Polly

The cold rain let up briefly as she stumbled on the wet cobblestones onto Buck's Row. Her head swam from the effect of several glasses of gin she consumed that day but she was thankful for the warm feeling she felt inside. As the cold dampness began to stick to her skin, she was ready to find sleep after this long miserable day.

It was getting late and she knew she had to ply her trade once more to come up with the doss money to get back to the warmth of her bed at the work house. That is why she was here on Buck's Row. Just past the Essex Warehouse and the cap factory lived one of her "repeat" customers. She only knew his first name, Nigel.

The dingy street was narrow and framed by two story cottages on one side and warehouses on the other. The faint gloomy light from an old gas powered lamp on one end of the street reflected feebly off of the wet cobblestones beneath her feet. Water ran in rivulets down the narrow street.

A gust of wind blew wet stinging droplets of cold rain into her face and she pulled the collar of her wool petticoat up around her ears. She squinted her eyes towards the sky and marveled at the red glow illuminating the clouds above. Despite knowing the light came from the wharf fire she had just discussed moments before with a friend, she thought it ominous looking all the same.

A shiver ran down her spine and she thought despite her inebriated state this alleyway felt unexplainably evil this night. She was used to the mean streets of East End London and the dark life of Whitechapel was all she had ever known. She had been to Buck's Row several times before but never had she felt this unnerved.

She saw a figure walking towards her silhouetted by the gas lamp. She thought she recognized him as the person she was here to see.

"Nigel," she breathed to her self relieved, "Thank God."

She would do her business and collect her doss money. Then she would dispatch this uneasiness in her warm bed back at the Lambeth Workhouse.

The figure approached and when he got within earshot she called out.

"Nigel is that you?"

She could not see the face due to the gas lamp illuminating the figure from behind. She halted in her tracks when the figure did not respond and quickened his pace towards her. She took a few steps backwards and the steel heel of her boot caught on a stone and sent her reeling to the wet street with a thud landing hard on her left hip.

She tried to cry out but it was too late. The man was upon her. A surprisingly chilly hand had grasped her by the neck and she could not breathe nor utter a sound.

"It is not Nigel my love," the eery gurgling voice came to her ears, "It's Jack"

Her eyes opened wide with fear as she spied the long sharp knife's silhouette against the red tinged sky. Sharp fiery explosions of pain bloomed about her abdomen in time with the frantic jabbing motion of the weapon.

As her vision began to dim she caught a glimpse of the stranger's eyes. So odd, those eyes, she thought to herself as death began to detach her from her pain and her soul began to float from her body.
So black.
Dripping like ink.

Then with one final slash of the knife, the stranger cut through her throat and dispatched Mary Ann "Polly" Nichols from this world.