by Terry Yates
“Say hello to Keisha, Scott. Say hello to Keisha!”
Again he pressed the severed head’s face to Scott’s, but Scott didn’t care anymore. He’d given up on being disgusted. He was just going to lie prone until he died. The sicko could smear horseshit in his face for all he cared, he wasn’t moving. His body was numb now, so he no longer felt the aches, spasms, and cramps. It was the slow strangling that concerned him.
“Not interested in Keisha either, huh? Well, aren’t you the picky one…I mean those two were a couple of hotties, Bro.”
Simon walked back over to the wardrobe and removed several more severed heads and began to throw them on the bed in front of Scott.
“Let’s see…there’s Tonya, Karen, Maria, Olga, don’t remember, Jasmine, don’t remember, Bobbie Jean, and…don’t remember.”
Simon continued to throw the heads onto the bed. Several bounced up and hit Scott, but he continued to lie still.
“Damn, Scott, you ARE hard to please. Look at those girls! And they say I’m crazy. Not gay are ya’?” He chuckled at his joke. “You are really startin’ to turn red there, Bud. Fight it, Scott! Come on! Fight it! Don’t let me do this to you! Still no, huh? Well…okay.”
Simon walked to his closet and retrieved his video camera and tripod.
“Almost forgot,” he started, placing the camera on the tripod. “I like to record my activities. Interesting stuff. Gives me somethin’ to watch on those lonely winter nights. I know we don’t have many of those around here, but it’s nice when we do. Let’s see now…”
Simon continued to set up the equipment, only looking up to make sure that Scott was still alive. Scott was proof…and soon to be recorded proof…that men are superior. That’s just the way it is. I know…Hillary Clinton and Billie Jean King would kill me for sayin’ that, but very few of my girls there made it this far. Some did, but only a few.”
Simon flipped the monitor out from the side of the camera and hit the focus button. As Scott’s image began to come into view, Simon smiled. Granted, he didn’t get into men, but this would be a fun thing to watch when he was drunk, or until he found that certain someone that got into this as much as he did. Fat chance, he thought to himself. No, he’d be the lobo forever. Oh well, that’s the way it goes.
He stood up and walked to the end of the bed. It seemed to be coming together nicely. He loved his new camera. Sure, it had all of the bells and whistles, but why not, huh? It was the night vision that he truly loved. It was the whole reason he’d bought so expensive a camera. There was nothing truly more exhilarating than watching his handiwork with night visions. Because of the lights, their skin was green and their eyes…that’s what he truly enjoyed…their eyes. With night vision, their eyes were completely dark…like the Stepford Wives, or the vampires in Salem’s Lot. You can’t see the whites or the irises. It looks like one giant, dilated pupil taking up each socket, and when they’re afraid, brother those eyes get big.
Simon walked back over to the camera and moved it a tad to the left so that he wasn’t just getting Scott’s profile, he was seeing some of his face as well. As he refocused the camera, he noticed something about Scott’s eyes. They looked different. He looked away from the eyepiece, and leaned his head around the camera to get a better look at Scott’s eyes. Scott’s face was beet red…no surprise there, but his eyes…they looked like night vision eyes. They were big and dark and took up the whole socket. Strange. Usually, when someone is strangled, the blood vessels break in the victim’s eyes, making them look like the beginning of a Visine commercial, but Scott’s were just two large brown orbs. Oh well…something new anyway.
He walked back over to the camera, looked behind the lens one last time, and then walked to the door where the wall switch was located.
“One last chance, Scott. Just give in. Just a couple of pulls and tugs and it’ll all be over. What’s that? What did you say? Do your worst? Well, okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
His bureau stood below the light switch. It was covered with loose coins, casino tokens, his wallet, what little jewelry he owned, his night vision goggles, and the sheath to the samurai sword that his grandfather supposedly took from Tojo himself at the end of World War II. He never took much stock in the tale, but who cared. It worked for him. He loved the double edge that could slice through flesh and bone like a knife cuts through hot butter. It severed heads so easily. He was surprised he never saw a Popil infomercial for it. “It’s great! It slices…it dices…and look how easily it cuts through bone! Yes, it’s better than a bone saw! It also removes heads from shoulders in the blink of an eye! Only 10.99! Get one today!”
