Jack The Ripper Short Story

It is surprising how one bad day can change a man; one bad realization could turn a simple existence corrupt and twisted, leaving behind the shell of a man who once was if anything at all. I sat back on my leather chair, brooding, pondering existence almost, and looking through the window of my office. One may walk into my office and admire a beautiful full-sea view of a sparkling Los Angeles sea, kissing the sky in the far distance at the horizon, with a wide array of greenery spread far and wide, and a beautiful assortment of buildings lining the skyline, decorating it from corner to corner with a range of lively colors, but I could not. The “sparkling blue sea” was nothing but a dull blue water tank, the greenery seemed lifeless and dead, and the buildings were not but

Some things are meant to remain shrouded in mystery, else the world would be tainted by evils you cannot begin to comprehend. Take care.

-Jack the Ripper”

Jack the Ripper? Is this some sort of sick joke? I laughed awkwardly for giving this any weight and put the note away. Suddenly, however, the tapes began to play. Horrible, horrible tapes. A man, in a fine suit, performing terrible horrors, all whilst a twisted smile lined his face. Blood rained filling the floors of the room he was operating in; my bed room. The stench began to worsen, and the blood began to seep through my floors and flood my house, as I looked up at my screen, above his smile, the man’s face, was my own.

I woke up at home. No box, no cd, no tapes, no blood, no twisted smiles and no man in a suit. I looked at the time and it read “2:47 pm”. I hurried to take a shower and do my daily morning routine. I was sweaty and still very sleepy. It was Wednesday, but I couldn’t go to work. I called my secretary to call in sick, “Hello? Richard? Where have you been?”

“At home; I know I’m late I’m just not feeling very well.”

“What are you talking about? Richard are you