The Watcher: A Jack the Ripper Story

He stood in the shadows watching her.

She did not see him in the shadows; he avoided the illumination from the street lamp -the same lamp that offered her a false sense of security. *After all,* she thought, *who would accost a young woman under a freshly-lit street lamp?* Dressed to attract attention, she stood on the corner, in front of the butcher’s shop, in Whitechapel, London. She waited for a man looking for companionship for the night -any man with a few shillings in his pocket.

At dusk, the lamps were lit by men and then extinguished right before sunrise. Once lit, the ladies would come out and stand under the lamps so gentlemen callers would be able to examine what the ladies had to offer. Also to see the color of their lips. These ladies kept their lips adorned in a bright red color to advertise the fact that they were skilled at using their lips as well as the treasures between their warm thighs.

As she turned, the watcher saw her lips and they were a color of red brighter than he had ever known. His excitement grew in anticipation of watching her work, as well as knowing it may be her last time on her knees. From the shadows, he could smell her perfume, but as delicious as she smelled, he was not waiting for her.

He was watching and waiting for the Ripper. He wanted to learn from the master, not partake of the young girl’s offerings. He had waited in the shadows of many corners and alleys over the past few months with hopes of catching the Ripper. He did not want to turn him over to the authorities at Scotland Yard, but to learn from him. His heart quickened when he saw a man approaching the street lamp.

Stories of the Ripper spread through the streets of London, and although the men of Scotland Yard pleaded for the citizens of Whitechapel to stay inside at night, certain women needed to work. They waited within the security of the circle of light beneath the glowing flame of the oil lamp. They would gamble with their lives each night, working for a shilling here and a shilling there to be able to buy bread.

The approaching man looked established, with his neatly-pressed shirt behind his vest and long coat. His cane was of high quality as well, most certainly a gentleman of the highest accord. The man in the shadows lost his excitement thinking, *This man couldn’t possibly be the Ripper. He is too far upstanding to bring any harm to this poor girl.*

The man in the shadows was too far to hear, so he watched as they conducted business. He touched her arm and she smiled. He nodded his head, turned to the alley and held out his arm to escort her. She stopped, opened her purse and smiled as she looked around. He dropped some coins into her open purse with a comment. She closed the purse and took his arm like a lady and he escorted her into the alley.

The two walked down the filthy alley and in the darkest corner, next to a fence and piles of garbage, he leaned against the wall as the lady knelt to her knees in front of him.

The watcher lost sight of the couple when the alley’s darkness swallowed them, so he eased out of the shadows. With his back against the wall, he inched deeper into the garbage-filled alley until he could see the lady on her knees. She moved her head back and forth slightly while the man rested, leaning against the wall. With one hand caressing the back of her head, he sipped from his flask.

The gentleman muffled a sound and the lady stood and took a sip from the his flask and said, “I have a room just up the way. Perhaps for another shilling --” she trailed off and took another sip from his flask.

The watcher quickly left the security of the wall and shadows provide by the alley, and took his place at his original position and waited. The two exited the alley arm-in-arm, clothes back in place, and hair adjusted. Her lips were back to a bright red and they proceeded up the road. The stopped and entered a building of several flats. Once inside, the watcher rushed to the door of the building and eased inside.

Not sure which room they entered, he pressed an ear to each door listening for their voices. It was door number three that revealed their position and he heard her say that she wanted to retire to the bedroom so he waited. Once he heard their voices go quite, he carefully entered the flat with with light steps and slow breathing. He heard movement so he approached the door to the bedroom which was ajar, and he looked in.

The woman was on the bed thrashing about. Blood pulsed out of her neck with each heartbeat. He saw her try to scream but she was silent. The man had sliced her throat deep enough to cut the vocal cords so her screams were silent.

As he looked on through the small opening, she thrashed about trying again to scream and their eyes locked onto each other, in which he saw ultimate fear. He stopped breathing. He was so scared he felt like his heart had stopped beating. His knees almost buckled and sweat dripped down the small of his back. She was trying to say something, but he heard no sounds save for the gurgling sound of her blood in her lungs as she breathed, but saw the words form on her lips. “Behind”. Something was behind something else. He was trying to understand what she was saying.

He could not make out what she was trying to tell him and the Ripper was not in his sights, so he went in further. She shook her head back and forth violently, and he reached out to help her.