He chuckled to himself as he leaned down and picked up the sword. The blade was immaculate. He could see his reflection in it. He liked looking at his reflection in the blade, because that’s how he saw himself. Elongated and distorted. He imagined that that’s how he really looked…on the inside. His essence…or his soul, perhaps. He wasn’t sure and didn’t really give a shit. He just knew. He could stare at it for hours, moving his distorted face and head back and forth across the silvery blade. He would smile and watch as his top teeth looked huge and his bottom teeth tiny.
Simon’s train of thought was broken when he heard Scott begin to gurgle. Oops. He’d better get on with the game before he lost him.
“Okay, Scotty Boy, here we go,” he said, putting on his night vision goggles.
He turned off the light and picked up the sword. God, he loved night vision. He wondered if that’s what Hell looked like. Green light against a black backdrop, and everyone had those big, dilated, colorless eyes.
Simon approached the bed and looked down at Scott who was still wheezing, but other than that, he remained motionless.
Give it up, Scott,” he said. “You can’t be still forever.”
Scott barely heard Simon. He just kept his back arched. He knew that in a few minutes, he would just have to let go, but he was going to stay as still as possible for as long as possible. If his muscles didn’t give out, then eventually his breath would. He was getting very little air. All he could do was keep gasping for breath until no more air was forthcoming.
“I know, Scott, I know,” Simon said softly, walking to the side of the bed. Even though he could see in the dark, he still had to acclimate himself to it. The strangeness of being able to see without light took some getting used to.
Scott could tell that he was next to him, but he ignored him. Just a few minutes and he would be gone. No more pain. No more wife. No more kids. No more selling cars. He wondered what people would think happened to him. Eventually someone would find the others and think that he’d been dragged off or something. He was surprised at his calm. Maybe it was because he couldn’t feel pain right then. His body was numb. The only thing he could feel was the rope around his neck and the strange warm feeling inside him. It felt like his blood was burning inside him…boiling actually, but it didn’t really hurt that much.
“Just let go, Scott,” Simon told him, raising the sword. “Let go. Pull against the ropes. Let death take you into her arms.”
“Fuck you!” Scott managed to gasp between wheezes.
“Let go, Scott.”
With this, Simon jabbed Scott in the back with the sword. Scott grunted as pain shot through his back.
“Come on, Scott! Fight it!” This time he jabbed him in the thigh…only harder.
Scott screamed and began to struggle, the rope around his neck tightening.
“Come on, Scott!” He stabbed Scott in the left hip and held it there.
Scott tried to scream but his trachea was completely cut off. Simon leaned against the blade sending the blade several inches into his hip. Scott couldn’t take it anymore and began to struggle against his bonds with everything he had. He could no longer breathe, but he fought the ropes anyway.
“That’s it, Scott! That’s it!”
As Scott continued to fight his bonds, Simon pulled the sword out of his hip and into hi
s thigh. Scott grunted in pain and rolled onto his side, still fighting the ropes. The blood from his back, hip, and thigh was pouring onto the bed. Might have to get a new mattress, Simon thought to himself.
He continued to watch as Scott’s eyes bulged even farther outside of the sockets. His mouth was open, but the only sound coming from it was one long rail. His tongue was sticking straight out of his mouth now, and was purplish in color. This redneck was really taking his time to die, even with Simon’s prodding, but it was pretty much all over now. Scott had stopped struggling and was now on his back, legs and arms behind him. His head was straight back, exposing his neck. He could see the man’s Adam’s apple moving slowly up and down. Simon bent down within inches of Scott’s face. He could see the light leaving Scott’s eyes. He watched his reflection in them, as he did with all of his victims. He would watch his image until the pupils dilated for good, followed by a light film that covered the lenses, telling him that his victim was dead.
Scott stopped moving completely, but still Simon looked into his eyes. He placed his hand over Scott’s nose and mouth. Nothing. No struggle, not even an involuntary twitch. He was dead. Simon stood up and stepped onto the bed, straddling Scott. He looked down at his handiwork. It wasn’t as satisfying as he thought that it’d be. He had to give Scott credit…the man had given it his all…but still. He guessed it just wasn’t the same with men. He did so much more with the girls…oh yes, so much more. Scott didn’t scream and beg like they usually did. He thought for sure, he’d turn into a cowardly mass of jelly and beg him for his life, but he hadn’t. Hmm.
