I agree for the fact this is definately not for the squeamish and surprised this one hasn't been picked up by anybody yet. I will see if I can direct an editor to this one who runs a magazine, it is too good of a horror story to post up here. Capturing the essence of what Jack the Ripper did is a very rare thing. I am doing all I can from not throwing up the dinner I ate last night after reading this one.
Reviewed by Regis Auffray 7/2/2006
A scary account, Michael. Well done! Love and peace to you,

Reviewed by Karen Lynn Vidra, The Texas Tornado 10/19/2005
chilling story, very well done! YIKES! You are right: it is NOT for the squeamish!

(((HUGS))) and love, your tx. friend, karen lynn. :(

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