Tramping in the Mist

It is a misty night in the city.

Mist makes people do things. Things they wouldn’t normally do. Mist, like the dark, brings forth darkness from the heart. Mist muffles sound, muffles cries, muffles hope. No one can see you, no one can help you, no one is coming.

Fear is everywhere. Enveloping the city. Somewhere a crime is being committed. The blunt edge of a mugging. The shrill sounds of alarum. The wet work of murder and of rape.

Look now at the police station. Through the window it looks warm inside. The coppers all indoors, in numbers, in safety. They won’t venture out tonight. They know better. They can do no good on a night such as this.

At the city docks the water slaps against the harbour wall. A place where sailors and prostitutes rub shoulders together. Rub other things. Rub each other.

Nearby an alley. Rude shelters along either side. The pseudo living rooms of the homeless. If you would call this living. Green moss covers the mud slick ground, and climbs the walls. A dankness hangs in the mist. A man emerges from one of the shelters. He has slept the day and now must tramp the night. His clothes are tattered. A long-worn overcoat and breeches with worn knees.

He will walk all night. After dark it is only safe to move. To lack motion is to invite danger. He heads to Pudding Lane, where the furnaces burn through the night. The warmth revives him somewhat. From there he heads to Whitechapel, where the prostitutes roam. He cannot afford a woman; but he is kind to them and they to him. Once or twice he has run off a scoundrel. They all like him well enough for that, “Jonah has his uses,” they say, “but he’s not quite right in the head.” That’s common enough with those who tramp.

Whitechapel is synonymous with neglect. So there one may find the leavings of the wealthy. He will rummage for coin or for food. Midnight finds Jonah on Berner Street. He is headed for Dutfield's Yard, he has had success there in the past. Still everywhere the mist.

As Jonah enters the yard he trips on a can, which clatters away. He startles, hears a gasp from only a few feet distant. A sound like someone falling. More clattering and a black shape resolves as apparition. Ghostly, fleeting. Fleeing. Footsteps receding now. Jonah’s heart pounds. He turns around and leaves the yard, wanting instead to feel safe. Behind him lies a terrible crime, shrouded in mist.

Jonah walks off his fright. He heads towards Aldgate. Through the mist he can make out the tower of St Katharine Cree. He cuts across the square toward the church. So far a night of tramping like any other. He will remember this night over every other.

Jonah spies movement in the dark, shifting as phantasm. The mist obfuscating the actions of those before his eyes. The phantom moves toward him, becomes clearer, becomes a man. A yard away, no more. It is a feeling that Jonah will remember. Evil before him. Evil radiating like fire from Hell. The man disregards Jonah and flees into the mist, into the night, and into history.

Jonah steps forward now. A mass of clothing on the ground. No, a woman. She has been attacked, murdered, mutilated. Even though horrific, the injuries to her face do not disguise her from Jonah. He knows her. It is Cathy Eddowes. Jonah will always remember her.

History will remember her as the fourth victim of Jack the Ripper.