Simon reached down and picked up the sword that he’d laid against the bed. He took it and raised it above his head.
“Well, Scotty, I was sort of hopin’ that we could’ve gotten to know each other better. I should’ve been more creative…done something that would’ve made our time together longer, but…there you go.”
With this, he sent the sword deep into Scott’s abdomen. Scott emitted a small death rattle, the last of the air in his lungs coming to the top and out of his mouth. Simon held the sword down until Scott’s corpse became completely silent.
He left the sword in Scott and stepped off of the bed. He stepped back and looked at the corpse. He almost didn’t want to turn on the light, but he had to. He was going to have to work quickly disposing of Scott. His body wouldn’t last too long in this heat, and he didn’t want to wait until morning. He always seemed so spent the day after a killing. He didn’t know why, but it just seemed to drain him, so he knew that he wouldn’t want to do it tomorrow.
He started to flip the light switch, but then stopped. Let it wait for a minute, he thought. Enjoy the night. Simon walked to the window and threw open the curtains as wide as they could go. He had no fear of spying eyes. His nearest neighbor was over two miles away. That’s why he bought the place. He didn’t realize it at the time, because he hadn’t started his new hobby yet, but he knew that sooner or later, he would want to be removed from the rest of the world.
He looked up at the big, orange moon. It looked gigantic tonight. All of these full moons in a row. Wasn’t the ocean supposed to cause tidal waves if there were too many full moons? He couldn’t remember what the scientists had been saying about so many full moons. The last couple of weeks had seen about ten of them.
Simon hooked the curtains back behind the nails that he had hammered into the wall next to the windowsill. It wasn’t pretty, but who was he trying to impress? He took the goggles off of his face and slid them down around his neck. He looked up at the moon and smiled. Life was good for Simon Shoals at the moment. He had a good job, a house out in the country, and a hobby that he really enjoyed. Sure, they’d probably catch him one day. He wasn’t stupid. Only a handful had ever escaped detection. Jack the Ripper and the Zodiac of course, but even in those cases, the police had a suspect, but never had any concrete proof against them to bring them to justice. No, he’d be caught sooner or later, so why not enjoy it while it lasted.
As Simon looked up at the moon, the night heat began to sink in and sweat began to pour down his body. He felt a stinging sensation on his forehead and he ran his fingers across it. The bite. That’s right, Scott had bit him on the forehead. He’d forgotten about it until the sweat began to pour into the wound. Simon chuckled. The man had bit him on the forehead. How do you bite someone on the forehead?
As he was about to turn from the window, he heard a noise coming from behind him. It sounded like it came from the bed…as if someone had moved. He stopped cold and listened. Nothing. He reached down and fingered his goggles for a moment before slowly sliding them up over his eyes. There was Scott, still lying on the bed, his arms and legs behind him. The sword still stuck out of his stomach, but was now tilted a little to the left. That’s what happened, he thought to himself. When the sword fell over, the body moved, causing the mattress springs to creak.
Simon walked over to the bed and looked down at Scott, whose lifeless eyes stared back up at him. He reached down and touched his face. It was still warm. Strange. Usually, the body heat’s completely gone in just a few seconds. Simon laughed. Leave it to Scott to try to hang on to the bitter end. When he let go of Scott’s face, his head lolled to the side revealing his wounded cheek. What the hell? Where there had been a gash on his cheek only a few minutes ago, now there was only a small red scar. Must be the wrong cheek. He turned his head and looked at the other cheek. Nothing. What the shit was going on? Half his face had been torn away this morning, but now there was hardly anything to show that he’d even been injured. That was one for the books. He reached over and pulled the sword out of Scott’s abdomen. He looked at the blood as it dripped down the blade and onto the bed. He wiped it on the bedspread and laid it next to Scott’s corpse. Well, he’d better get the tub ready. Scott had some meat on him, so it was going to take a while. If he started now, he might be done in three…three and a half hours.
