Blood on the Cobblestones

Introduction to Whitechapel

The year was 1888, and the Whitechapel district of London was a labyrinth of narrow streets and alleyways, where the gas lamps flickered like dying stars. The fog rolled in thick, clinging to the cobblestones and wrapping around the figures that moved cautiously through the night. Each step echoed with the weight of despair, a haunting reminder of the lives lived in the shadows.

As the evening descended, the air grew colder, carrying with it the stench of refuse and decay. The cries of street vendors faded into the distance, replaced by an unsettling silence that hung heavily over the neighbourhood. It was a silence that spoke of fear—fear of the unknown, fear of the figure who prowled the streets, known only as Jack the Ripper.