Just one of the many horror stories he had written was published. It had recieved severe criticism from readers and aficionados of the genre.
How to be sure that it was not a coincidence?? There was only one answer. He would write another tale, one featuring even greater detail, and if it happened exactly as he had written then he would know for sure.
He identified one of his critics and crafted a story in which that individual was raped and murdered in a robbery gone bad. Once again he felt drained as he typed and upon waking he noticed some grey hairs in the mirror where the day before there had been none.
He had almost given up hope and began to believe that it had been a mere coincidence when he came to know that his critic had surprised a burglar as he was robbing the critics home – she was raped and murdered exactly as he had written.
Aware of the power he had stumbled upon he started to exact revenge upon those he felt had wronged him. All he cared about was his own dream to become a famous writer. He concluded that if all the other horror writers were dead then the publishers would have no choice but to publish him and his genius would be recognized by the general public.
Over the next year he wrote the deaths of hundreds of horror writers of short stories and best-sellers including amateurs who wrote for the popular penny rags. They died by drowning, fire, poison, noose, blade and a myriad of other horrific ways.
He, however, remained unpublished. It seemed that for each writer he struck down another popped up to take his place (in spite of the risk to their lives).
He did pay a toll for his crimes, each life he took drained more and more of his own life force until at the age of thirty-three he looked to be a man of eighty, his remaining hair grey, his skin dotted with liver spots and wrinkles.
Frustrated at not getting any attention he actually sent in letters to the local London Newspapers. He taunted the police and to ensure the attention of the newspaper, sent letters to editors – “The next job I do I shall clip the lady’s ears off and send to the police officers just for fun. Keep this letter back till I do a bit more work, then give it out straight. My knife’s so nice and sharp I want to get to work right away if I get a chance. Good Luck.”
Mean while he wrote stories about murder of prostitutes from the slums of Whitechapel. The victims throat was cut prior to abdominal mutilations. These were considered to be a work of a butcher or surgeon, however, he had to just imagine and type it. He was given many names but Jack-the-Ripper caught public fancy.
The victims that made him famous were – Mary Ann Nichols – 47 years old on August 31, Annie Chapman – 42 years old on September 8, Elizabeth Stride – 44 years old on September 30, Catharine Eddowes – 46 years old on September 30 and Mary Jane Kelly – 25 years old on November 9 in 1888.
Similar crimes in other areas were also ascribed to him; however an investigation into a series of brutal killings in Whitechapel up to 1891 was unable to connect all the killings conclusively to the murders of 1888, but the legend of Jack the Ripper perpetuated.
Finally, he was famous and successful ,,,,,,, and tales of his exploits still sell. The awful power granted to him ensured that Jack the Ripper was never caught.
English: Whitechapel, Dorset Street, Miller’s Court No.13. Photograph taken the day of the murder of Mary Jane Kelly of the outside of Mary Kelly’s room (Photo credit: Wikipedia)