by Matt Shaw
Chris scanned the footage as it played back. Thankfully the angle of the camera didn’t show much. Just the lorry and the carpark. Only proof that he’d been there on the night of the killings. But if the police put out a warrant for the driver, and squad cars were looking out for him, then he knew it wouldn’t be long before one of them (at least) pulled him over. He imagined the conversation as it played through in his mind.
“Can you step from your vehicle please, sir?” the officer would say. His colleague visible in the passenger seat of the car. He’s talking on the radio, no doubt checking the details of the lorry to make sure it wasn’t stolen or anything.
“Is there a problem?” Chris would ask, trying his best to remain calm. The officer would repeat his initial instruction and Chris would have no choice but to comply. Thoughts would be running through his head as to how he could bash the officer’s head in before his colleague had a chance to alert anyone. They’d stand by the roadside for a moment as the officer explained the situation; he needed Chris to come to the station to speak about that night. In Chris’s head, now, he even imagined the officer asking to check the cargo. Opening the back of the lorry wasn’t an issue. The fake boxes would give the impression it was full. But what about the girl contained within? Would the lorry still be as sound-proofed with the back doors wide open? Would the officer be alerted to the possibility of someone being trapped within? Chris’s heart skipped a beat as he immediately started imagining the worst. He was so wrapped up with what was likely to happen he’d not even noticed the news story had changed to that of something else. He swallowed hard and turned the television off. He was the one in charge usually, yet now he’d felt as though all of that control had been taken from him.
Chris looked out of the rig’s wide windscreen into the carpark of the Home Depot. He started wondering whether anyone had already seen his vehicle there and reported it to the police. Why was he still there? He should have just driven off as soon as he’d got the cement. He should have just driven off and found somewhere much more secluded. No, he told himself, that’s more suspicious to people; the sight of a lorry where it didn’t belong. He was hiding in plain sight. He’d made the right decision, he knew it deep down. He was just panicking. He had a go at himself, reminding himself that he knew this day was going to come. Another surge of panic. He turned to the book. He still had so much more to write. He couldn’t leave it unfinished. At least, not in the middle of recounting a story. He needed to finish that at least. Not here though. He’d been in the same carpark for the majority of the day now and most other vehicles had already left. He needed to hit the road too. He moved to the front of the cab and jumped into the driver’s seat, pulling the key from the inside of his jacket pocket. A series of quick actions and the lorry roared to life; the whole chassis vibrating. He put his foot down on the accelerator and slowly started to roll from the carpark. Eyes up. Cameras watching. Fuck. Not that he had much possibility of ‘speed’ anyway; he kept to the government imposed limits as he joined the main road. He purposefully drove away in the opposite direction to the motorway. Stick to the country roads, find somewhere secluded, deal with Emma, write it up, and then that’s it.
The more his mind started playing through the various things he had to do still, the more he started to relax. It sounded as though there was a lot to achieve - especially in one night - but, truth be told, there wasn’t. He could get it done, and more if he so decided. He leaned down and flicked on the radio; a little music to wash away the last of his worries. If tonight was to be the last night he had engaged in this hobby - he wasn’t about to waste it…
EPILOGUE
I have killed people. I have no remorse. To sum up: there was no real reason for taking their miserable little lives other than the fact I chose to do so. I wanted to. Nothing more and nothing less. I know people will not understand that. People will continue questioning my motives looking for further meaning to the supposed atrocities I have committed. I am sure, in time, people will come up with various theories. They will be wrong. My child-hood isn’t to blame, I suffered no trauma to break my personality, and I was not pushed into committing these acts. I simply wanted to.
The amount of people I’ve killed cannot be disputed if you take this book as gospel. I have not embellished any of the facts, I have not added people. What you read is what you get and you’d be able to clarify this as truth if the authorities ever release this book to the general market although - as I scribble these thoughts - I believe this highly unlikely. It would do nothing to post this up for the public to see. It would only cause trouble. In fact, as I write, I’m still in two minds as to what to do with it. Do I leave it for them to find or do I take it with me to my place in Hell? I still have a few hours to decide at the time of writing. Not that I’m able to dwell on it for too long. Before the sun comes up in a few hours, there is much to do. And it all starts with the field.
I’d parked the lorry in a lay-by. Either side of me was fields. One of which had exactly what I was looking for, right there in the centre. I’d been sitting here for over two hours now and not once did another vehicle come by. No lights on the horizon, no farmers working in the nearby fields… There was nothing. Just stillness. I thumbed my way back through my book and - using the illumination of the interior-light - I hastily finished what needed to be said with regards to Emma-Jane. And then, for the first time since starting this book, I wrote what I was going to do to her next, before actually doing it. I had to do this on the off-chance we were disturbed but it wasn’t the preferred way. I didn’t like to limit myself. I liked the potential to mix it up a bit as I went along. For instance - what happened with Frankie, and the eyes, that hadn’t been planned. Had I already written about her scene, I wouldn’t have been able to come back and edit it. This isn’t a Word document on some flashy computer. This is biro and paper. It was hard enough keeping it legible without having to put lines through everything too. I
I was to go into the back chamber and release Emma’s body from where it was still bound. I was to drag it - curious as to whether the concrete would make it harder to move - down the narrow corridor and off the end of the lorry where it would crash to the floor. I doubt damage will be done but - if it was - it wouldn’t matter. Off the back of the lorry, I’d lift her into my arms and carry her through to the field. The idea being to replace her body - stripped naked - for the hastily-made scarecrow already hanging on a sturdy wooden frame. The farmer had clearly put it there in an effort to protect his crops and - as soon as I chanced upon it - I couldn’t help but think Emma would have done a better job. I’m not sure how easy it will be to get her up onto the wooden frame. I’m not sure if it will even hold her weight but I remain hopeful. As the saying goes - ‘where there is a will, there is a way.’ With the quietness of the road, I can’t help but wonder how long it will be before her body is discovered. Are these fields visited daily by the farmer who owns them or are they left to their own devices whilst the crops - whatever they are - continue to grow?
