Deadjournal
This is a blog from a serial killer on a mission from hell

Aah, this is nice. It’s been a long time since I wrote anything. Too long.

I have been drifting from town to town over the last year, ever since returning to the States, and I haven’t let myself go online to watch even so much as a YouTube video during that time. Surfing the net would have been a big risk for me, with my addiction and all. Being driven to murder hot young girls is one thing, but having an obsession to blog about it is another. I’ve been living like a nomad for the last two years thanks to my unhealthy compulsion. Not that I want to stop completely or anything. Just the opposite. I’d actually like to kill and tell you about it on a daily basis, letting my blood covered fingers fly across the keys as the victim drains out beside me, leaving a pool of blood around my feet. Hell, I’d even consider doing a nightly cam show, myself as the host and corpses strung up as marionettes, arms flailing around and the rotten carcasses acting as my co-hosts. I just don’t like the idea of prison and they haven’t legalized murder yet. Fingers crossed.

So the plan yesterday was to pick up and move again, to head to some remote part of the country where no one would notice me for a short while. I was all set to head out, loading the last of my boxes, when the snow came. It hit fast and hard, leaving a blanket of white and shutting everything down for miles. I wasn’t going anywhere. My room was emptied, the key turned in, my deposit collected, hands shaken and goodbyes said. I could either check into a hotel, which would require a valid credit card and matching ID, or sleep in my truck. It was about five degrees outside and the snow was really starting to pick up, so sleeping outside seemed like a very bad idea. I hopped in the ride and tried to make it as far out of town as possible before I finally had to pull over due to the overwhelming amount of snow pelting my windshield. I saw a large shopping mall on my right with an underground garage attached and pulled in, immediately relieved to be out of the blizzard. There were still a few cars scattered throughout the garage, but not many. Probably some unfortunate souls cursed with the task of conducting business regardless of the state of emergency outside. I pulled my Blazer into a dark corner of the garage, shut off the engine, and thought about my next move. It was warmer in the parking facility than outside, but not much. I could probably make it through till morning, I thought, but not without running the heat periodically and that would be a drain on both gas and the battery. Too much of a risk of getting stranded, and that would mean drawing attention to myself if I had to ask for help. I couldn’t take the risk. I had to come up with a better solution to my problem.

I clicked the radio on, hoping for a weather report, and was given one immediately. They were calling it the “storm of the century,” but with the sensationalistic approach to journalism these days I wasn’t surprised. All hype aside, it appeared that things were only going to get worse. The fifteen inches on the road were going to double in the next six hours, and another ten were going to accumulate overnight, leaving a total of forty inches of snow. Plow trucks were scrambling to keep up and major highways were slowed to a crawl. Many sections were closed until further notice. They were urging everyone to head home immediately, as travel will be impossible by nightfall.

That certainly complicated things. I had to get out of there. I had to get indoors. I had a few clean credit cards, but no ID to match the name so a legitimate hotel was out of the question and I couldn’t spend time looking for a fleabag motel that would take cash and a fake ID or none at all. I had to be someone’s overnight guest.

I sat there thinking. The only thing I could count on being open was a hospital or a police station. There was no way I was entering a police station willingly, but maybe a hospital would work. I could say I had a seizure, give a fake name, and spend the night in a bed out of the storm. Just when I was making up my mind on whether or not to take the chance, my teeth chattering from the cold, she walked into the garage.

She was pulling her jacket tighter, trying to keep the icy weather from penetrating any deeper into her skin when I saw her, her blond hair spilling out from that stupid trapper hat with the flaps pulled down over her ears. Sure, it was functional, but I hate anything that becomes trendy. Boots with fur? I bet they’re warm in the winter. When I see dumb ass teenie boppers wearing Uggs and a pair of shorts in the springtime I just want to cut their legs off at the knees and tell them they’ve lost their walking privileges. “Am I hot? Am I cold? Am I both?” Shut up. You’re in a wheelchair now. You don’t care about fashion anymore. It’s too difficult to accessorize a pair of stumps.

Anyway, I watched the little trendy clone make her way to her car and decided to do a little trapping of my own. I started the engine and waited for her to do the same, and then began backing out. I took my time, letting her exit first, and then pulled out behind her. My heart began to beat a little faster, knowing it was about to engage in the act that kept it feeling alive. No other activity brought me anything close to pleasure. Nothing other than killing made me feel close to what you fell each day when you smile. The thought of removing one of you parasites from this planet makes me feel as close to happiness as I will ever come. I watched her taillights in the blizzard and bit down hard, pressing my teeth together and waiting for the right time to take the next step towards ending this girl’s life. It needed to be soon, because the roads were terrible, even with my four-wheel drive. The girl’s Saturn in front of me was barely keeping any traction.

She turned off the main road on to some residential streets, and that’s when I made my move. I stepped on the gas and rammed into the back of her car, pushing her forward and sending her out of control. I almost lost control of my own vehicle as well, but I was prepared for the impact and she was not. I turned into the slide and came to a stop as she slammed hard into a tree a few yards ahead of her. I pulled my vehicle over beside her, blocking the driver’s side door with my passenger side and got out.

