It started in the years of Jack the Ripper, and his little exploits of murder. Though, I suppose it wasn't always like that, before the killings, I mean. He was different, though I have no idea how it all began, not with him.
But, I do know how it began with me.
I was a child, barely past the age of ten, when he came. A man wearing a black cloak, he moved into our small village just outside of London. My mother was suspicious, just like many of the villagers, for we were not used to strangers coming and staying.
Coming and going, yes, but actually staying to live?
No, that was very uncommon, but it doesn't mean it hasn't happened in the past.
I hadn't understood why the adults were so worried though, what I saw was a man who wished to get get away from a large city full of people. But still, I was warned not to go near him. But would you expect a young boy who was so full of life and curious about everything to stay away?
No, I didn't think so. For I knew the village was safe and if an