There are times when I simply can’t help myself.
When there is an insatiable lust for the rush involved. When the thrill of the act itself is so overpowering that I feel I can’t ever escape it. I can feel my self control circling the drain…like a dimly lit star, being pulled into the limitless void of a black hole…never to be seen again.
It’s a thirst for blood. To feel the warmth of it as it washes over you. To taste it on my tongue. Bitter. Tangy. But more than that, it’s the sight of seeing someone’s life essence spilling out at my feet that truly excites me. My blade sinks deep. Soooo very deep. The human body is so fragile. I love the feeling of piercing the flesh. The stabbing. The ripping. Something about it gives me such a release.
I can’t tell you where I went wrong. I can’t even speculate on what turns an average man into the vile and disgusting monster that I have become. But I’m here. I exist. Behind every lonely corner and every dark alley…
…I am the shadowed figure in the mist. I am the devil manifested in flesh. And while there may still be some sense of humanity left deep within me…I can’t stop killing. I won’t.
I’m only human after all.
The year is 1976, and the Spring weather is being celebrated by those who have been cursing the blizzard that repeatedly blanketed the city streets in knee deep snow over the past few months. I like the weather when it’s in transition. The air is damp. Thick. I can feel its heated texture with every breath. I can feel the moisture on the surface of my skin. It can be exhilarating. It’s a time when people begin to let their guard down. Their bodies….their emotions…they begin to morph into something more appropriate for the new season. It’s an ancient animal instinct. One that tells us when to move, when to mate, when to gather, when to hibernate…in the deepest, darkest, primal, parts of our existence…that evolutionary programming still controls us on a subliminal level. Most people hardly ever pay attention to it. But I do. I knowit’s there. I’m a predator…
…So it tells me when to hunt.
The girl’s name was Ginger. I had been watching her for over 3 weeks now. She works the night shift at a local diner on the outskirts of the downtown area, and has a ten minute walk to get to her bus stop and head the rest of the way home. I had been closely studying her routine…as I have done many times before with the others. I watched her come, I watched her go, I learned her schedule…her…‘mannerisms’. The obsession can take me over so fast sometimes. I took Polaroid pictures of Ginger through the diner window. Watching her bring food and clear tables. Something about her caused my breathing to become short and desperate. The rush was like none that I have felt before.
Her hair was blond. So blond. When sweeping against the smoothness of her pale white skin…it was like DaVinci painting a blank canvas with splashes of gold. Such a pretty pretty girl. Such an untouched piece of art. I felt as though I had to add my personal touch to this masterpiece. I hadto become a part of her perfection. It was my duty to preserve this beauty as it was. Right here…right now…before it becomes tainted by the horrors of this world.
Stay beautiful. My angel…she must remain beautiful….
Normally, I would study my victims for a week or two longer. But I was already beginning to wrestle with the shame of what I had planned to do. I wanted to complete the act before it was too late. Serial murder…it’s a lot like composing music, or writing stanzas of fine poetic verse. Meant to be done with respect, and with passion. The beauty of its creation is everlasting. But you MUST complete your work. It is not to be left to linger on. I had to finish it. She excited me. Ohhhhh…she excited me soooo very much. I could hardly contain myself. I have to do it. I have to do it tonight. The killer in me simply won’t leave me alone.
So I waited impatiently that night for her shift to end. Always at 1 AM. And yet she never left a table behind. A quality that I respected. I think that it was her sweet nature and good heart made my temperature rise more than anything else. She deserves to be among other angels. And it is my job to send her there. I became erect with giddy anticipation. Soon, Jack.
It’s almost time. Stay calm. Cherish these moments. They are almost as intense as the final act itself.
I turned the knob on my radio dial. WGFD was currently playing “Why Can’t We Be Friends?” By War. I decided to light up a cigarette while I waited.
So beautiful. I can hardly remember blinking as I watched her. The music creating a soundtrack for her every graceful movement.
I felt myself rocking back and forth impatiently. It was 1:03 AM. I wanted her to leave. She needed to leave the building. This feeling was unbearable.
I opened the glove compartment of my car, and retrieved the six inch collapsible blade that I kept within. I stared at it, the glimmer of the blade shining into my eyes. My ski mask laying over my left thigh. The mask was important. Not just for safety’s sake…but to take my own excitement out of the equation. This wasn’t about me. This was about her. This was about preserving her purity. I could be anybody. Everybody. And nobody at all. That part was important to me.
Her skin was so fair. So soft. I fell in love with the very vision of her. It was like I could smell her through my Cadillac window. Ohhh….dear, sweet God. To be able to viciously carve my emotions into her flesh would be an honor that is sure to bring me to the very edge of orgasm. I can’t wait any longer. Please hurry, Ginger. Our fate awaits us. And soon, both you andI will become immortal. Did you know that, Ginger? Immortality awaits you. And it will all begin with a single cut….adding a remarkable shade of crimson red to that beautiful, untouched, palette.
It was then that I heard a firm knock at my passenger door window. It startled me at first, as I hadn’t seen anyone approach the car. Not even in the rearview mirror.
When I turned to see who was bothering me, I saw a boy, about 17 years old from the looks of him…with long brown hair hanging down to his shoulders, a slim build, and a slightly cocksure, David Cassidy-like, grin on his face. He was dressed all in black. Black button down, wide collared, shirt. Snug black corduroy pants. And a small black wristwatch. I glared at him for a moment, but his smile didn’t dim at all. Not one bit.
When I didn’t give him the appropriate response, he made a motion for me to roll the window down.
Annoyed over having been pulled from my ‘Ginger watching’, I leaned over and rolled down the window far enough for him to speak. But instead of just talking, he quickly reached his hand inside and pulled up the lock on the passenger door.
I was taken aback by the brazen nature of his approach, and felt a rush of fury wash over me as he opened the car door and sat in the passenger seat without permission. Not only did he sit down, but he grabbed the clutch on the side to lean back slightly with a bratty grin plastered on his face.
“Excuse me…” I sneered. “Do I know you?”