She was dazed, but not in bad shape. The collision had her shaken up, but she wasn’t traveling nearly fast enough to do cause any serious injury. That stupid hat did end up on the floor of the car, though. She tried to open the door but couldn’t, and looked up at me for some kind of explanation. I just smiled as I made my way to the passenger side. I lifted the handle, reached in, and grabbed a fistful of her hair, all in one swift motion before she had a chance to react. She screamed loudly but the howling of the wind muffled it to a whimper. She may as well have been silent. No one could hear a thing. You couldn’t see more than ten feet in front of you, so as long as I was fast I could do whatever I wanted.

She was light and my hands felt nice around her waist as I hoisted her out of the car and threw her on to her back. I dropped to my knees, putting my weight down on her chest, laughing as she swung her arms wildly, trying to claw and scratch with a pair of extra thick gloves on her hands. She screamed again and again, her mouth gaping wide, so I reached beside me and grabbed a handful of snow, jamming it into her gaping mouth and packing it tight. She tried to spit it out but I filled it with more, stuffing her mouth and then her nose with the frozen white stuff. She started to gag, water seeping down into her lungs and I held her there, watching her eyes widen with fear and her face turn red from suffocation. Eventually her arms stopped flapping an dropped to her side, and then the eyes glazed over, dead.

My hands were numb from the snow, my legs cold and wet from kneeling on the frozen ground, but my blood was hot and boiling. I quickly picked her up and threw her limp body into the back of my truck before anyone saw us and then went back to the car for her purse. Her license had a nearby address and the key on the ring would let me in the door I was sure, so now I had my shelter from the storm. I also had a fix from my blood lust. I love how things worked out sometimes. I just hoped she lived alone.

I left a note on the car windshield saying “will have towed in the morning” before pulling away, preventing any unwanted visits from the police, and was happy to find a small one bedroom apartment waiting for me when I pulled up to the address. I brought her body in with me through the back entrance, stripped her down and dropped her in the tub after filling it with water. I doubted that the coroner would be fooled even for a second, but it was worth a shot. As I watched her lay there floating in the tub and turning blue from death’s changes I wished that I was able to keep her alive for a while. A minute of murder may keep the need at bay, but I could really use a week of hearing someone beg for death. It’s been a while since I tasted anything that sweet.

I got some sleep and waited all day today for the roads to be cleared, staring at this computer monitor on her desk and trying to resist the urge to blog. As you can see, I gave in. I know that when they rule her death a homicide there’s a good chance that they will check her computer to see if there was any recent activity. I don’t care. It’s been too long, like I said.

I’m glad to be back, everyone. I know you missed me. Comment, I love the attention. Send your correspondence to erickills@yahoo.com, and friend me on Facebook. I wonder how long I can keep this profile before they shut it down…

I knew this would happen. The moment I started writing again I became obsessed. When the roads cleared enough for me to safely drive out of town, I said goodbye to the bathing beauty and put as many miles between myself and the crime scene as I could. Before long I found myself wanting to pull over and check my Facebook at a public computer instead of driving as far as I could toward anywhere but where I had just committed murder, though. I needed to worry about my safety, but all I could think about all the fun I had with an insane number of Mysapce friends and how they entertained me as I moved from town to town and evaded the law, leaving bodies behind me as I slipped between the cracks. Facebook makes it hard to add strangers, but MySpace is like a strange television commercial in the middle of kiddie porn. There’s nothing but 13 year olds and creepy old guys on MySpace, and a ton of people promoting shit I don’t give a fuck about. I will make Facebook entertaining. I can make anything entertaining. I once watched a fat girl try to pull her leg out from beneath a car for seven hours. The car must have went off the bridge above her and landed on top of the little chubber after turning on its side. The driver was dead when I happened on the scene on my bike, probably dead on impact. Too bad for the girl she was in such a very remote part of town and sometimes days go by before someone passes on that bridge. She cried and cried and pulled and yelled and pushed on that car, as if she could tip it over with those blubbery arms of hers. I swear for a second I thought she was going to try and eat her leg. I would have started yelling out of sheer joy and given up my hiding spot if she did, overwhelmed by the sight. Eventually she was rescued and my entertainment was over, but it was a fun day in my book. I just wish I had a snack. Come to think of it, I bet fatty had one. I should have asked her.

So I kept driving and fought my urge to get online and see if I had any new friends or any new comments on my blog (which I did. Thanks Rabidkitten). I drove and drove, pushing off sleep till morning and grabbing a few hours at a rest area in the next state. I got some food, put a few hundred more miles on the odometer and then finally gave in. I had to get online. I pulled off the highway and navigated through town for a bit till I found the local library. It’s not hard. Center of town, police station, municipal building, library. You learn these things when you have seen as many towns as I have.

I parked across the street and rolled a cigarette, taking my time heading over. I knew I was back to taking chances, but I didnt care. That’s what I do. I entered the library, grabbed a computer, clicked the browser icon and grumbled under my breath. Grrrr.

