It was a strange night in the East-End of London, and there seemed to be a chill in the air; one that sent shivers crawling down a man's spine. The sky was dark and the moon was the main source of light. There was a faint glow to the cooling fog forming around the ground. It was about 3:40 on the morning of August 31st in the year of 1888, and Mary Nichols was walking home alone. Her footsteps echoed on the pavement in a steady rhythm; she silently whistled as she winded her way around the barren streets. Mary turned the corner onto her house's street and was harshly grabbed around the waist. She was pulled into an alleyway with a scream lingering on her lips.
Later, Mary Nichols was found dead by a passing stranger, her throat cut ear to ear.