All of the events of this story have been researched from reliable sources.

Whitechapel, London.  1888
A woman, not an attractive woman, like portrayed in movies but a woman in her early forties leaves a pub, drunk; she is known to her friends as ‘Polly’.  She is a prostitute like many other women her age, she sells her body everyday to get money for a place to sleep, or more drink.  She had five children, all of whom had grown up and left home.  Her marriage was in ruins, she had turned to prostitution to raise enough money to satisfy her cravings and for her to have a roof over her head for a night.  She had been doing her ‘job’ all night, and now she was going to meet her final client for the night, and her life.  
A man apparelled in black garments was walking slowly towards her through the dull light, his face obscured by shadows cast from his hat.  She smoothed her hair slightly and went up to him.
“‘Ello dear, fancy a bit of fun?”  Polly asked him smiling at him with all her teeth, some of which were slightly rotten.  He muttered something and nodded.  Polly smiled and pulled him away.  A few minuets later, they were in the entrance to an alleyway,
“So, what will it be sir?” she asked him, hoping he wanted something costly.  The man made no reply, but walked around behind her.  Suddenly he grabbed her with a gloved hand, and was pressing a cold metal blade against her throat.

Before she could let out a cry for help, the assailant sliced her throat brutally twice, ripping her wind pipe and almost severing the head, her blood poured out, making a river of red blood an the cobbled floor, The man then dropped her onto the floor, now made slippery by the blood.  He took a better grip on the knife and plunged it just below his victims breast bone and savagely slashed the blade down to her abdomen, he plunged his hands in and opened the wound up, exposing the bloody organs inside.
The man stood up and inspected his handicraft.  A smile crept across his face.  He pulled out a rag from his coat pocket and wiped his bloody hands on it, and then wiped his knife clean of blood.  He stuffed it back in and walked off, going through the winding back alleys and the thick putrid smog.  Making sure he is seen as little as possible as he makes his escape.

The world’s first recorded serial killer had just ripped and slashed his way onto the stage, and the name we know him by, is Jack the Ripper.

Over the year, Jack would strike terror into the hearts and souls of the citizens of London, baffling them and evading the police.
That greatest attraction to him is that to this day, no one has solved the mystery that is, who is Jack the Ripper, the criminal was never convicted, although people suspect that some of the people that were caught at the time were the Ripper, but one of the main questions is were the police to blame for the escape of Jack the Ripper?