London's Calling

London 1888- Then

A serial killer somewhere in the streets of London terrorized the city, killing and brutally tearing apart five prostitutes. He went by many names back then, but one stuck: Jack the Ripper. He was never caught.

London 2013- Now

I'm sure we've found a direct descendant of the Ripper and she's continuing his work. But let me back up a bit.

Philly 2013- Like ten days ago.

I decided that it was time for a vacation. I've been working and going through the daily routine for years now and I figured I needed a break. Things were starting to get to me. Little things. My temper was starting to get out of hand. I needed to recharge my batteries. If not something bad was going to happen. To who or what I didn't know.

When I boarded my plane all seemed great. Or as great as one can feel being jammed into a giant metal bird, like sardines in a massive death trap with wings.

The passenger next to me was perfect, a middle aged British woman who said next to nothing, wasn't a sweaty behemoth and she smelled like a grandmother; a wonderful mix of cough drops and whatever fucking magic product keeps their hair so puffed up for days on end. We were in it together for eight hours.

At about hour three however, a horrible feeling started to hit at the bottom of my stomach. A bubbling began like the beginnings of a witch's brew. A fart the likes of which this British grandma had never experienced. I clenched me cheeks together so tight it felt like they would invert and my asshole would swallow my lower half.

I looked to my left. She was asleep. I'd never seen a human being sleep this way. She was bent with her head just hovering above her knees, hands at her side and her mouth slightly open. It looked like a manipulator got tired of playing with his marionette and just dropped it in a seat. I thought about putting a finger under her nose to make sure my flight mate hadn't become a corpse, but any movement would result in the escaping of gas. I had to keep it in. If I let fly with this green cloud of death I could envision mass panic. Oxygen masks dangling above passengers heads, the screaming and praying, the captain shouting over the intercom for people to relax and return to their seats. The engine's hum was too loud to hear the noise, but once the smell hit it would've been pandemonium.

I held that fucking fart in for five more hours.

Touching down in Heathrow airport was the happiest moment of my life. After the short shuttle bus and getting through customs I found a bathroom and entered the last stall. I didn't even have to push.
It came out of me with a low growl slowly building to a triumphant crescendo. The stall doors rattled as the sonic boom reached it's peak. My gaseous baby had finally been borne. I left that bathroom in a flash. It smelled like an open grave in there and I didn't want to be around for the repercussions.

Once I collected my bags I came through the main doors and met my lovely girlfriend. It was like something out of a Cameron Crowe movie.We made our way to her flat and proceeded to plan our tourist adventures.

Stonehenge? Check.
London Bridge? Check.
Camden town? Ghost tour of London? Double check.
And the star attraction: The Jack the Ripper tour.

London 2013- Last night

We met our tour guide and other blood lusting fans under the lamplights and the gentle rain of East London.

Rae, my girlfriend and adventure mate, walked up to the tour guide, Lindsay, and proclaimed, "We are here to slay some prostitutes." We both giggled as Lindsay smiled with complete disdain and responded,"Pardon?" Rae being the good sport repeated her funny yet classless line. Lindsay's smile never faltered as she replied,"Show some respect for the victims." It was almost as awkward as walking in on your parents mid thrust.

Something unnerved us about Lindsay's demeanor. That smile was off. Her stare was cold. She was like a shark in a goldfish's clothing.

Needless to say, the rest of the tour we tried to show respect for the victims, as Lindsay, our fearless guide and intrepid researcher, took us to each spot the Ripper murdered his victims, parading pictures of their mutilated bodies before our eyes; and for only 10 pounds a piece. Respect was in high demand this night after all.

At the site of Annie Chapman's death something strange happened. Lindsay began to tell us about her murder. Then Lindsay revealed how Chapman had one surviving relative. A granddaughter of 102. She sought her out and asked if she could use her testimonials in her research. The relative declined. This is where things got a bit strange. The granddaughter died very gruesomely and in a manner strangely reminiscent of her grandmother.

Rae looked up her name on her iPhone and there it was clear as day. (NAME REDACTED) was found murdered with her throat severely slit to the spinal column, innards extracted and left next to her. We exchanged worried glances. Had no one else pieced this together? Lindsay knew way too much about this case and apparently had a lot of evidence and information that was newly found. We decided it was best to follow this woman after the tour was through.