I needed a library card. For that I would need a local address. For that I would need identification. Grrr.

I made my way to the desk, being sure to put a friendly smile on my face as I approached the librarian, and acted helpless and confused even though I am anything but. She looked up from the stack of books and smiled back, oblivious to the fact that death was staring her in the face.

“I cant seem to get on to the internet,” I said and gestured towards the computer I had just been using.

“Do you have your card?” she asked.

“My…card?” I feigned confusion. The dumber you appear, the less likely it is that someone will perceive you as a threat.

“Yes. Your library card?” she said with a hint of impatience.

“Oh!” I said and pretended to be embarrassed. “I don’t have one yet. I just moved here from Tallahassee and haven’t gotten anything yet. I haven’t even gotten my cable turned on.” I turned to the computer and then gave the librarian a pleading look as I started again. “Is there any way we could make an exception? I really have to get online and activate some of these utilities. I’m sitting in the dark with candles at home staring at a TV that doesn’t work.” I gave her my best smile and waited for it to work.

“There’s a Kinko’s about five miles from here. You can use a computer there. Rules are rules. Come back when you have a state driver’s license.” And with that she walked off.

I resisted the urge to leap over the counter and wring her neck. The anger inside me rose up to the point of rage. Oh, someone was going to die tonight. I gave her my best smile! Fucking bitch.

A computer at Kinko’s would cost me money and would be monitored more heavily than a public library. I was getting on that computer one way or another, I told myself. There was no way that smug bitch was going to win. I scanned the room, looking for my victim and saw her sitting in a far corner with a stack of books.

She was adorable, hair all wild and multi-colored, covering one side of her face. The blond, blue and pink stood out like a sign saying “here I am, Eric.” Her skin was pale, her makeup flashy and loud. Her style was meant to get attention. Too bad for her.

I took a few random books from the shelf and sat at a table across from her. As I flipped through the pages and pretended to read, she studied her notes and I studied her.

She was shy, I could tell. She barely looked up, and when she did it was from the corner of her eye. She kept her face hidden behind her hair, her body was hunched, never straight. Her mannerisms were awkward, not confident. Perfect. Just my type. As she was writing something down in her binder her phone rang loudly and she looked around, embarrassed that she had left her ringer on and I put my finger to my lips and said “Shhhh” loudly.

She looked at me, startled. I flashed her a look of anger and then melted it into a charming smile. I waited, hoping this time my smile went over like it normally did and not like it had with that icy librarian.

She giggled. Not just a polite giggle, but a cute “that was funny, come talk to me” giggle. So I did. I grabbed my books and carefully made my way over to her table, never walking too fast, being sure to keep her at ease the entire time.

“You know this is a library, right?” I said when I sat down.

“Yes,” she said and smiled as she looked down at her books.

“You’re supposed to be quiet in a library,” I said.

“I know,” she said and hid her face again.

Oh man. Too cute. This girl was blushing. I told her so and she got even more red. I knew with a girl like this it would be hard to keep up the conversation, considering it would be one sided and all. I had to get her out of the library and fast.

“Uh oh. We’re about to get yelled at,” I said. “The mean library lady keeps giving us looks.”

“She’s such a bitch.” she replied.

I laughed. I guess it wasn’t just me.

“Let’s go outside. I want to talk to you some more. We can sit in my truck. I’m sure you could use a break from studying anyway.”

She looked hesitant.

“What. I don’t bite,” I said. “Unless you want me to”

She laughed and I could tell she relaxed so I stood up and started to leave. She was still seated so I turned and said “are you coming?” I watched as she mentally shrugged and stood up to follow.

It was really cold as we crossed the street to the Blazer and when we got in I immediately ran the engine and got the heater going before saying anything, which was a good thing because this was a girl of few words. I let the engine warm up and relaxed, looking over a few times to check her out. Her legs were thin, wrapped in black tights and stuffed into black Doc Martins. I wanted to kill her right there but I couldn’t drive around with blood all over my truck, so I relaxed myself by biting down hard on my tongue. A bit of self inflicted pain brought me back to reality.

“You’re really cute,” I said as I gently touched her hair for a moment and then turned on the radio. “What’s your name?”

“Gertrude.”

I didnt say anything. Gertrude? Are you serious? That’s fucking hideous. I almost laughed. Instead I asked her what kind of music she liked.

We had something in common. Hard music. Good, strong sounds with lots of energy. We talked and listened to songs for a bit and she really loosened up. I had to get her somewhere private, somewhere secluded where I could make a mess of her, but I wasn’t sure if she would take a ride so I figured I’d just ask.

“Want to get some hot chocolate and then go back to study?”

“Sure,” she said after thinking for a second. “Where do you want to go?”

“I know the perfect place,” I said. The truth was, I didn’t. I did know where there was a large patch of woods that I passed coming in to town, though.

We drove for a few minutes, just listening to music, when she finally spoke up.

“Nothing is out this way,” she said.

“Sure there is,” I said. “Plenty of stuff.”

“No. Nothing is out here but the McOnigle farm,” she said. “Then the highway. That’s it.”

