by Matt Shaw
“Ah ha!” I shouted. “I SEE YOU!”
It didn’t matter that I had no idea where he was. All that mattered was he believed I could see him. From across the landing - the bedroom at the far end - Johnny screamed and ran from one room to the other (the bathroom) where he slammed the door shut. I heard the lock bolt across. Silly boy. He’s only making this harder on himself.
“Fe-Fi-Fo-Fum…I smell the blood of a soon-to-be-screamin- in-agony little shit-faced cunt!” Not quite the words known, but good enough. I stomped loudly down the landing all the way to the door and tried the handle, despite knowing he had it locked. It didn’t move. I rattled it backwards and forwards as he screamed from within. “Little shit, little shit, let me in…” I threw my weight against the door (he screamed again), shoulder first, in the hope I’d fall straight through. No such luck but there was definite movement. It won’t take too much before it gives. I threw myself again the wooden door again, to the sound of yet another shriek from beyond. Scream all you want, kiddo; help isn’t coming. A third slam against the wall, a four and fifth. On the sixth hit, the door finally gave in and I fell through, landing on the floor with a hard bang. Had it not been for the adrenaline - and the reward of getting in - that could have hurt. I looked up from the floor and saw the boy standing in the empty bath, clutching onto the shower curtain as though it were enough to stop me. Damn it. Foiled by a shower curtain. I don’t fucking think so. I stood up to my full height and smiled at the boy. “Did you not hear me knocking?” I asked. I held the knife up and he screamed. I do wish he’d stop screaming. Little children should be seen and not heard. To his credit, he didn’t try and run past me. He remained rooted to the spot, shaking like a leaf. I squeezed the handle of the knife tighter in my grip and took a deep breath in before…
These are the moments I live for.
These are the moments which make me feel alive.
The build-up.
The anticipation.
I thrust forward and penetrated the child’s stomach with the knife to the accompaniment of the loudest scream I think I’ve ever heard. I’m unsure whether it is the boy or…whether it is him, crying into my ear. I twisted the knife deep in his intestines. No way that’s going to seal itself back up again when I pull the knife out. No way he will survive the attack. Another scream from he who must be ignored as I stabbed the boy again, slightly to the side of the last hit.
IV
I looked away from the scene as he pulled the knife from Johnny’s gut and thrust forward again. The poor child sounded as though he was in so much pain as he fell back against the wall. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him slowly slide down into a sitting position, clutching his wounds as blood poured out from the gaping holes. I can’t watch. I won’t watch.
“What are you doing?” He sounded surprised that I was able to look away without much resistance. To be honest, I too was surprised. “Don’t you fucking look away!” he yelled.
V
I snapped his head back to the boy, who was pale and gasping for air. It’s my favourite bit, getting to see the life slowly slip away from the children. They make their parents suffer with their whining and constant demands - now it is my turn to make them suffer for as long as they’re able to stand it (which is never usually that long). I thrust into his stomach with my white gloved hand - my fingers closed together and palm flat as though in a karate chop position. He’s so near death now that he barely registered what I was doing. My hand was in his stomach. I opened my fingers up, stretching him wide, and took a hold of intestine. I smiled as I took a handful and slowly started pulling them from his gut. His body shook as I did so and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. A final gasp, like a fish out of water, and he stopped moving - at least stopping moving on his own accord. His body was still twitching due to my continued pulling out of his insides.
I’ve never done this before. They slipped to the floor with a watery slosh sound. Not sure why I’ve never thought to do it before. I have to say, that was pretty satisfying.
“You’re a monster!” he was weeping in my ear. He tried to look away from my handiwork but I wouldn’t let him. I wanted him to watch. I wanted him to see. This is me. This is us. And it’s only going to get worse as the day and night progress.
I’m excited.
12.
I should have done this at night for maximum impact for the father - the hero - Colin. I wanted him to walk into the living room illuminated with candlelight but it was too bright outside. Even with their curtains shut, daylight still managed to leak into the room. I had dragged both bodies into the living room - the mother and the boy. I’d sprawled them out on the floor by the unlit fireplace.
