MicroHorror

Jack the Ripper, knee-deep in the entrails of a ten-penny whore, was the love of my life. Unknowing of what he was at first, once I had fallen I could not stop, though I knew I must. From the initial incision on his first victim, to this very evening as I run for my life, I have forcibly watched him delight in his dark art. A number of times before tonight I tried to leave. His hypnotic charm always pulled me back to his side. Until now. I can no longer watch. The sun sinks quickly into the dense black fog and I am at Jack’s mercy.

He hunts me in the dark and light, along winding roads, through the teeming rookeries, toward the coal smoke water. A gaping bloody hole, given to me in the Queen’s by the rabid sailor Jack paid handsomely to incapacitate me, rends my gut and seeps the life from my rapidly weakening body. Jack’s precise, yet quick footsteps echo on the stone lanes as my sobs melt into the growing din of the lunar race. I run toward the East India dock as he gains on me, his potent poppy breath almost on my neck. With glee, the first assault of the river’s stench hits me. The taste of freedom excites me, giving me hope.

A strong cold hand grabs my hair, wrenching me back. My body stops dead, just short of salvation. He knows that I know he cannot go near the river. Afraid of contamination and disease ravaging his body, I am only safe in the thick fetid tendrils of the Thames. Jack turns me to face him, my small frame unable to struggle against his power. He closes his hands over my throat. Alabaster skin shines in maniacal delight off the gaslight. His eyes are dark, void of all but bloodlust. I whimper and mewl to his sharp laughter.

“Be still.” He hisses through white teeth.

Jack’s breath, so cold it freezes the tears on my drying face. Sound drowns out and I cannot speak. His hands are too tight. My body burns as it screams for air. He smiles at me, a face I have seen only when he floats over the corpses of his ladies.

Two drunken lumpers stagger near us, shouting into the haze. The only chance for rescue. I try to rouse their help, my voice a dull wheeze. Their bawdy songs too loud, they do not hear. Even if they had, they would not help. For I am no one and Jack is everything.

Jack leans in slowly, drawing out the moment. He does not want to rush. Not when he has chased for so long. My eyes become larger, swelling in my skull, close to bursting. His grip on my throat tightens. In a last futile effort, my mouth opens in a soundless scream. Languidly, he grazes his teeth over the rise of my breast and bites down. They sink so deep I can feel them piercing my heart. He groans into my body as the world bleeds into nothingness.