I sighed.

“What kind of name is Gertrude, anyway?” I asked. “That’s an ugly fucking name for such a pretty girl.”

“What?” she said, obviously offended and starting to get scared.

I stepped on the gas, accelerating the engine as I reached over and opened her door.

“What the fuck were your parents thinking?” I said.

She looked at me, dumbstruck. The engined hummed as we reached 70 and I shoved her out hard. Her scream disappeared as she hit the pavement and I saw her body flipping over itself in the rear view mirror. I stopped, put it in reverse and backed over her, feeling the Blazer bounce as it met the heap of flesh lying in the middle of the road.

I got out of the truck, walked over to her and stomped on her face, again and again, until it felt like squished fruit beneath my boot. The mess was delightful. I was proud of my handiwork, although this was the second time in a row that I was unable to partake in any torture.

Her purse was about 200 feet away on the side of the road, so I picked it up and fished out what I was looking for. Her library card went into my pocket, along with her license and college ID. You never know what you can do with someone’s identification these days.

When I got back to the library, I waited till miss bitch wasn’t looking and hopped on to a computer that was tucked in a remote corner where she wouldn’t notice me. I typed in the numbers off the card and the system asked me for my last name. I laughed. Good thing I grabbed that driver’s license. A few key strokes and I was good to go. I need some kind of mobile internet. Something I can use on the road. What do you guys think should get? Comment here and tell me so I can get some opinions. I really want an Ipad but Mac users are such snobs. “Oh, I have a Mac. I’m so fucking cool.” Fuck you. I bet you listen to indie rock and ride a bike, too. I WILL kill you, hipster. You know that, right?

So, Facebook blocked me from sending friend requests for two days. Make me happy and add me. erickills@yahoo.com. Share my website with all your friends, too. Lets spread this like last time.

What a piece of shit town this is. I’ve only been here two days and already I want to burn it to the ground and kill everyone I see. I swear the combined IQ is smaller than the population. I actually overheard an argument about which “Jersey Shore” character would make a better President of the United States.

I laughed and had to pretend I was texting someone so I didn’t draw any unwanted attention to myself. As disgusted as I was by the two individuals at the table across from me, I was pleased at what the conversation meant for humanity. You guys are lost.

Any society that can place celebrity status on a halfwit troll like “Snooki” deserves to go down in flames. People no longer care about anything with substance. They would rather their minds be filled with emptiness. As I watch Facebook updates scroll by, the theme is selfish apathy again and again. “I don’t give a fuck.” The youth of today repeats this as if it was their anthem. They will teach this to the next generation, embed it into their psyche, and soon it will be socially acceptable to stomp a baby to death in front of someone as long as it isn’t their baby because they “dont give a fuck.” I can hear the demons of hell rejoicing each time someone says these words. They know it’s a sign that their time on earth is just that much closer.

So I’ve been laying low for two years now, hiding out like some sort of second rate serial killer afraid of getting caught. I’m on a mission and it’s time I get back to the task at hand. There are locations that must be marked here on earth and I have been given the honor of that duty. If I want to open the gates of hell (and why wouldn’t I? I hate each and every one of you), I have to find my way to each of these locations and desecrate them with a bloody mound of human flesh. Heaping stacks of corpses acting as shrines to the ruler of hell wont pile themselves, so it’s time to get busy. There are lives to take.

I found a room above a hardware store that was willing to take cash in exchange for board, so I have a place for a few weeks in this redneck town, but I wont stay much longer than that. Just long enough to make my plans and get a few things that I need. Maybe find a victim or two.

By the way, I’ve had a few hundred hits and only 13 of you added me on Facebook. Do I have to track your IP addresses and pay you a visit? Add me before I subtract you. Hahhahahha.

The hardware store was just an old, run down building on the outskirts of town, paint peeling away and boards showing signs of decay. The kind of place you drop into if you need a quarter-inch nut on the fly and don’t feel like driving to the mall in the next town. A place to get a key made or pick up some rat poison if you want to kill your wife. I was surprised a place like that was even able to stay in business in this economy, until I discovered what they were doing on the side.

The first clue to the shady dealings was the annoying noises coming from below after one o’clock in the morning. The reason I chose a place above a business is I figured there would be no one there after hours. I was wrong. Every night they’d open up shop and drag things around, stomping their boots across the hardwood floor until sunrise and then disappear. The second thing that filled me in to what was going on was the smell.

I hate meth. The last thing I need is more suspicious people. Or more ugly people. The stench wafted up and filled my senses late Tuesday night and everything started making sense. You’d think they would have one of their own live up here to keep from raising suspicion, but meth and clear thinking don’t go hand in hand. My old pal Spunion can testify to that. Besides, the old man that runs the store probably has no idea what goes on when he’s home alone beating off to Benny Hill reruns.

A stairway ran from the rear of the store to the second floor room of mine, which was just that, a room with a bed and a bathroom, poorly furnished and even more poorly heated. At least it had a shower. I quietly made my way down the stairs and out the door, taking time to make sure I went unnoticed, and disappeared into the shadows. I spent the next few hours watching the store from the lot a few hundred yards away. Nothing happened as I sat, hunched behind a discarded washing machine for what seemed like an eternity, but when it came to stalking prey I was given the gift of patience and breathing was the only sound I made.

