Murder in Whitechapel

Chapter 1

The leaves were turning a crunchy orange, the air becoming cooler and more crisp with each step I took. The sun was slowly setting behind the trees, showing the true beauty of Whitechapel, the impoverished district of East London. But, oh, did the sky make me think that I was in Heaven.

Stopping on the curb of a beaten up dirt road, I put my hand in my pocket, feeling the item most precious to me. I began to walk up the street again, watching other people return home from work or shopping. Little children played in front of their houses with their friends and siblings, not long after their mothers’ were calling them in for dinner.

I kept walking through these houses, street after street. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do, but I wanted to leave a beautiful masterpiece behind of this night.

Once the sun was beyond the horizon, the sky turned ink black. The stars looked like little holes in the perfect dome above our heads. I smiled at this world and I continued walking forward. By now, it was a considerable time at night, and I knew now would be the perfect time to begin my creation.

I turned the corner and tightened my hand around my most precious artist’s tool in my pocket. Standing there was a woman. Young, and stunningly beautiful. I walked towards her as silently as possibly. She turned around, seemingly stunned to see me.

“Who are you?” she gasped.

“No, darling,” I smiled back at her, “the question is who are you?”

She took a step back, but then stood tall, “What do you want from me?”

I took my precious tool out of my pocket and replied, “Why, I want you to be my inspiration,”