It was a dreary night, and the London fog swirled around my boots, dulling the soft click of my steps on the pavement and dimming the streetlights overhead. My long, tailored coat billowed slightly as I strode with purpose down the sidewalk, tipping my hat to the constable as I passed him on his nightly rounds.

Ah, there she was - and she never saw me coming. Even if she had, she wouldn't have thought anything of it; a gentleman, taking up her services in the wee morning hours, far too respectable to be seen taking them during the day. However, the harlot was too busy picking up her pence from the filth of the alley to even notice me.

Slipping gracefully through the shadows, I smiled as I came upon her. It was too easy, but that wouldn't stop me tonight. Hand over her mouth, I pushed her up against the brick wall. She screamed, but the muffled sound didn't attract the attention of passers-by. Who cares about the fate of some cheap sleeper in an alleyway?

I pulled out my long, narrow knife, grinning as her eyes widened in horror when they caught the blade's reflection in the moonlight. Holding the blade between my teeth, I used my free hand to strangle her, making sure she was quite dead - or at least unconscious - before lying her down on the filth she formerly called a workplace. I then tilted her head to the side, as was my custom, and slit her disgusting throat.

Yes, this will be in the papers in a few hours, I thought, as I straddled the flagitious wench's body and began my manipulations. The sharp, pointed blade of my knife slid through her dirty, worn flesh, letting the blood seep out and mingle with the other crimson stains from the nearby slaughterhouse. Gruesome, disgusting, ridiculous, grotesque, they will call it; but it matters not. I didn't get a drop of blood on me during the process; I never do, save on my gloves, when I put the little piece of her I took into a nice inconspicuous sack for transportation. Those I will burn - [i]after[/i] I write the letter.

I took one last look at her maimed body before turning on my heel, and disappearing once more into the shadows. As I was nearing my apartment, I smirked to myself, hearing the now-familiar yelling. 'He's done it again!' 'Another victim, and this one's worse than the last!' 'We'll never catch him! He does this right under our noses!'

Smirking, I slid into my apartment, the soft click of the door behind me doing nothing to cool my adrenaline. I deposited the bag on my desk, and pulled close my inkwell, pen, and paper - to write this, and the letter that will appear in the paper as soon as it is screened by the Scotland Yard.