A Grandad's Letters to his Grandson

Dearest Grandson, George

In the annals of time, there shall come a day when men reflect upon the shadows of the past and declare that I, the harbinger of dread, ushered forth the most notorious fiend of the Twentieth Century, a spectre who eluded justice with chilling ease. Your grandfather, a figure shrouded in darkness, prowled the streets in the year of our Lord 1888.

Slaughter was never the aim I envisioned for my existence. Indeed not. From a young age, the desire to wield the scalpel and delve into the mysteries of the human form consumed me, and in time, I achieved that ambition. Yet that endeavour bore no infamy.

Surgeons, though not figures of lasting impression, were regarded as beings of intellect and cunning. One matter spared me from the clutches of the constabulary. Yet, here I plunge deeper into my dark musings; it is imperative to elucidate how these wretched souls entwined themselves within my very essence, ultimately becoming the targets of my gruesome intentions. My intrigue with the ladies of the night ignited on the day I received my initial earnings from the proprietor of the grandest tea establishment in London. I toiled for him, transporting his brew through the shadows and executing nocturnal deliveries throughout the cityscape.

The constables beheld my presence, exchanged knowing nods, and, on rare occasions, partook in libations with me at the tavern nearest the tea shop. Yet, despite her profession, the exhilaration of finding oneself entwined with a seasoned paramour stands as one of the most exquisite indulgences a man might ever bestow upon himself in this fleeting existence. And mark my words, dear grandson; every man ought to indulge in the company of a harlot at least once to truly grasp the pleasures he has yet to encounter. Yet, on this fateful eve, I found myself in the company of a lady of the night, her affections granted freely, for she harboured a tender regard for my presence. The other harlots lingered in the adjacent chamber, their whispers reaching my ears, laden with tales of my presence and the patrons who sought my company. “That tea driver gives me the chills,” one remarked. “I comprehend your sentiment,” uttered another. “The depths of Nadine's affection for him elude my understanding,” commented a third.

Nadine's efforts to bring me joy, and soon the anger that once consumed me faded into oblivion, became an overwhelming sense of contentment. In a moment of rapture, Nadine guided me to the peak of ecstasy, and even in those instances when my vigour waned, she cast no shadow upon my spirit, nor did she belittle my manhood. Yet Nadine was not the one I had initially desired.

Yet another lady bore the name Sally. Yet she vanished into the shadows after our solitary evening together. The fair maidens enacted a tale between Sally and myself, suggesting that she lingers still, concealed from my gaze, for she proclaims, “he’s repulsive.” She recoils at the sight of him and his form. His breath reeked, akin to the grotesque nature of his diminutive member, adorned with a cruel hook and the foul odour that clung to his wretched form. Then the women cackled, fully aware that I lingered just a breath away, absorbing every word of their joy.

It ignited an enthusiasm within me, a dark flame of retribution that swelled into an inferno, consuming the lives of women in the shadowy alleys of Whitechapel, their fates slipping away unnoticed as if I were but a spectre in the night. When the harlots who mocked my existence lay lifeless, I ceased my pursuit of their kind. And I stopped my visits to them, for I encountered your grandmother.

We entered into matrimony in the following year, and I have kept this matter shrouded in silence until now as I pen this message to you.

It is a most demeaning occupation—transporting tea from the murky docks to the establishments peddling it, even to the grand halls of the Royal Palace. Fortuitously, my father imparted to me the art of reading and writing. 

I behold the grim occurrences that unfold within this wretched city. It is utterly shameful. The killing of those unfortunate souls It be but a mere trifling distance from my abode to that place, wouldn't it? 

At the very least, that is what they presume. As I sip my brew beneath the shroud of night, I find kinship with the shadows that roam the streets. In the shadows of my mind, I find myself entwined with their dark essence, and in this twisted reflection, I have morphed into one of their kind. 

The constables overlook me—some tea merchants can hardly do anything beyond that. Yet to possess a cunning guise that allows one to roam the streets at any hour, unchallenged by any soul, is truly a stroke of genius. 

How is it that they have discerned my penchant for dismembering fowl, vermin, and felines despite my advanced years rendering me unfit to wield a blade? 

It is rather amusing to observe them darting about like vermin on a doomed vessel, seeking the elusive spectre yet achieving nothing. 

They shall uncover their conjectures. The papers are replete with them, are they not? 

If you have perused these words, you shall know that your grandfather had a notorious reputation. Though shrouded in anonymity to the outside realm, merely recognized as the Tea Delivery Man, you know I embody much more than that simple guise. You are well aware of the reality that lies beneath my facade.

Adoration for Grandad, the infamous figure of the shadows.

Grandfather, a.k.a. Jack the Ripper

SEPT 30, 1888 Elizabeth Stride found, Catherine (Kate) Eddowes.

Imagine the hushed murmurs that would slither through the darkness should my true self be revealed. They would be utterly astonished that a simple wretch like myself, the unassuming Tea Delivery Man, wielded a craftier mind than they, orchestrating the demise of these unfortunate souls right before their eyes in the glaring daylight. 

I maintained my routine endeavours. With meticulous care, I dispatched those wretched souls, each act granting me the dark fulfillment I craved. In the end, my dearest offspring, the truth shall unveil itself.

If you have perused these words, you shall know that your grandfather had a notorious reputation. Though shrouded in anonymity to the outside realm, merely recognized as the Tea Delivery Man, you know I embody much more than that simple guise. You are well aware of the reality that lies beneath my facade.

Adoration for Grandad, the infamous figure of the shadows.

Grandfather, a.k.a. Jack the Ripper

November 9, 1888, the year of our Lord,    Mary Jane Kelly body was found

Dearest Grandson of Mine,

The initial harlot was a swift affair, a veritable dance of surgical prowess, as I deftly extracted her organs from the warm embrace of her flesh. However, the rest received improved cuts and had organs extracted. Moving past the officers who noticed me but were unaware of my identity was a delight. 

If you have perused these words, you shall know that your grandfather had a notorious reputation. Though shrouded in anonymity to the outside realm, merely recognized as the Tea Delivery Man, you know I embody much more than that simple guise. You are well aware of the reality that lies beneath my facade.

Adoration for Grandad, the infamous figure of the shadows.

Grandfather, a.k.a. Jack the Ripper