A/N: Hello there! Ahem, I know I should be working on my A Scent of Red story, but I have MINOR writers block. Minor.
Anyway, this was supposed to be for school (journalism)... but I misunderstood the instructions and did it all wrong. I thought we were supposed to write an interview with a famous dead person, but all we were supposed to do was gather information and simply write down questions we would have liked to ask. Le sigh... oh well. I over did it. So I didn't like the idea of it just sitting there unread, so I put it up here.
I bid ye enjoy.
P.S: I think this belongs in Historical category. Jack the Ripper is historical, ain't he? If I am wrong and there is a better place to put this story, please let me know. Thanks.
An InterviewWith Jack the Ripper
In a dark warehouse somewhere in the shady part of London, Jack the Ripper sat down most willingly with this reporter to answer a few questions. He is about the average height with a brown beard and mustache, broad shouldered with a fair complexion. He wore a long black jacket, a black cap and dark trousers.
He had cold eyes as he waited patiently for this reporter to settle herself into her chair. Watching interestedly as I readied my notepad and pencil, he flashed an icy smile at me; one gets the chills at being the subject of such a cold, cruel grin.
"Why did you do it?' was the first question.
Jack the Ripper chuckled, his eyes never leaving those of the curious reporter. "Well, I bet you've been dying to ask that question, haven't you? Hm, why did I do it? I guess…. Well, why do you think I did it?"
There is a theory that he was the Prince Albert Victor. After sleeping with a prostitute, he contracted the disease syphilis. Bitter about this, he took it out on other prostitutes.
When asked if this was true, Jack rose an eyebrow. "Do they truly believe I am a prince? Ha, well, that's rather flattering. Syphilis, huh? Well, who wouldn't be bitter about that? I certainly would be."
"So are you saying that you aren't Prince Albert Victor?
"Did I say that out right?" he asked in a quiet, acidy tone. "No, I didn't. I guess you'll just have to be in the dark about that then, won't you? Ha ha."
I tapped my pencil on the notepad nervously while thinking of the next question; it is not easy to think under the gaze of a man who killed possibly eight women. "…There is also another theory that you may have been a man named Joseph Barnett. You were in love with a prostitute, hated the fact that she gave herself to other men, and tried to scare her off the streets by killing other prostitutes. But when she didn't quit, you killed her as well. What do you think about this theory?"
His eyes crinkled in a small smile. "Heh, I think someone has been reading too many romance novels. In love with a prostitute? I killed them, my dear. I killed them. Interesting theory, though. Well thought through."
The police and papers at the time of Jack's murders received numerous letters allegedly from Jack himself. Many are believed to be fake, and some think all of them are fake.
"Perhaps." Jack said, leaning back in his chair, when asked if all the letters were his work. "A few were fakes, obviously. The work of copy cats. Reporters trying to get a good story. Fools trying to scare others."
A question on the minds of many: how did he come up with the name "Jack the Ripper"?
He leaned forward at this question eagerly, resting his elbows on his knees. "How did I come up with the name 'Jack the Ripper'? Well, I'll tell you. It was a spur of the moment, really. Think about it: I killed women. Ripped their throats with a knife. What better title that 'Ripper'? Sounds dramatic, don't you think? And Jack. A normal, common name. Didn't want to get too fancy."
In the first letter sent to the police, believed by many to actually have been written by the murderer, there was a statement that the writer found "That joke about Leather Apron" funny. It gave him "real fits." But why did he find it funny?
"Ha ha, I don't know. Wouldn't you find it funny if people started calling you 'Leather Apron'? People giving me names to try and identify me. I think some did this to calm themselves; they didn't know who I was, so they gave me a nickname to kind of give me an identity, make me less frightening. I think it just scared many even more. Haha!"
There were a few witnesses of Jack after his murders. He came up to a couple and told them where to look for the corpses of the murdered women.
When asked why he did this, and if it would have been better if his murders went unknown, he snorted and rolled his eyes.
"Now, where is the fun in that? I enjoyed seeing my work told to the public. Hysterically joyful to hear the gasp or scream from the 'witness' after they've found the body." He smiled cruelly, a far away look in his eyes. "If only I could have seen their faces…."
