Another ruse was to lure men down to the riverside by using prostitutes as decoys, they then would be beaten up and robbed. Prostitutes themselves ran huge risks, nobody knows how many of them were strangled or stabbed, or butchered. No respectable woman would venture after dark, if she had any choice in the matter.

After midnight in the East End of London, through the fog could be heard the hooves of horses pulling a coach, no one knew where it came from and no one knew where it went..

Some witnesses after midnight would hear the coach coming they would freeze on the spot as the coach sped past, feeling its icy blast but they never saw the coach and horses.

Soon the Ghost coach as it came to be known was thought to be collecting the souls of ‘Jack the Rippers’ victims.

It was winter,1988, and a woman in her thirties known as Victoria Jane, worked in the local bakers in the east end of London. After her day had finished, she took the same route home at the same time. One night on her journey home out of the corner of her eye she noticed a gentleman, top hat and cloak standing on the corner under a gas street lamp. A strange feeling came over her, it was like she had gone back in time, a misty fog descended from nowhere and she shook her head in disbelief. As she got near him, she quickly scurried on by then as if in a blink of an eye she was back in the present day again. She turned around and glanced nervously back at the street lamp, the fog had lifted and there was no sign of anyone standing there. Victoria Jane quickly reached her apartment, frantically opened the door with her key and banged it shut behind her. Heart –pounding and out of breath, she stood there for minutes wondering what had just happened…

The same thing happened for the next three nights and then one night the mysterious man stepped across her path. She screamed in panic before he calmed her down.

“I’m not going to hurt you” he said.

“Who are you and what do you want?” Her eyes bulged with fright.

“I was trying to find a way to talk to you.”

She noticed his handsome features and kind eyes and even though felt unsure of his motives took an instant like to him, she couldn’t explain it.

She felt an amazing sensation of being back in Victorian London, but how could this be?

Over the next few months she became familiar with the scenario and in a weird way looked forward to her escape back in time, one night she finally accepted an invitation to his house for dinner, and they enjoyed a lovely meal together. After the meal she noticed a painting hanging on the wall of him and a woman, her face not fully visible head down.

“Who is that woman?” she asked.

“It was my wife” he gazed up at the painting and then at Victoria Jane.

“Was?”

“Yes she died in a stage coach accident.”

“I’m very sorry, if it doesn’t bring back bad memories, can I ask how?”

He smiled warmly, “of course, it’s a long time ago. I had helped my wife into her seat, while the driver had got down to adjust one of the horses harness. Something must have spooked one of them and they reared up and galloped off at full speed into the night, my wife was never seen again, there were many stories and sightings, but I believe my wife was thrown from the carriage into the river alongside. The horses were caught nearby and the wrecked carriage was found smashed into the wall running alongside the river. Her body was never found.”

“How awful for you” she said.

“Yes indeed, but along time ago.”

The clock chimed midnight.

“Goodness, I must go” she said.

“I have already arranged a cab to come and pick you up.”

The soft rumble of wheels and the clip-clop of hooves echo through the still night, she looks through the window to see the coach draw up outside, there are black gaping holes where the windows should be and there is no driver or horses, she draws a deep breath, “oh my God.”

She turns around in panic, eyes wide open in fright and brings both hands to her mouth.

“I’m sorry Victoria Jane, my wife died one hundred years ago this very night.”

She looked up at the oil painting of the woman, her face was now visible and staring back out at her, Victoria Jane gasped. The woman in the painting was her!

Her scream pierced the night, but no one heard her…