text: Fog stretched like a tarpaulin through the cold streets of Victorian London. Young Elizabeth had eaten some bread and beans in one of the pubs for a meagre supper and was about to go to one of the communal dormitories where, for a little money, one could get shelter from the nightly cold and a blanket, when she heard quick footsteps behind her. Speeding up her own walk, she turned into Berner Street. She didn't get far, though, because just a few seconds later a leathery hand wrapped itself around her neck from behind and squeezed, taking away her breath to scream. Deep red blood seeped from the gaping wound on her neck and ran down the curb, mingled with the autumn rain. A waiter who was taking his pub's rubbish to the yard spotted the lifeless body and reported his sight to the local police station. But Elizabeth, despite alerting the police, was not to be the last victim on this uncomfortable night. *130 years later* "Seriously? Only 17 pounds each?" Maria raised an eyebrow in disbelief. She didn't have much time to complain about the stinginess of her guests today, though, because no sooner had the last guest left the restaurant than the restaurant manager asked Maria into his office. "Paolo called in sick," Bruno grumbled, typing something on his keyboard. Maria groaned. Paolo, the colleague who was actually in charge of chopping, pulping and dressing, was not sick. The whole staff knew that by now. He just had a penchant for cannabis-infused treats and preferred to float very high above the clouds instead of showing up for work. Maria was one of the few colleagues at the trendy London restaurant who had no problem taking the night shift. Many of the cooks and waiters, because of the history of the street, refused to stay longer than necessary and especially alone in the location. Exactly 130 years ago, the body of a young woman was found here in what is now Henriques Street at around 1:00 in the night. The person who committed this gruesome act was none other than the serial killer now known as Jack the Ripper. Whenever one of her colleagues began to talk about the alleged haunting of this street, she could only shake her head with laughter. Maria did not believe in ghosts or anything else supernatural. And she was sure that Jack The Ripper was just a maniac who had a hatred for women. That such people exist has been proven countless times in recent years. After a short negotiation about whether Maria would still take the day shift tomorrow or have a day off, the young cook and her supervisor decided that she could sleep in the next day. When the last colleague had also tidied up his station and said goodbye to his well-deserved evening off, Maria rummaged out all the utensils she would need for the preparation. For a moment, she looked around the empty room, which had been wild a few hours ago and smelled of countless delicacies. Maria had always dreamed of becoming a cook. But since there were no suitable apprenticeships in Maria's place of residence at the time, she decided to pursue a career as an industrial clerk after school. After three years of dragging on and on, and one and a half years in a depressing open-plan office, she decided she didn't want to go on like that. On a spur of the moment whim, she sent in an application for a vacancy as a cook in a newly opened restaurant in Whitechapel. She didn't even expect a reply and was all the more surprised when an invitation for an interview popped up in her email box a little later. The owner of the restaurant had been so impressed by Maria's motivation, commitment and attitude to life that she was allowed to sign a contract for a permanent position only a short time later. For the first two months, Maria had been sleeping in hotels or staying with friends, as she had moved about 200 kilometres away from her home in Romsey to pursue her dream. After a long search, she finally found an affordable two-bedroom flat close to her new job. In good weather, she usually decided to walk the 20 minutes. If the UK was ever to be miserable with its clichéd crap weather, it was only a few minutes on the District Line. To break the silence, Maria turned on the radio, which had probably been hanging around this spot when Jack The Ripper was doing his mischief here, and listened a little to the quiet music. "Let's get started then," she said to herself and began to quarter small tomatoes and then tip the pieces into the plastic box provided. In rhythmic movements that matched the 80s music, Maria ran to the fridge again to get a new pack of tomatoes. Back at her workstation, she tried to reach for her knife, but this time her grip sank into emptiness. Puzzled, she looked around. She was sure she had left the knife here. Had she taken it to the fridge and left it there? After a short breath and admitting that she was simply tired from the long day at work, After a few minutes of searching, Maria gave up and reached into the wooden block to pull out a similar knife. As she reached for