He walked to his bureau, took off the night vision goggles, and laid them on top of the chest. He left the light off as he left the room, and made his way into the bathroom. He turned on the lights and looked at the white, marble tub. Because of his nighttime activities, he’d had to replace it. The bloodstains were becoming harder and harder to scrub away. He opened the pantry and began to remove the items that he would need. Knives, gloves, the acid, of course, and the mask he wore because of the acid. He lay everything on the sink, and looked down at his clothes. Good, no blood on his shirt or pants…just a little on his shoes that had dripped down when he’d removed the sword. He took everything off, except his jeans and walked out of the bathroom. As he padded down the hallway, he heard a noise that sounded like glass breaking. Shit! Scott was alive and must have jumped out the window. He ran to the bedroom, but stopped just before the doorway. He slowly reached his hand up and felt for the light switch. When he found it, he paused for a moment, and then flipped the switch into the “up” position. Nothing happened. The room was still dark. The broken glass must’ve been the light bulb, which was on the ceiling directly above the bed. Never taking his eyes off the spot where the bed was, Simon slowly retrieved his night goggles from the bureau and carefully placed them on his head. He slid them down over his eyes and looked at the bed. It was empty. Only the pool of blood and the sword remained. He also saw something that truly unnerved him. He saw the binding rope lying on the bed. He heard a noise, and quickly turned his head to the right. There, in front of the window, stood a creature at least eight feet tall, with doglike ears and bright yellow eyes that were glaring right in his direction.
“What the shit!” he screamed.
He’d hardly gotten the words out when the thing growled and moved toward him. Simon screamed in fright, then hit the floor and rolled, just as the beast slammed its claws into the wall right at the spot where his head had been. The strap on his goggles broke, sending them flying across the room. The monster roared in anger as Simon scurried around on the floor, looking for something…anything
that he could use as a weapon. The thing grunted and jumped over the bed just as Simon crawled under it. He could see the creature’s feet just inches away from his face. Its claws were almost touching him.
The werewolf began to pound on the bed furiously, trying to get at its prey. It roared loudly as the box spring began to collapse around Simon, who was trying to crawl out the other side. He could hear the “thump” “thump” “thump” of the severed heads as the bounced around him onto the floor. He’d gotten halfway out from under the bed, when the mattress was pulled off the bedsprings. Above him, he could see the werewolf holding the mattress behind him as if it were a toy he was holding away from a young child. It almost looked excited at the prospect of a fresh meal.
Simon continued to slither away, squeezing under the frame. The beast grabbed Simon’s ankle and lifted him up, its claws digging into his flesh. He screamed as the creature lifted him high into the air, holding him upside down. Simon could feel the blood from his ankle flowing down his stomach and onto his chest. He thrashed his arms wildly toward the floor, looking for anything to hit the thing with. At first, all he could feel was carpet and bedclothes, but after a few swipes, he felt something metal. The sword! His fingers were touching the hilt. Just as he wrapped his fingers around the handle, the werewolf opened its mouth and sank its fangs into Simon’s calf. Simon let out an agonizing scream as the thing tore the flesh away from his leg. He moaned as he heard the werewolf grunt with satisfaction as it chewed the flesh and muscle. He felt more of his blood pouring down his body and into his eyes.
Still grasping the sword handle, Simon tried to swing it up into the air, but his body was between the sword and the werewolf, and he couldn’t connect with the beast. Even if he had connected, his blows would’ve had no strength. It was just too awkward trying to swing the sword up into the air.
The werewolf lifted Simon’s body even higher, his foot now touching the ceiling. It opened its mouth again, this time biting into his thigh. Simon screamed again as the pain shot through his thigh muscle. The sword slipped from his grasp and started to fall to the floor, but the handle snagged itself on his middle and ring finger. Quickly, he wrapped his hand around the handle and tried to lift the sword but it was no use. He was just too weak. He hung limply in the air, now completely covered in his own blood. As he was about to pass out from the loss of blood, he looked down at the sword, which was barely touching the floor now. Another few inches and it would no longer be touching the floor…it, like him, would be dangling in midair. He had to do something soon or it was going to be…as his father used to say…all over but the shouting.