As the sun began to make it’s appearance, so did our cooks. They were all breathing through masks, which surprised me. “Maybe these weren’t fools after all,” I thought to myself. I watched them slip off the respirators one by one, breathing fresh air again for the first time in hours. I recognized the son of the old man who owned the hardware store, shaved head and inbred looking. The other guy was also what I would expect, a scruffy biker sort, but when the mask came off the third I flexed my hands and felt that rush inside me.

Her hair was red, almost crimson but a bright highlight shone throughout. Her skin was smooth, not weathered and hard like the two next to her. She looked fresh, clean. Her forearms were covered in ink, but everything flowed together as if the pieces were part of her skin, as if she were born to wear them. The look in her eyes was a cool confidence, even now as she was engaged in a felony that could put her behind bars for almost as long as she had been alive. She had something. Something inside her. I wanted to pull it out of her and smear it all over my skin. I wondered what her screams would sound like as I watched them carry equipment from inside, stacking it into a blue van parked right along side my Blazer. The last thing to go into the van was a small duffel bag, which I suspected to be the product due to the number of times they glanced around when carrying the bag. They locked up, drove off, and I stood up and made my way back to the room.

I immediately started wiping the room down. I gathered all my things, put them into the truck, stripped the sheets, and put them into the truck as well. I spent hours making sure every trace of me was gone from that room, and then I walked out.

I entertained myself in the next town over, strolling through the downtown area and watching the parasites go by. Dinner was light, some Tex-Mex eggrolls and a few beers while making small talk with the bartender. She was hot but trendy, a fake lip ring hanging from her mouth just for show. Just the type I’d like to brutalize for being a fucking clone, but too many people could connect me to her and the chain restaurant I was in was sure to have surveillance so making her a victim was out of the question. Too bad. There was definitely a connection. I’d just like it to be my fist with her face.

It was finally late enough to head back to shit-town and watch the chemists, this time with the intent on following them. Drugs meant money, and I wanted it. I also wanted the redhead. I wanted her on the end of my blade, singing songs of agony as my hands went inside her in search of what made her stand out the way she did. As I sat in the truck, parked a bit further away this time, I waited for the headlights of the van to pull in. When they finally did I slipped down as far as I could in the seat and lay motionless for about thirty minutes as they unloaded, then I got out and slipped my new cellphone into the bumper of their car and secured it with duct tape.

Oh, I decided on what laptop to get. Thanks for the input. You guys are great with all the comments. Where are you, Misanthropic? I know you’re out there. Brandi? For a girl with so much to say you sure don’t comment my blog at all. Anyway, my phone has GPS, and with my laptop and the wonderful people at Google, I can just log on to Google Latitude and find out where it is. Have I told you how much I love the internet? Yeah. I have.

I got a few hours sleep in the back seat, and when sunrise came I was ready to go. I resisted the urge to peek out the window and watch to make sure my prize was with them, but I had the windows down a crack to keep them from fogging up and could hear her voice as they loaded up. She was there. After a while they were packed and on their way. And so was I.

The drive was short. I let them stay ahead of me, knowing if I lost them I would have the location right in front of me on my Macbook Pro (yeah, you won out, trendy hipsters. You wont catch me wearing skinny jeans or growing a beard, though). I did drop back a bit as we got further and further into the sticks, and eventually I pulled off the road and let my phone do the work for me. Once I saw the location show up and remain in one place, I pulled back out and found out where they were shacked up.

It was a one story ranch house, nothing fancy, probably a temporary setup while they moved as much meth as they could before things got too hot. Maybe it belonged to a customer that ended up in jail or something. None of that concerned me. I just wanted to see what happened next. If I was right about what was going to happen next, then my vehicle would have to be out of sight, because someone was about to be pulling into the driveway at some point.

Sure enough, about twenty minutes after I found a place to stash the ride and walk back through the woods, an old Caddilac pulled in and two rough types got out. They took their time before making their way to the door, waiting to make sure everything was clear, and eventually were met by the blond guy and his bald headed friend. A few minutes later the two new arrivals left, a backpack in hand, and I knew there was cash inside. Now I just had to figure out how to get it.

The Caddy pulled off, leaving me to contemplate what was a bit out of the ordinary for me. Knocking off a drug dealer to get some quick cash was always an option, but a home invasion with three meth dealers inside was definitely a new one for me. I like new experiences, however. It keeps me on top of my game.

If these guys were up all night cooking, chances were they slept all day. I would need to hit them before they started moving around again. First I had to find out if they had any guns, though. There was a good chance they did. I doubted they were armed to the teeth, but there was sure to be something in there that would put a hole in my chest. I searched around for a fallen tree branch and found one as thick as my arm lying beside an old oak. Lifting it over my head, I hurled it at the van as hard as I could and dashed into cover behind the shed.

