Jack? The Ripper

Jack? The Ripper
By:Candy Beardsley WC:498


Entry in a Diary Dated Nov. 9th, 1888


They say I am an animal, a monster and maybe a doctor. I laugh at them, if only they knew. If only they knew how easily I walk amongst them in the day. They look at me without a second glance. Mr. Lusk sees me nearly every week. Yet none of these fools know the truth.
Mr. Lusk of the Whitechapel Vigilance Society and Old Sir Warren and the rest think themselves oh so clever, but I am even more clever.
Four women now, dirty, soulless stinking whores dead. Sliced and their offending bodies relieved of the diseased organs which has destroyed the only thing I truly loved.

Tonight I shall exact my revenge on yet another one of the misfortunate that has crossed my path. M.K. will never know until it is too late.

I do wish I could have seen the look on Mr. Lusk’s face when he opened the pretty present I sent him. I did hear him speak of it, “ghastly” he said. I nearly fell into a fit of laughter right then and there. How close he was to me.

If only they all knew how these loose women had destroyed Papa. Robbed him from mother and I. How their horrid disease had first made Papa ill with fever then with madness. How my dear papa suffered, the cries of his agony still echo in my mind. He suffered until the end. Only in death did he find relief. Poor mama hasn’t been the same. She is prone to fits of melancholy now, for which I must take care of her. She tried not to let me know what had happened, but I heard her talking to the Doctor. I also knew who the women were, they had frequented Papa’s butcher shoppe.

Now I will have my revenge on those who murdered my Papa. Four of the dirty whores are dead now. I knew them from the shoppe. I knew they were the ones. Now only M. K. remains. Tonight the streets of Whitechapel will once again run red with her blood.

Disgusting! All of them! I wish my work could eradicate the whole lot of them but alas Papa would have only wanted those responsible for his demise to be wiped out of existence.

The papers and the police are certain they know who I am but I know they have no clue to my identity. How could they? I am a very least suspect. How I love this game, the letters, the graffiti, the “presents” I have sent. I give them subtle clues but they do not see them.

Night is falling; I must go .My work calls me. I must remove my dress and don Papa’s hat and coat to finish off the dirty M.K. and help Papa’s soul rest. Already I can feel the blood lust born of pure hatred building in me. I will write of my night’s work tomorrow.


Constance