The Killer is Me
The Killer is me
John Wolf was sitting in the easy chair contemplating the events that had occurred over the past 52 hours. Fuck! How could this have happened? Was there deeper meaning to all this? He could not help but feel that there was some underlying play taking place in his life. The pills and mash kicking in, his head was drowsy and felt heavy. He knew he shouldn’t have taken such a chance as to allow himself the usual reward of intoxication- especially in a dangerous situation such as this- but he needed to escape. It was the first guilt he had felt in ages. Hell, he thought that emotional part of his being was long dead. Even if he could imagine feeling it again, he would have easily guessed that it would be a dissimilar experience. Normally, this would be the case. The night was old or the morning new, he had forgotten himself.
Glancing over at the dim corner he could still make out the noose hanging from the beam, tightened around the dismembered foot. The smell of two day aged death still lingered from the bedroom. It had only been ill luck that the grandmother had shown up. He could still hear her crying out for the old woman, unknowing that he had dispatched her some 40 hours before while he waited for his prey. Man, he fucking hated the smell of old people. The baby powder and mothball aroma that gradually occurs as people get old disgusted him. The knowledge that he would never be elderly was comforting. Besides the lifestyle that surely would capture him at some point, he needn’t worry in any case because he wasn’t a person anyway. Devoid of human weaknesses, he was a killer. His eyes grew heavier as the spinning room began to claim him.
Snapping out of his slumber with a jolt he immediately expelled what was left of the mash, blood and skin from his stomach onto his naked body. He had eaten the vagina first, wanting to savor it while at its freshest but this whore was deceitful. Strikingly beautiful, he had known that she would be his evening take the second saw her- but she was not what he expected. His mind raced with the memory of how exciting it would be carving her up with his canines. It was really too bad that the pursuit was the most savoring element. He loved to eat. He would eat until his stomach burst if he didn’t control his primal urges but this harlot, minx fucking ******** was dirty. It wasn’t that she wasn’t careful with her hygiene it was something else. Something unexplainable. The first several mouthfuls were gorged on so fast, tearing and ravenous that he didn’t notice but she smelled like……like…my God, like sister or maybe mother! It was instinctual and he desired to wretch the instant he noticed the foul realization. He hadn’t known his parents or family at all growing up. He enjoyed telling people he was raised by wolves. All those times he had smelled something that brought him back to a tree house or some other childhood memory, he had almost enjoyed should he be capable of such a feeling. Why hadn’t he noticed before the kill? Why oh shit why??? He had senses sharper than any person alive! How could he miss this? Could this be right? Surely it was some other neuron that had crossed in his fucking psychotic brain, NO! That’s just you trying to redirect the truth and justify! You aren’t a weak society driven human! Yes, there was something to this. He had stopped and staring at her still screaming and writhing while she bled out, he recalled how she had commented about his eyes before she knew she was under threat. Something had felt vaguely familiar but he had dismissed it because he was so taken by her. Maybe she knew she was under threat? Maybe she was trying to play him by the compliments of his eyes and teeth to escape? Of course she was you fool! Look at you! You are a disgusting creature of the night, driven by dark forces not of your making.
Immediately sobered he leapt from the chair, slipping in the blood spread across the area of the floor he had dined on. His nose smashed with a blinding light into the soaked wooden boards. Standing up he was unfazed, throttled with adrenaline. He started to tear out drawers of the antique dresser and toss the closet. He was hunting for some kind of proof. Thank God he had followed her home during the stalking. He needed this to make sense. A picture or anything! Then he found it. Fuck. Plain as day, an old, tired photograph lightened and wrinkled by years exposed to the elements. It was definitely him in his infancy. The long nose and tall ears were unmistakable, and there she was in the same style red hood she had obviously worn into her adulthood. She must have found him in the woods, abandoned by his mother, and fed him a bottle to nurse him to an age he could survive in the wild. Oh God he cried, she should have just let nature be cruel and take me then! He let out a howl at the moon, his shadow long and grim before returning back to the black forest from which he came- promising himself to only dine on little pigs and stick to blowing houses down from now on.
Last edited by Fire; Oct 12, 2010 at 08:51 AM.