The back of his skull exploded in pain and after a quick showing of stars, everything went dark.

He had not known how long he was unconscious but quickly realized his wrists were bound together behind his back. He was sitting in a chair facing the bed. The lady on the bed was now motionless. No movement, not breathing, no more slinging about trying to get help, no more silent screams.

She was dead.

“Who are you and why are you following me,” the man asked from behind the chair. He removed the wadded up cloth from the watcher’s mouth and waited.”

With quick short breaths, he said, “I want to watch. You are the master,” Trying to catch his breath, he continued. “I will not scream or try to run, I just want to watch you work. I have been watching the streets for months wanting to see you at work. You are brilliant to not be caught by the Yard. These women must be extinguished and I want to help.”

“I work alone. And until tonight, no man knew me. No man knew my face. Do you realize what you have done?”

“You are my mentor, You are the Ripper, are you not? Are you the one they call The Ripper? Can I call you Jack, or Mister Ripper, or What? Who are you, sir?”

“Where did you come from,” he asked as he paced the floor.

Fighting with the cord around his wrists, he said, “I watched from the alley. While you were under the lamp I was in the corner. In the shadows. I mean you no harm. I just want to watch.”

“How old are you son,” the Ripper asked the young boy. He had not left any witnesses as of yet, nor was he about to start this night. The women all deserved to be killed. Whores, all of them. With their red lips and warm thighs. He looked at the woman on the bed and was rethinking his plan. He glared at the boy as he thought. Ran each scenario through his head in a flash to see the outcome. He had no choice.

The boy squirmed in his chair, his face white with fear.

“I’m sixteen, sir. Almost seventeen. I read the papers and know its you. You’re the ripper are you not?”

“No kid, I’m not. Where are your parents?”

“I have none, sir. I live at the orphanage. My name is --” A slap to the boy’s face with the back of his hand silenced him. “I don’t want to know your name. I didn’t know her name and I don’t want to know yours.”

“But it’s Christopher. Christopher Shams.” He was able to say his name and winched just before he was slapped again. “You want to learn, Mister Shams,” the Ripper asked with a shaking voice elevated in pitch.

The boy nodded his head with a smile. With the boys hands still tied, the Ripper grabbed him by the back collar of his shirt and snatched him from the chair and forcibly placed his face to within inches of the dead woman’s face. Her cold eyes still open and turning grey. “See her?”

The boy nodded without making a sound. His pants were now wet from his losing control of his bladder. He pleaded once again, “I want to know more. Why this girl? Why any of them? How do you do it?”

With anger causing his voice to tremble he whispered, “Because they are all whores!” he said with his nose touching the boy’s nose. Shams could smell bourbon on his breath and a hint of the woman’s perfume. He then realized he was with the Ripper. No gentleman would smell this horribly, this close.

The Ripper continued “Do you get it? Do you understand,” he asked shaking Shams by his shirt collar, “worthless whores, the lot. And this one too. When they spread their legs, they spread their sin and diseases across London and they all need to be swept away like the rest of the garbage. You want to be a part of this? You want to be known for working with the Ripper?

You want to know how I do it?”

The boy struggled away from the man’s grasp and stood with his arms still tied behind his back, “I knew it,” the boy said with excitement and new found courage in his voice. “You are the ripper. I want to be like you. I want to be you.” Almost giggling with a smile and shaking voice, he said, “Show me. Show me how you do it. I beg of you”

The boy looked up to see a flash of light as the scalpel rested in the air a second and bounced the light from the nearby lamp. The boy said, “Is that the -” as the scalpel came down swiftly, his voice went silent. The Ripper looked on with a smile and took a deep relaxing breath. He sat back in the chair as the boy fell to the floor. Blood spilled out and splatted on the floor as the boy fought against the bindings on his wrists.

Shams saw his blood on the floor and tried to scream out, only to hear the screams in his head. As he flopped about, the Ripper kicked him away. The boy screamed out in silent horror with his last breath and then his vision faded to black.

Two days later, the Ripper sat at a table in in a restaurant eating breakfast and reading the newspaper and read, Couple Found Dead. Young Boy and Prostitute. He smiled and mumbled, “And that’s how I do it, young Christopher.”

*Written by SWLowe

Content is available under CC BY-SA*