08-04-2009, 07:03 PM
A Gothic tale of a murderer, set in late 19th century London. 
A young woman smiled. Like the room with the rose-patterned wallpaper, she was clean and gorgeously dressed, wrapped with lacy dressing-gown.
"Can I get your hat?"
A man in long black cape and top-hat answered to a smile. "Of course, Miss...?"
"Anne."
Man took something from his pocket and opened it - a big golden watch which started to play music both eerie and lovely.
"Beautiful!" A prostitute seemed genuinely impressed.
"Thank you." The man did not make any effort to take off his cape and hat. Instead he showed the watch to Anne. "Scarlet is colour of purity.", she read. "A gift?"
"Indeed.mCan I get a drink?"
"Of course." Anne walked to the rosewood night-table and poured some wine to the glass. Music behind her stopped. "Can I ask you what you would like to do?"
She turned around and the man was gone.
Anne put the glass on the table and said: "What the hell...?"
Scream tore the air. Anne, feeling nasty hot punch in her stomach, ran to the corridor.
"He is dead! Killed!" Mary, one of the prostitutes, howled. She pointed the bloody body . It was Stephen, young boy who helped in the house. His body had rolled from the closet.
Outside, in the misty street, Anne´s clent walked away, satisfied for the good work.
He was, after all, cleansed another filth with his knife.
---
Yep, it wasn´t the Ripper after all!
A young woman smiled. Like the room with the rose-patterned wallpaper, she was clean and gorgeously dressed, wrapped with lacy dressing-gown.
"Can I get your hat?"
A man in long black cape and top-hat answered to a smile. "Of course, Miss...?"
"Anne."
Man took something from his pocket and opened it - a big golden watch which started to play music both eerie and lovely.
"Beautiful!" A prostitute seemed genuinely impressed.
"Thank you." The man did not make any effort to take off his cape and hat. Instead he showed the watch to Anne. "Scarlet is colour of purity.", she read. "A gift?"
"Indeed.mCan I get a drink?"
"Of course." Anne walked to the rosewood night-table and poured some wine to the glass. Music behind her stopped. "Can I ask you what you would like to do?"
She turned around and the man was gone.
Anne put the glass on the table and said: "What the hell...?"
Scream tore the air. Anne, feeling nasty hot punch in her stomach, ran to the corridor.
"He is dead! Killed!" Mary, one of the prostitutes, howled. She pointed the bloody body . It was Stephen, young boy who helped in the house. His body had rolled from the closet.
Outside, in the misty street, Anne´s clent walked away, satisfied for the good work.
He was, after all, cleansed another filth with his knife.
---
Yep, it wasn´t the Ripper after all!
