Ripper

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I awoke again sticky with dark blood. It hadn’t yet dried but it was coagulated and congealed in clumps down the front of my apron. I sat up. My face felt funny, tight almost. My stomach was heavy, oddly, as I did not recall eating anything before I…I was back in my bed-sit. the nape of my neck tingled, why does this happen to me? I cursed the still and empty room with my sour thoughts. I knew they hadn’t left me. I could feel their eyes all over me. My skin prickled and raised like goose flesh.
I fetched for the mirror to see what made my face feel so peculiar and noticed a smeared red plate, a pot of what looked like blood, a quill and parchment on the bedside cabinet. I wasn’t even aware that I owned a writing station!
I peered into the mirror, the room was dark but I angled it so my face was illuminated by the white light of the moon. My stomach turned and threatened to burst as I realised it was dried up blood on my face. My stomach full. The bloody plate on the side…my head began to swim as saliva filled my open, drooling mouth. I dropped to my knees and noticed a crumpled piece of parchment beneath the table. I reached out and opened it whilst trying to keep the contents of my stomach from deserting me, whatever that may be…I think it best stay there.

Dear Boss,

the letter began. I started to read the opening line but the ink, or blood, had smeared. I could make out a few words though. One in particular that made me vomit blood…the letter was ruined all except one word. Right at the end like a signature in fact. One word, as chilling as the the night is black, a word that lives in infamy, a word that stalks the streets of Hell…

Ripper.

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About Henry Game

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