Late October and our scout leader had taken us into the deep dark woods for a camping trip. A slight wind stirred the air, crisp with the chill of a late autumn night as we huddled around a blazing camp fire. The smell of the fire mingled with the decaying aroma of leaves on the forest floor to create an eerie pallet for our impressionable minds. Beyond the brightly lit circle of our camp fire lay another world, a world of darkness and mystery, of horrors untold for wandering boys that dared to disobey their elders.
“Once a long time ago,” began our fearless leader, “in a place far away from here, nights of uneasy rest descended upon a city. Hysteria gripped the good citizens as a madman roamed the streets. Some knew him as a shadowy figure that dispatched his unsuspecting victims in truly gruesome fashion, lurking in the darkened alleys for his prey. Others thought of him as the Devil incarnate laying claim to lost souls. But to all in the East End he was known by one name, a name that struck fear into every able bodied person, male and female alike: Jack the Ripper.” As he spoke the name he jumped towards the fire, creating shadows that seemed to suddenly emerge from the depths of the dark forest, shadows ready to devour us. A collective shiver ran through the group as we nervously settled back into our places, the circle becoming a bit tighter than before.