A few seconds later all three of them came rushing out, the bald one carrying a shotgun. No one else had anything, which was good, so I made my way to the side of the house as they discovered the tree branch and relaxed, thinking it had fallen from overhead. As I peered in the window, I saw where baldie placed the gun and watched as they all had a good laugh and joked about which one of them was more scared. “We’ll see which one of you is more scared,” I mused.

Eventually they all crashed out. Lucky for me they weren’t getting high on their own supply or they’d be peeking out every window and none of them would be sleeping a wink. I gave it an hour before trying windows and doors, wanting to make sure everyone was fast asleep. The window over the kitchen sink was locked but broken, and all I had to do was slide the blade of my knife in through the wooden frame of the glass and push at the lock for a bit to get it to come loose. Soon I was grabbing that shotgun and standing over top of that bald headed fuck, grinning and squeezing the trigger.

I am not a big fan of guns. I always thought they were for pussies. I mean, I’ll use one if I have to, but I’d much rather get up close and personal. There’s something very intimate about slicing away the flesh, hearing each fiber come undone as the steel drags across it. I needed to secure the premises fast, and a blade wasn’t going to do it, so I opened the bald guy’s chest with one shot and swung the barrel over to the other couch as I slid a fresh round into the chamber. The blond sat up and his eyes popped open wide with fear as I took off the side of his face. His shoulders slumped one direction and the weight of his head (or what was left of it) went the other. His cranial fluid poured all over his shirt and I stood there for a moment, enjoying the sight before making my way to the back of the house. I could already hear my beautiful object scrambling out a window and I didn’t want to have to go chasing her down.

She was halfway out the window when I reached her, that long waist of hers stretched nicely across the sill. I grabbed the back of her jeans and held on, feeling her tug at them as she tried to pull free. She started to kick, and I grabbed a clump of her hair, yanking her head back and slamming it against the side of the window frame again and again. I pushed my knee between her legs, preventing her from moving and not giving her much of a target as she still tried to kick wildly, but a few more blows to the head and she was done fighting.

I slid her down to the floor, putting my hand under her chin and pushing her face to the side, letting her feel the cold hardwood floor against her cheek. Her eyes were filled with tears. She knew things had gone very, very wrong.

She told me everything I wanted to know. Where the money was. If there would be more visitors. Who expected to hear from them. I let her think it was a robbery, I didn’t want panic to completely set in. I wanted her to keep some sense of that strength that I was drawn to. I wanted to sense it as I opened her up and took it for my own. The blade came out and she started to scream, begging me to let her go, but we both knew that wasn’t gong to happen. I cut up and down her legs, her jeans falling off her skin as easily as her flesh came from her bones. Then I penetrated her midsection. I carved her face, her chest, her neck, her arms. The body was in ribbons beneath me and her energy was all over my skin. I could see it on my clothes. I could see it when I closed my eyes. I lowered my head and licked her from my hands and felt it on my tongue. There was nothing quite like removing the charge from one who was as lit up as this one. I would be on fire for days.

I wasn’t happy about having to take a shower, but driving around covered in blood is never an option so I did it. The cash was where she said it was, and there was a lot of it. Enough to get some things done, that’s for sure. I also had my first three bodies for the shrine.

Nearest shrine location, four hundred and eighty seven miles. I can be there by tomorrow. A few days to find a place to store the bodies, another few days to find a place to stay, and I think we’re in business.

That wasn’t pleasant.

I made it to my destination on the 9th and immediately set out to find the location of the shrine, or where it will stand eventually. I didn’t waste time finding a place to sleep first, or getting the rotting corpses out of the back of the van even though they were starting to leak and smell terribly. I didn’t stop to smash the sill little girl who walked out in front of me as I was driving, even though for twenty minutes after she stepped into the middle of the road and into my path all I could think about was picking up a rock and turning her face into salsa. If I would have hit her and the cops would have found my rotting passengers, well…that would be the end of this tale for a while I suppose. I am sure I’d figure something out, though. I always do.

No, I stopped for nothing and was ecstatic about finally stacking some meat bags, one on top of the other, as my tribute to the fallen one. I punched the latitude and longitude into my smartphone, which was proving more and more handy as time went by, and found a location that seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. When I drove out there I found out how wrong I was.

Nobody said this was going to be easy.

I checked the coordinates one more time, making sure I was in the right place, pulling my SUV over to the side of the road. Right smack in the middle of where my shrine was supposed to stand was a daycare, little snotty kids running around laughing and yelling and doing other annoying things that made me ill. The cottage that was being used as a kiddie corral looked like something right out of a magazine, a large A-framed roof coming to a peak high above the cedar planked siding that covered the four walls. There were flowers and plants and little garden gnomes around the edges, a small rock garden with a pond carefully blocked off so the little shits couldn’t drown themselves or each other in it. The yard had toys and climbing apparatus all around. This place was nice. Pricey. Probably full of little rich kids being raised by someone else while mommy tanned and texted and daddy screwed someone out of their 401k. Or while mommy did the work and daddy posed as an artist while drinking $200 scotch at one in the afternoon. It’s 2011 after all. Daddies can sponge off of mommies nowadays. It’s PC.