In my head, everything was so much better. Daddikins would come home, call out for them and there’d be no answer. He’d walk into the living room, eventually, and there he’d see them, propped up with their lifeless eyes staring straight into his own soul. The reality was much different and - compared to how it should have worked out - a little disappointing. The bodies wouldn’t sit up properly. Every time I tried to make them, they’d just topple over. Worse yet, I had managed to spill so much blood from each body when I dragged them through to the living room that I had left a long trail of gore, enough of a mess for him to spot it as soon as he walked through the front door. Total lack of surprise, gone.
“You’re a fucking monster.”
He was still sulking with me. Had barely said anything to me whilst I was dragging the bodies around. Just the odd whimper here and there as he tried to hold his shit together. Fucking pathetic.
“I thought you’d left me,” I sneered at him.
“I wish I could.”
“As do I. At least we agree on that, hey.”
“Fuck you.”
“Don’t worry,” I told him, “the night will soon be over and all of this will be nothing but a distant memory…Unless, of course, it haunts you every night whilst you’re locked in your little cell…Ooh, I can’t imagine that will be too good for your precious little conscience.”
I expected him to snap back at me but - to his credit - he remained silent. Probably saving his strength for the moment he is faced with the police so he can protest his innocence loudly enough to be heard. Little does he know, I won’t let him. We’re both going down for this. We’re both going to prison. I won’t let doctors psychoanalyse either of us. I won’t let them take him off the sharp hook I have so skill-fully impaled him on. Fuck that.
With the bodies in place and the curtains shut, I took a hold of the knife again. The blade was filthy so I wiped it upon my suit until it was once again glistening. There. As good as new.
“Do you think he’ll still love his wife?” I asked, as I looked at the pale body of a once mediocre-looking woman. “Or do you think he’ll find her ugly now that she’s dead? I’ve often wondered that. If you go through your whole life loving someone, if they die…Do they suddenly become ugly…”
“You’re fucking insane.”
“Of the two of us, my friend, I’d say that was you.” I paused a moment, “But what do you think? Do you think he will still love her or…Did that love fade with her last breath?”
“I don’t fucking know.”
“You see - I only ask because - I was wondering whether you’d like one last fuck with her whilst she is still kind of warm. Get it in one final time before joining her in the bowels of Hell…”
“What makes you think they’re in Hell?”
“Why wouldn’t they be in Hell?” I asked.
Silence.
“I might give him the choice. Maybe it’s your influence but…I have to say…I’m feeling a little generous.”
“Then let him go. Take us home. We can pack a bag and just disappear. Talk things through. Work things out between us…”
“Shut the fuck up. You’re like a broken record.”
We both froze when we heard a key slide into the front door’s lock.
“Please don’t
,” he whispered, “we can still get away…”
“I’m home!” a male voice called from the hallway. It sounded like Colin - which was to be expected. “Honey? What the hell has happened here?” he shouted. And there goes the element of surprise. He’s spotted the pooling of the blood from where his wife’s body was slumped. “Susie?” he called out.
I didn’t bother hiding myself. I just stood there, a proud look on my face, waiting by the bodies of his family members. One dead wife and one dead son to go, please.
“Susie?”
I took a step back to the mantlepiece above the fire and purposefully knocked one of the many pictures from it. It crashed to the floor. Only did it because I’m fucking bored of waiting for the cunt to come in here.
“Susie?”
Colin stepped into the room. He immediately spotted me. Second up - he saw his wife and child. His expression. He didn’t know what to make of it. He was just standing there with his mouth agape. Say something. Show me some kind of reaction. He fidgeted on his feet. I could tell he didn’t know what direction to go - whether to charge me or whether to run from the house.
“If you want to say goodbye to her body before you join her soul, she’s still a little warm. But only if you fancy it,” I offered. A kind offer. Generous. Is…he…turning me into a fucking faggot all of a sudden? Next up I’ll be offering mercy. I laughed. Will I fuck.