With Emma hanging, arms splayed out across the back of the wooden frame and legs dangling down, I’d walk back into the chamber with the book. I’d hand it to Hayley and I would get her to read. Not just what I’d done with the body, but the following pages too.
#
“I don’t understand,” Hayley said. She looked up at Chris from the leather chair she was sitting on. The book in her lap opened at the page detailing turned Emma-Jane into a scarecrow.
“What don’t you understand?” asked Chris. He was standing by the chamber door with his back to his companion. Something in his hand that she couldn’t quite see.
“I don’t understand why you’ve changed the way you’re doing things,” Hayley felt uncomfortable, and not just from being cramped in the cell all night. He’d been doing this for a while, going by how many pages were filled in. Why would he just change things? It couldn’t be a good sign surely.
“My hand was forced,” Chris said. He turn
ed around. The item in his hands was hidden behind his back. “There’s more,” he said. “Read that and it will explain everything.”
Hayley looked down to the book again. She turned the page and was indeed faced with more writing. She started scanning through it. Chris watched her face intently. A frown creased her brow as the words sunk in.
“You can’t!” she said. “Please.”
“No choice. They’re looking for the lorry. We’re at the end of the road.”
“You could let me go,” Hayley started to cry. She looked down to the words once more, “You don’t have to do this!”
“Read them to me.”
“Please… You don’t have to do this.”
“READ THE FUCKING WORDS!”
#
The news report has forced my hand. I feel sick that it’s over. I understand they only want me for questioning - to determine whether I am a suspect or witness - but I can’t afford to speak to them. They’ll investigate the lorry for sure and the game will be up. I won’t go to jail. I’ll burn in Hell before I let them take me. I’ll burn in the eternal flames with my companion, the only one who stayed with me through to the end; the two of us together, burning. Take one can of fuel…
#
Hayley screamed as the dense liquid splashed across her lap, soaking both her and the book. She screamed again as more splashed where she sat, and the surrounding area. She jumped up from the seat and moved to the corner of the chamber, at least as close to the corner as the lead around her neck would permit. Chris didn’t shout at her to sit. It didn’t matter where she was now. He continued soaking the rest of the chamber before pouring the remaining contents of the canister over himself.
“Please!” Hayley begged.
He threw the canister down with a thud and fished in his pocket before pulling out the lighter he’d once used to threaten to burn Emma-Jane’s nipple. He smiled. Fond memories. It seemed so long ago and yet… He hadn’t forgotten it yet. Maybe he didn’t need to write the book? He laughed to himself.
“Don’t do this!” Hayley screamed out. She’d raised her hands as though it could stop the flames reaching her if he did go ahead and ignite the lighter’s flame. A fruitless act.
Chris walked over to the book and picked it up. He sat on the leather chair and flicked through to the page it had been on before Hayley had dropped it to the floor. He cleared his throat and started reading, “Take one can of fuel…”
#
Take one can of fuel and pour it around the chamber. It doesn’t matter if some surfaces are missed. Once lit, the flames will soon spread to consume everything in their path. She’ll no doubt scream when she knows what is coming. Enjoy it. The final scream you’ll hear. The last slice of horror you get to experience. Toss the flame to her, ignite her first. Watch her skin blister, watch her skin peel. Watch as the flames lick away the flesh. Watch as she thrashes around. Watch as she drops to the floor and falls face first. Watch as the flames spread and other areas ignite. Back up as the flames near you. Stand in the corner of the room taking in the fiery sight before you. This is your Hell. This is the world you have created for yourself. Enjoy it for the last few seconds before the flames of damnation reach you. Try not to scream as you burst into fire. Try not to panic. Try and get used to the pain. There’s an eternity of it waiting for you below. This is your world. This is your ending. This is your own horror.
#
Chris slammed the book shut and stood up. He turned to Hayley, as he set the book down on top of one of the empty cages - once filled with his prisoners.
“Please don’t do this,” Hayley kept repeating herself over and over again.
“This is the road we’ve been on. Been keeping that little canister especially for this very moment.”
“I have a family.”
“I don’t want to go alone. That’s why I kept picking people up. It was always going to end like this.”
“It doesn’t have to. Please… My family…”
“… Will be fine without you.”
Hayley went to speak again but stopped when Chris raised the lighter up into the air. Her eyes fixed upon it. Even he was looking at the top. He flipped the lid. All he had to do was press down with his thumb. Press down onto the metal grinders and create a spark.
“Please, listen to me, don’t do this. Don’t do it. Don’t do it.”
“Sssh,” he hushed her quiet. “Can you hear that?”
“What?” she paused a moment, listening. She could only hear her heart pounding in the silence as the fear kept a hold of her body. “What is it?”
Chris smiled and pressed his thumb down upon the metal grinder. The flame sparked to life. Hayley screamed as the first flame took hold.
T H E E N D
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