Post by Liessel on Mar 22, 2024 15:28:16 GMT -5
Poor Elizabeth Stride. She fell just as the Ripper’s previous victims before her. Or, perhaps she had been the lucky one. Serial Killers are not known from deviating from their ritual unless it is to escalate their crimes with new additions to the killings such as new positions of the bodies they’ve posed, or a new manner of stripping away the lives they are taking. It is a rare thing for a Serial Killer to lessen their impact on their victims. Had he been interrupted in the case of Elizabeth Stride? That seems likely. Perhaps he didn’t get what he wanted out of her, whatever that may have been. She was the only victim of his who did not suffer his mutilation. Instead, her kill was quick. She had only gotten her throat slit.
Catherine Eddows, on the other hand…. She took Mrs. Stride’s punishment all too swiftly.
Catherine Eddows liked to drink. She enjoyed it so much, in fact, that on the evening of September 29th, 1888, she had been in the good company of the local police unit, locked away in a cell until she sobered herself up. It was around one in the morning on September 30th when they released her, calling her by the false name she’d given them in her booking. Exiting the station, she turned left and headed away from White Chapel.
A short distance away, just a few miles really, as Catherine Eddows was being released from police custody, Dutfield’s Yard was swarming with more officers. Within minutes, as she headed away from the station she heard it. She could have sworn it was her imagination. Perhaps she wasn’t as sober as the police thought her to be.
Her steps quickened as a light drizzle began to fall, but there were no echos. Not as the bell chimed for the fourth time that night. Within forty-five minutes her body was found in Mitre Square, mutilated in the same grotesque manner that she shared with the Ripper’s previous victims, save for Elizabeth Stride.
He had taken two victims that night. Both had heard his death knell.
Catherine Eddows, on the other hand…. She took Mrs. Stride’s punishment all too swiftly.
Catherine Eddows liked to drink. She enjoyed it so much, in fact, that on the evening of September 29th, 1888, she had been in the good company of the local police unit, locked away in a cell until she sobered herself up. It was around one in the morning on September 30th when they released her, calling her by the false name she’d given them in her booking. Exiting the station, she turned left and headed away from White Chapel.
A short distance away, just a few miles really, as Catherine Eddows was being released from police custody, Dutfield’s Yard was swarming with more officers. Within minutes, as she headed away from the station she heard it. She could have sworn it was her imagination. Perhaps she wasn’t as sober as the police thought her to be.
Her steps quickened as a light drizzle began to fall, but there were no echos. Not as the bell chimed for the fourth time that night. Within forty-five minutes her body was found in Mitre Square, mutilated in the same grotesque manner that she shared with the Ripper’s previous victims, save for Elizabeth Stride.
He had taken two victims that night. Both had heard his death knell.