Whoever was making the money, it didn’t matter. They needed to be writing the check to someone else. Their kids wouldn’t be going here much longer. I had a job to do and no little diaper butts were going to get in my way. I had to make sure there was no way these kids would be here after today.

My mind raced for an idea, but I’m always inspired fairly quickly. I really think I am guided by unseen forces. Maybe that’s just my ego, which is as big as my appetite for pain, but sometimes I don’t know where these thoughts come from. I think I have a fallen angel on my shoulder.

All the little whelps were outside, enjoying the slightly warm temperatures being given to this part of the country. It was past lunch, and I didn’t see this place as the type to sit the kids in front of Elmo on the television like most parents do to pacify them. I figured I had at least an hour. More than enough time.

I slipped around back, careful not to let any of the kids or employees see me, and began to do my thing. I had my supplies with me, already knowing exactly what I was going to do. Now I just needed to know who I was going to do it to. The adults were outside keeping the kids from dying, but I new someone was inside steering the ship so to speak. The person in charge. I found her in a small office, just as quaint and cozy as the rest of the building, and watched her for a minute as she filed papers and checked reports. The desk faced the door so I would have to be quick, but she was old and fat so I would be fine. Life was good to her and apparently she liked to indulge. I hoped all the snacks and sweets were worth it, because she would never make it out from behind the desk before my stun gun made it to her skin.

By the time she looked up and wanted to scream, a blue eyed monster in a ski mask rushing towards her faster than she could eat a slice of cake, my hand pressed the device to her neck and my finger pulled the trigger. She tensed hard, her knees hitting the underside of the desk and her palms slapping the top. She fell to the floor and I went low as well, crouching and listening for any signs of trouble. I was good. All I heard was the yelling and playful screams of about fifteen brats. I clenched my fist and struck the fat lady twice in the back of the head, putting her out cold and got to work.

About ten minutes later I was done. Everything was ready to go, I just had to rinse my gloves and wake up my child-repellent. I kicked her in the cunt a few times, laughing at how fleshy she was between her legs. It felt like she kept an extra ass cheek down there. After a few kicks to the shin she was up, slowly at first and then in a flash. She remembered the attack and started to panic. She then felt what was now all over her skin and began to yell and wipe at it, confused and scared by the goo that covered her from head to toe.

I helped myself to the meth dealers’ van after taking them down, knowing they didn’t need it anymore and figuring they may even find it fitting since I was using it to transport their corpses. Inside were various meth ingredients as well as items they were using for putting together the lab. Included with this was a huge case of chaffing canisters primarily used for catering. I guess they used it to cook something else. One thing I did know for sure, though.

The gel inside was extremely flammable.

The child warden stood and started to run, and I lit a wad of tissues covered in the flammable gel and threw it on her, striking her right in the back. She went up like a pile of oil rags as she ran out the front door screaming bloody murder. The gel burned a bright blue, glowing luminously as she went up in flames. Around and around in circles she ran for as long as she could until she started to run out of air. The flames fed on oxygen, greedily consuming it before it had a chance to reach her lungs. Any breath she tried to take would be void of pure air, and the heat would practically pull the air from her lungs each time she opened her mouth. Down she went eventually, children screaming and running around every direction as she rolled around on the ground for the last few seconds of her life.

The scene was unbelievable. I was proud as I watched through a crack in the curtains. None of the kids could stop running away from the smoking pile of flesh on the ground, but none of them were brave enough to run outside the confines of the daycare. They would just run from one end of the yard until they reached the line of bushes and then turn and run back the other way. I waited until the panic seemed to reach a climax and then made my way out the back and disappeared out of sight the way I came, but not before writing “CHEATING WHORE” on the wall with a black marker I found on the desk. That ought to keep the police digging for a while. The van was a mile down the road, and I made it there and was driving for a few minutes before I heard the sound of sirens. They were fast, but not fast enough.

I would be willing to bet that there will be no more children attending that daycare. They will, however, be attending therapy well into their forties. I’m sure a lot of you hate me for what I did to those kids, destroying their fragile young minds like that, but please just hear me out.

I don’t fucking care! Hahhahahha. I hate you too.

So I had to get out of sight and lay low. Something like this will have a town on it’s toes and I didn’t need any suspicious locals asking a newcomer questions. Besides, the spot would be crawling with cops for days and I would grow impatient siting around waiting for the literal and metaphoric smoke to clear. I wanted to place the bodies immediately, but that wasn’t going to happen so I needed somewhere to store them for a little while.

I was just going to have to do it the old fashioned way and dig a hole. It took me a day to find a place deep in the woods and another day and a half to get it big enough for three. Then I had to cover the bodies well enough that I could get them back in one piece. I didn’t really care what they looked like, I just had to make sure they were easy to transport. I didn’t want fingers and toes and an arm falling off here and there.