the mental end of the knife handle, an icy shiver ran down her spine. The kitchen had cooled rapidly in the last few minutes and Maria began to freeze. It was actually still quite pleasant outside for the end of September. A quick glance at the list of everything she had to prepare told her that all she had to do was take care of the prawns, the lettuce, and the rudiments for the sauces. On her way to the cold storage, Maria decided to bring back a popsicle as a reward for the work she had done. She placed the box in the space provided and leaned into the freezer to decide between mango, strawberry or chocolate ice cream. Just as she reached for one of the cones, a bang sounded behind her. Startled, the young cook wheeled around. The door of the refrigerated warehouse had slammed shut. Had Bruno not closed the window? No, it was almost impossible for a light late summer breeze to blow the heavy metal door shut. Fortunately, the storage room could also be opened from the inside with a code. When Maria went back to the kitchen, she called out a few times to see if anyone was here. She suspected that the cleaning service had taken care of the cleanliness of the restaurant a little earlier today and that they had closed the door, thinking that the last person had not locked it properly. But there was no answer. She was alone. Suddenly the silence made her feel a little uncomfortable. Silence? Maria's gaze wandered to the radio, which had fallen silent during the time she was away from her desk. With the broom that stood next to the door, she carefully brushed against it, hoping it was just a loose connection. But the old appliance did not make more than a hissing noise. Annoyed, and a little uneasy she switched it off and fumbled her mobile phone out of her chef's jacket. Then she would listen to some music on this new app, or even better continue watching the series she had started a few days ago because her best friend was totally raving about it. She placed her mobile phone against the wall at her station and started playing the fourth episode. Lost in thought, Maria removed one shrimp after another from their shells and placed them in a mixture of oil and various spices. A bloodcurdling scream jolted Maria out of her monotonous movement and the drama that was unfolding between the head doctor and a pretty nurse. In shock, the prawn slipped out of her hand and hit the tiled floor with a soft splat. Without really thinking about it, Maria sprinted in the direction from which the scream had come. Panic was written all over her face as she tore open the back door of the restaurant. This scream underlined her otherwise unfamiliar unease and reinforced her belief that something could not be right. A few seconds earlier, in the rush, she had reached for something that could serve as a weapon. However, when Maria looked around the small side street, she only saw a young couple taking it as a shortcut to their hotel. "Did you hear the scream too?" she gasped when they were within earshot. "What scream? No one screamed here," the young man explained, a little confused, pushing his partner a little away from Maria. "Ok. Have a nice evening," Maria murmured and pulled the door shut behind her. Only now did she realise that of all the things that could be used as weapons in a kitchen, she had reached for a .... skimmer. Carelessly she fired it into one of the sinks and glanced at the clock above the swinging door leading to the bar. It was 1:03. Fog had formed and put a steamed-up film on the windows of the kitchen. Shaking her head, she ran through the kitchen towards the small bar. From panic and frantic breathing, she felt an uncomfortable dryness in her throat. Just as she was about to put on the bottle of cool water, there began to be a rustling in the back of the room. "This darn radio is driving me crazy," Maria cursed, walking quickly to the door, following the radio's cord and yanking the plug out of the wall socket with a jerk. Due to the jerky movement on the power line, the ceiling light began to flicker a little. "This can't be happening. If there's a murderer behind me, it's like a cheap horror film," Maria raged. But Maria was alone. Although it felt as if someone was watching her through the fog outside the window. The unease was still heavy on Maria's chest. She decided to just finish peeling the prawns and then go home for a well-deserved rest. Her colleague Ellen could chop the salad the next morning, there was enough time for that. "Just some cleaning up and then I’m out of here”, Maria said, again only to herself. After she had put her utensils back where they belonged, she let her tired gaze wander over the counters once more. In the place where she had just wiped with a damp cloth, there was now something shining in the dim light of the kitchen lamp. Her knife, which she had been looking for for hours. Confused, Maria raised her eyebrow and put the knife away. Maybe her colleagues were right after all. Maybe Maria was not alone.