“Wh-what…What is this?” Colin backed up slightly.
“Home invasion I guess. Nothing better to do.” I raised the knife up so he could see it, “So what’s it to be? Fancy having a good goodbye session with your wife or…Shall we just get on with this?”
Colin - the Hero of the Hour - started to cry like a baby. He dropped to his knees and wept. Well, I have to be honest, I expected a little more of a fight than this. Nearly as much of a pussy as he is.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I shouted at him. “What, you’re not even going to try and fight? Not even going to try and get revenge? You’re just going to kneel there like a fucking pussy?”
II
He was blinded by his own rage. I seized the opportunity and chucked the knife towards Colin. It landed to the side of him.
“Please!” I shouted. “KILL ME!”
Colin looked at the knife and then looked at me. Yes. That’s it. Do it.
“What the FUCK are you doing?” he screamed in my ear as he took a step forward in an effort to take back the blade. I stopped him and we stumbled onto our knees. Colin reached over and grabbed a hold of the knife but still didn’t rush us. Please. Come on. You have to do it. Quickly.
“I can’t hold him back much longer!” I cried out. “Please! Kill me!”
Colin dragged himself up but still didn’t rush forward. What the hell was his problem?
“Put that fucking knife down, you cunt!” he shouted at Colin.
“Shut up!” I shouted him down. “We deserve this.”
“You do. I don’t.”
I turned to Colin, “We killed your family! KILL US!”
Colin screamed and rushed towards us with the blade held out in front of him. Yes. That’s it. Come on. Do it. Stick that blade in me! Put me out of my fucking misery and end his life. Please!”
III
As Colin neared, I took control of the situation and jumped up. In the blink of an eye, I managed to grab Colin’s hands and turn the knife back onto The Hero of the Hour. Using his own weight and momentum from his sudden rush towards me against him, I shoved it right into his gut. His eyes widened just as his wife’s eyes did. Colin put his hands up to my throat and started to squeeze as I continued to twist the knife in his stomach. His grip didn’t hurt. He was already starting to weaken. I laughed as I twisted the blade again. Not just because his efforts to hurt me were extremely amusing but - also - because of how we ended in this position.
“That’s fucking team work, right?” I laughed.
He wasn’t laughing though. He was screaming in my ear. He was screaming - calling me a ‘murderer’, a ‘monster’ - all the names under the sun. Some temper he has there but the name calling didn’t bother me. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I felt as though we had bonded. Properly. And, more importantly, I’d shown him how easy it is to kill. The shouting was just for show. I bet - deep down - he fucking loved helping me put the blade in. Fucking loved it as much as I did. Maybe he’d get a taste for it? One thing seeing it, quite another doing it yourself (or at least having a helping hand in it). Maybe we could still run from here and live a life killing who and what we wanted? My mind was flowing with various plans on how we could get away with living a life like this…The two of us…
IV
I grabbed for the knife and pulled it from the father’s stomach. With no hesitation I turned it back on myself and rammed it straight back into my chest until it was up to its handle. Surprisingly, I felt no pain. I felt nothing. It wasn’t my chest. It was his chest. We dropped to our knees, the pair of us gasping for breath. He took a hold of the handle and pulled the blade from our chest and dropped it to the floor. I sensed he was trying to say something to me. No doubt trying to call me a fucking idiot or words to that effect but I didn’t care. Didn’t give a shit. I just watched the blood flow freely from the hole he’d left behind by removing the blade.
Our legs feel cold.
I feel sleepy.
Not sure where I managed to find the strength to do this but…I’m glad.
We slumped forward, face first, onto the family’s cream carpet. The blood was soaking in. Not sure whether it’s the family’s blood or my own blood…Doesn’t matter.
Really sleepy.
I smiled.
It’s peaceful here.
V
I snorted. Too weak to laugh. Didn’t see it coming. Have to admit.
I couldn’t keep my eyes open. My eyelids slowly closed. Can’t open them again.
I can’t believe he killed us.
What…
…A
…Cunt.
T H E E N D
