Post by Liessel on Mar 22, 2024 18:09:50 GMT -5
The death of Catherine Eddows changed something within the world of London’s East End. The rules had been broken, the engagement had been changed. Still, the clues left behind, a piece of torn apron soaked in Eddows’ blood and an anti-Semetic word scrawled across a door, were not nearly enough for the police to give Jack the Ripper a real name. In his world, Jack was still on top, but he was slipping. He could feel it. Something had, indeed, changed. It had shifted so much that his next hunt would be his last.
Mary Jane Kelly had a history that could be tracked and checked thanks to her ex-boyfriend, Joseph Barnett. Barnett was a fishmarket porter who had shared a life with Kelly before leaving her in their rented room. They had had a happy life together all up until Kelly returned to her prostituting ways. Barnett, unable to reconcile that his girlfriend was selling herself for money, left her in the ramshackle room to fend for herself.
She lived there, but she wasn’t alone. She had an upstairs neighbor by the name of Elizabeth Prater. Prater didn’t much care for Kelly, or for Barnett, and stuck relatively close to herself so much so that she wasn’t even rattled by the events that happened on November 9th, 1888.
It was over a month since the last Ripper victim had been found. Poor Catherine Eddows, and her sister in death, Elizabeth Stride, had barely turned cold in their graves. But on that night, November 9th, Mary Jane Kelly found herself waking up in a cold sweat to the sound of a bell right outside her door.
Kelly blinked. She dozed. She screamed in the darkness, feeling something thin and sharp slide against her skin. She begged. She pleaded. She cried. All of it hitting her in an instant as the second toll of the bell filled her little room. Then, she heard no more.
Mary Jane Kelly had a history that could be tracked and checked thanks to her ex-boyfriend, Joseph Barnett. Barnett was a fishmarket porter who had shared a life with Kelly before leaving her in their rented room. They had had a happy life together all up until Kelly returned to her prostituting ways. Barnett, unable to reconcile that his girlfriend was selling herself for money, left her in the ramshackle room to fend for herself.
She lived there, but she wasn’t alone. She had an upstairs neighbor by the name of Elizabeth Prater. Prater didn’t much care for Kelly, or for Barnett, and stuck relatively close to herself so much so that she wasn’t even rattled by the events that happened on November 9th, 1888.
It was over a month since the last Ripper victim had been found. Poor Catherine Eddows, and her sister in death, Elizabeth Stride, had barely turned cold in their graves. But on that night, November 9th, Mary Jane Kelly found herself waking up in a cold sweat to the sound of a bell right outside her door.
Kelly blinked. She dozed. She screamed in the darkness, feeling something thin and sharp slide against her skin. She begged. She pleaded. She cried. All of it hitting her in an instant as the second toll of the bell filled her little room. Then, she heard no more.