Pea Souper

It was the first Jack the Ripper experience for Melanie, accompanying her brother, Simon, out-of-work actor and part-time London Walks guide. She’d enjoyed his Sherlock Holmes and Charles Dickens walks, but this one was creepier: it was autumn, twilight had already turned to night, and the yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes of the Whitechapel buildings was similar to that of November 1888.

At first, Melanie had stuck to Simon like a limpet, but the group was large, tourists had questions, and she lagged behind, lost in the backstreets and the sudden pea souper.

It was an echoing whistle that spooked her, an old music hall song. Pulling her collar up around her neck, she quickened her pace, only to collide with a man in a black stove hat.

‘I’ve been looking for you,’ he said.

Simon twirled his false moustache.

Kim M. Russell, 15th September 2025

Image by Almaz Nourzhanov on Unsplash

Björn is our host for Prosery today at the dVerse Poets Pub, and the line he has chosen is from the poem ‘The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, by T.S. Elliot: “The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes”, which we must include in our 144-word piece of prose.

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