He watched from the shadows. I could see the smiling face...big, open features. Simplicity. Something missing. Smile with broken teeth. It made his skin slick. It opened up a fear in him. Why was the boy watching? What did he want to see? Was he controlling it?
The axe handle demolished the old man's skull. He had been sleeping, wrapped in old newspapers. The axe handle tapped against the concrete for several minutes before I saw him. Behind a dumpster, the pale face with a pleading smile. He felt strength as he looked at the dead man. Skull, split open...a burning in the throat. Sickness. I beat the dead body until it was mush. Under the newspapers there was a small kitten. Pure white. I looked at the face. The boy was laughing, tears streaming down his cheeks.
I didn't bother to look anymore. I could feel the boy's presence. He could sense the direction I was headed and knew it was the right one. Deeper into the mind. He did not want to be afraid, so he pushed himself. His killing became more sophisticated. Drawn out. We learned to use a knife. I took the ones that would not be missed and he carved them into bloodscape in my garage. The boy looked through the window with wide, blank eyes.
He was there. I'd swear to it.
This is so very dark and sad and scary and expertly written. I am constantly amazed at your ability to enter the minds and capture the psyche of deviants. This one is quite extraordinary.ReplyDelete
Thanks Jo. This was a riff off a story I wrote in college. The original was better, but much more disturbing. ;)Delete