When the tour was over we followed Lindsay onto the London Underground eventually alighting at Brixton Station, far from the comfort and safety of the city's bright lights. We followed her a few blocks, the streets becoming darker, more ominous. Eventually she came to a huge alley and ducked into it. Rae and I waited a few moments, looked at each other and followed her in. The shadows ate us up then spat us back out under a single street light. We could see Lindsay up ahead talking to a hooker.

We followed them into a rundown building. It looked as if someone went to the facade with a wire brush. We could hear the sounds of coitus above us. Rae and I slinked up the steps, watching Lindsay and the prostitute make their way up to their room. They slipped into the room and we watched the door close.

Rae looked at me and asked,"Now what?"

"We wait I guess."

With our ears to the door we could hear muffled speaking. Soft and measured at first, it became shrill and then we could hear the calm tone of Lindsay's voice. I could almost see that emotionless grin upon her lips. She continued to coo something and I could hear a gurgling as well. That's when Rae said,"Kick it down."

I, of course, being the muscle, complied. Two swift kicks and the ancient door's hinges gave way. Lindsay had the woman's throat in one hand and a long straight razor in the other. She looked genuinely startled except for that smile pasted on her face; a reminder to all that she was still human.

"Oh hello," she muttered as Rae tackled her, the razor smacking into the wall. The hooker crumpled to the ground like a sack of dirty laundry, gasping for air. Her mascara running down her cheeks.

"Get out of here," I instructed her.

Without even looking at me she got up and ran from the room, banging the door on the way out. It hit the wall and then swung back slowly, finally clicking shut.

I stared at the door, but heard a thumping rhythm that if I stood there long enough might lull me off to sleep. I turned around and saw the source of the noise; an unconscious Lindsay and a crazed Rae punching her face over and over again, her head pancaked between the floor and Rae's fist. I pulled Rae off. Her breathing finally subsided and she asked,"What now?"

We pulled the sheets off the bed and threw Lindsay on the mattress. Rae tore the sheets into strips and we tied Lindsay's wrists and ankles to the bedposts. She looked like she was ready to be quartered like William Wallace. After a few minutes she started to come to.

Her eyes blinked a few times and then focused, first on me and then Rae. Immediately that grin spread across her face.

"You," she said. The anger dripped from her voice like spilled syrup.

"What are you up to? We should report you to the police you sick bitch," Rae spat.

"And yet, here I lie. Tied like a hog ready for slaughter."

That fucking smile never faltering.

I was nervous. My eyes were darting between Lindsay and the door. Lindsay and Rae. Rae looked calm as could be.

"I can tell I'm not getting out of here, so I might as well let it be known. I'm the only living relative of The Ripper. And it wasn't Jack. Oh no dear, it was Annabell Skelly, my great grandmother. No one ever suspects a woman. Not even in a place flooded with them. Everyone said they saw men with the victims, but that was all bollocks. I had all of her journals. Burned them up years ago. Just because she was wearing men's clothes doesn't mean she was a man."

Rae and I listened and although we can't prove it we're sure its the truth.

"I can see it in you. The same thing inside me. You just haven't let it out yet, yeah? Come on. Do it. Make me the first."

We stood for a few seconds and stared at the woman we tied to the bed in the dingy flat in Southeast London. Rae walked over and picked up the razor, its blade glinting momentarily in the dull light. Lindsay's black emotionless eyes bore into mine. They were like a doll's eyes.

"Do you want to or should I?" Rae asked.

Before I could respond Rae slashed the razor across Lindsay's throat. A crimson splash painted the floorboards, those dead eyes never left mine.

And the smile remained.

London 2013- Now

So like I said, I'm pretty sure we've found the last living descendant of the Ripper. But she's dead now, her body left tied and hacked inside that flat. She deserved it though. She was a killer. A menace to society. A sick individual not safe around sane human beings.

In Brixton, while I sit here with Rae my loving mate and willing accomplice, I think about all the things we can do before my time here is through. All the tourist attractions and shows and sights. None of them could compare to the fun we had in that room with our fearless guide. And although I felt disgust at first, something changed. That's why we're sitting here waiting for some lonely prostitute to walk by and offer herself to us.

Speak of the devil. Here comes a willing contestant now. Shes stumbling around and her drunken smile is inviting.

"Hello there. Up for a bit of fun?"

Rae looks at me and I see the beginnings of a grin start to creep at the corners of her mouth.

"Do you want this one or should I?"

I take the blade from her back pocket and kiss her on the head.

"Let's just see where the night takes us, shall we?"

God, I love London.