"So all the hysteria over you and your… work pleased you?"
Apparently lost in memory, he came back to the present with a slow, considering look. "Immensely. Much fun to be had watching people devouring the papers to see what I had done next. I had real fits reading the paper and seeing that the police thought they were on the 'right track'. Some of the things they said really tickled me."
"So you wallowed in the spotlight, so to say."
"Wallowed?" he laughed. "In a way. I enjoyed it, no doubt about that, but I made sure not to make my pleasure too public. Only by continuing my work with those women did I show my glee. Nothing to show my real identity."
"Some believe you were part of a cult, and these killing were sacrifices or something of the sort. Were you?"
"…Hm. Another interesting theory, but no. I was not.'
"So, you murdered those women out of spite? Just for the fun of it?"
A chilly smile. "Wouldn't you like to know? I certainly had fun doing it. It was pure ecstasy, really. I'd go more into detail, but I don't think you'd want any of that in your curious interview. A bit bloody, if you really want to know. Very gory."
Licking my lips nervously, and scribbled aimlessly on my notepad as I asked the next question. "Um… did you really eat part of Catherine Eddowes kidney?"
A tilt of the head, and an answer so conversational it was as if he were speaking of the dim weather outside. "Was that her name? I never knew any of their names, you know. But yes, I did. Why would I lie about a thing like that?"
After the murder of Eddowes, it is believed that Jack scribbled "The Juwes are the men That Will not be blamed for nothing" on a wall. When asked why he wrote this, his face fell and his tone became allusive.
"I think I'll leave that as another one of those questions you'll have to ponder over. It is rather fun to see people going insane trying to figure it out. Don't want to give too much information, you know?"
"It is believed that you wrote this because, while murdering a woman before Eddowes, you were seen by two Jews. Is this why?
His face grew darker, and he began to grind his teeth. "Again, I think I'll leave this unanswered. Or… what is it they say nowadays? No comment."
"There is a letter that was sent to the papers that threatened those two witnesses. Many believe it was a fake. Did you write it?"
"Must you pester me on this subject?" he began to become agitated, gesturing in the air with his hands furiously. "I said no comment! I do not want to say anything about this."
"Could this be because that murder was foiled? Are you annoyed that someone actually saw you before the woman was killed?"
"Are you deaf?" here the notorious murderer stood, seeming to tower perilously above me. "Listen here. Leave--me--be. I will not answer any questions on that subject. All my jobs were perfect. They lied. I was never seen!"
Despite the fact that a dangerous glint was in Jack the Ripper's eyes and he stood very close to me, this reporter was already too hyped up to stop pestering him. "If you are so sensitive on the subject that you were seen on the beginning of a murder, then why do you say you relish the fact that you told some people to go and see your finished 'jobs'? They saw you, didn't they?"
"It is not the fact that they saw me! I simply wanted those blokes to see my jobs and spread the news. I was not going to let my work go unnoticed."
"So was it because you were caught in the act of the Stride murder that you are so sensitive on the 'The Juwes are the men That Will not be blamed for nothing' quote?"
The man stood quietly, staring down at me coldly, then sat back on his chair in a broody silence.
Giving into the fact that he was obviously not going to answer me, I dropped the subject. But it was the next question that I had been truly been waiting to ask.
"Ok, ok… so the whole world wants to know… who are you?"
His face hidden in shadow, he gave me a small smile. "Well, well. You finally cracked, eh? Bet you've been bursting to ask that. Sorry to say, but… how do you say it now? Sorry to burst your bubble, but I won't be giving that little piece of valuable information away. Why would I do that? It takes the mystery out of the mystery. No fun at all, that."
A/N: Well? Did ya like it? I did it all in one night, all of it from the top of my head, while looking at for info. I stayed up till ten and didn't even turn it in! Oh well. Leave a review, if you feel you must, and tell me your thoughts on this.
Constructive criticism welcome with open arms and a cookie! Praise open with even wider arms andtwo cookies! Flames are chopped up and fed to my pet Trolloc.