Letters from Hell

Fog rolls in on Whitechapel Lane

Another night, another name

A shadow moves, a flick of steel

No witness left to speak or feel

Mary Ann Nichols was the first they found

August morn, cold on the ground

A cut so deep, her throat laid wide

A silent scream the fog can’t hide

"Catch me if you can," he wrote with pride

"You'll never see the face I hide"

"I give my word to keep on killing"

Signed in blood, forever chilling

Jack the Ripper, ghost in black

They hunted you, but lost your track

Annie Chapman, the second call

Backyard slaughter, next to the wall

Her body opened, organs gone

He vanished swift before the dawn

Then came Stride and Eddowes too

The “double event” no soul foreknew

Eddowes' face was torn apart

A savage hand, a butcher’s art

"Dear Boss," he said, "I keep no score,

My knife is red and thirsts for more"

"I laughed while cutting her ears two bits"

With devil's joy and surgeon’s wits

Jack the Ripper, killer unseen

In every alley, a ghost between

He sent a kidney in the mail

*"From hell," the note began its tale

"I fried and ate it, sweet and hot"

A madman’s brag, a stomach’s rot

No prints, no name, no face, no trial

Just whispers echo through each mile

Scotland Yard, they searched in vain

But Jack walked free through blood and rain

"Yours truly, Jack the Ripper," signed

*"I’ll kill again when