I lured my prey into the forest, one step at a time over the crunching leaves and debris sporadically placed on the forest floor.
“Mary, I’m glad you came here with me today. There is something I have been dying to tell you. And yes that pun was intended.”
“Pun?” she replied, not yet realizing her fate.
“Well Mary,” I said wickedly, “it was me all along. I have been going around killing people, everybody in this dire little town. One by one I watched them drop like flies by my hand, and now it is your turn.” I whipped my knife around from its hidden place in my coat pocket and brought it to her throat in one swift motion. Her soft skin like butter to my knife. I lashed my blade across her neck, enjoying every last drop of warm blood that dripped down her warm milky complexion and onto the crisp autumn leaves. Mary let out a scream as I took away her life. A shadow lingered over her dead body, the shape of a demon.
Nothing could take away the feeling of putting a knife to my victim’s skin. The silver blade so easily slicing open the warm soft dough-like skin of my victims, their warm blood rolling down my hand like raindrops. The feeling was so satisfying, it warmed my insides. You would think the scream would turn me off, or give me some sort of excitement. Yet, it's quite different to that actually, in fact, it's although their scream is muted out. All sound is. It’s like I’m in my own world, where nothing and no one exists but me and my prey, and everything else, every noise is on the outside.
Killing was my drug. I had been doing it for about three years at this point and still haven't been caught. I'm pretty good at it actually. I crave it, I crave the warmth it gives me and the closeness to my victim.
To the outsider, I am just a normal human being, going about life, as any other would. I grew up in a small town in Australia, my community was very small and conservative. I was born in the year of 1940, or so I was told. I was adopted at a young age, though my parents would never tell me anything more than that. Where I was from, children would be expected to be on their best behaviour and not speak unless spoken to. Most families in our community had many children, yet my family just had two. My Brother and I.
Growing up, I had a group of five friends. We were all children of church families and therefore were expected to be very good. Although, when we got together to play we would tell each other secrets and stories that our parents would be appalled to know; wicked ideas we played up in our minds, such as, ‘what if satan ruled the earth, rather than God’ and ‘what would happen if we were ever to leave this town’. I have memories of being young, the only one in my family with auburn hair. I would get up to mischief often and my parents would punish me, telling me I was wicked. I remember this one instance, I hurt my brother; not unusual for me, yet this time he stopped breathing. I felt wickedness running through my body, enjoying the sensation.
By the time my parents found him he was dead. They were horrified and punished me by several lashings and forcing me to endure regular meetings with the church priest. Although they acted as though I were the evilest of all evil, they kept me and made up a lie to cover up what I had done, though there were whispers throughout the town, no one knew for certain. To this day, I have never felt remorse and never understood why they did.
After that, I often just killed little things like animals or bugs. Though, as I grew into a teen, the thirst for something bigger became more apparent, nagging in my brain. That is when I began to look at my friends as targets rather than people.
One fateful day we were sitting in a circle, having one of our typical talks about life and what was beyond this place we were subject to. I looked at each one of my friends as they spoke, secretly plotting my revenge. As I thought, Robbie, one of the boys in my group came out and said, “Who do you think is responsible for all of these creepy murders?” I watched as one by one, they tried to guess.
“You have to give him credit, that's for sure. He hides his tracks well.” another boy in the group said, his name was Marcus. “How do you know it's a he? It could be a Woman!” suggested Mary, one of the girls. “That's a load of crap!” yelled Robbie. “A woman couldn't pull this off!” he laughed at her, forcing her to hide her head in the hands, with embarrassment. The whole group started to argue and try to yell over each other their opinions. Watching them, I laughed to myself, I had such an effect on them and they didn't even realize.
“Who do you think it is Damion?” asked Marcas, the group hushed.
“Well my dear Marcas, it was me,” I stated calmly.
“Isn’t it a shame about those poor children that were murdered the other day?” One prissy old bag said to another as I walked through town a few days later.
“Yes, whoever did that horrible crime will have to pay. Once the sheriff finds out who it is, he will no doubt be run out of town if not put to death.”
“How do you know it was a man and not a woman?”
“Oh Sue, don’t be ridiculous! No woman could pull off that sort of thing.” They bantered between themselves.
There was a function being held at the local hall, a dance of sorts. It had been prepared to honour the dead. I listened eagerly as these women complimented me on my efforts to pull off such a mass murder without getting caught. I emerged from the darkness in which I had been eavesdropping, “Oh ladies, you flatter me.” I chuckled.
“Damion!” One of the old biddies gasped in surprise, “You shouldn’t be out here! Don’t you know there is a killer on the loose, stupid boy.”
“Oh ladies, ladies” I ruffled my hair, walking closer to them. “You almost did put together the puzzle. It was me all along you see.”
“What do you mean it was you?” they cried in unison, looking at each other unsure of what I was admitting to.”
“I killed them all. I am the strategic killer and I am going to kill you both, and the rest of this town next.”
They stumbled backward but I was too quick for them. I was face to face with sue, so close our noses were touching. I pulled the old engraved lighter I had stolen from my father, out of my pocket and ignited her dress and the other woman’s hair. I watched in delight as they struggled, burning, not able to do anything about it. I let their screams drift away from my ears as I made my way to the hall. I walked through swift and effortlessly lighting peoples outfits on fire.
My lips lifted in one corner as I watched them all burn. Curious people coming out to view the pile-up of dead bodies, not knowing that there was a killer on the loose, right amongst them. It was all a bit of a fun time for me, watching my family and their friends, my whole town burning to a crisp. The severity of the situation amused me greatly and I was eager for more.
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