I was tired and dirty and needed sleep. I spent the next few days crashed out in a hotel room, barely even going outside. It felt good to rest but eventually I needed to get moving again. I wanted to write but the events were still unfolding and I wasn’t sure how they were going to wrap up, exactly. I figured I’d wait till I had a bit more to say. I had to ditch the van and get back to my Blazer, so that was next on the list of things to do. It was waiting for me in a long term parking lot, all legit and safe. I wasn’t going to take any chances with it. I like that truck.

I purchased a Greyhound ticket and thanks to the wonderful joys of bus travel, a one day trip took two. I got off the bus, my back stiff and legs hurting, glad to be able to drive my vehicle. The return trip was uneventful and I was finally starting to feel like things were getting back in place. I just had to watch and wait, so I did. I headed to a cafe, glad to finally get a chance to relax and write, when the unexpected happened. Well, I guess being arrested for disorderly conduct when you are raving like a madman should be expected, so let’s call it the unwanted. That’s when the unwanted happened.

I had my coffee, decaf of course, and ordered a surf and turf that consisted of a buffalo burger with popcorn crawfish tails. Sounded good. I waited for my meal and was brought a salad with goat cheese and pine nuts and something that resembled throw up. I politely told the waitress to take that shit out of my face and bring me my burger. She looked offended but apologized, telling me she would return with my burger. Ten minutes later she came back with a cheeseburger and fries.

“Were you born retarded?” I asked her.

She pulled her face back and scrunched it all up, like she smelled shit or something. “What did you say?”

“Retarded AND deaf,” I mumbled as I took the napkin from my lap and placed it on the table. Why do cowards always ask you to repeat yourself? Is it because they don’t know how to react, or is it that they hope hearing the insult one more time will make them angry enough to do something brave? If anger is what makes you feel strong, then you are as weak as they come. Not that I’m complaining. Weak people make my world a happy place. I shook my head and looked at her. “Can you just bring me what I ordered this time?”

She repeated my order and told me that it would be up right away, and then slipped off into the kitchen. I pulled out my laptop, growing murderously impatient and wanting to write, when she came back with a pitcher of water and started filling my glass. She also filled the entire keyboard of my laptop when a plate shattered in the kitchen and she jumped, knocking the glass over and then turning the pitcher on its side in an attempt to catch the glass. I almost stabbed her with the bread knife right through her narrow little neck. Instead I flipped the table over and growled in her face. The sound you would hear just before having your throat torn out by a wolf. She nearly peed herself.

The manager came rushing out, thinking I was going to kill her, and told me he was going to call the police. I immediately tried to smooth things over, not wanting to deal with the boys in blue over a stupid burger and a laptop, but he wasn’t having any of it. I thought about running, but that would not work. I parked a good few blocks away, dozens of people saw me in here, and my summary offense would turn into something more.

The police showed up within minutes, the business district and especially the nicer places being placed on the “protect and serve” list as usual. Three uniformed officers started asking me questions as we walked outside onto the sidewalk. This was bad.

When we got outside I asked the officers if I was free to leave or if I was being detained and they told me I was being detained. They asked me for my information and I told them I would not be providing them with that information. I told them I was very familiar with my rights and I had not really committed any “crime”, therefore I was under no obligation in their fine state to give them my name or present identification. Of course, this did not go over very well. They patted me down, finding nothing, and then said they were going to search me. I told them I did not consent to a search and that if they continued that it would be against my consent. There was no search, of course.

They tried a few different ways to scare me into giving my name or showing them some form of ID. Patriot Act bullshit, protecting us against terrorists and imaginary boogymen, but I was having none of it. There was no way I was answering any questions. There was no way they would get any information from me, and there was no way I was going to be tricked into playing ball with a couple of stupid cops. Eventually they had enough and said they would just take me downtown and book me for disorderly conduct.

“That should just be a ticket, right?” I asked. “Why the trip downtown?”

“Who are we supposed to write the ticket to? John Doe?” the cop said as they put me in the back of the car. “We’re gonna hold you until we find out who you are, pal.”

This was bullshit. Fucking police, worrying about statutes and fines and the like when there are murderers and madmen out there! They took me out of the car, let me to a cell, and let me sit there for six hours before coming to get me. I thought I was being released but they said they were going to collect my fingerprints first.

“That’s a violation of my rights. Summary offenses do not require fingerprinting.” I stood there and leaned against the bars, remaining calm and never showing that I was worried. This was getting really out of hand. These guys were very concerned about the fact that they couldn’t identify me.

The cop turned and walked away, not saying anything in reply. I sat there for three days, eating bologna sandwiches and cereal and staring at the ceiling before they finally just gave up and let me go. I breathed a sigh of relief when I finally got outside, but I had a whole world of problems to deal with now. Everywhere I went they were going to have their eyes on me. I couldn’t drive without getting my plates run. I would be pulled over constantly. A cop never likes to be beaten. An entire police station? You may as well leave town. I cant do that, but you can believe I will be sticking to the shadows from now on.

I was able to get a new laptop, but it wasn’t as nice as the powerbook I got last time. I had to go with what I could find and there wasn’t a Mac retailer for miles. This cheap ass netbook will do just fine until I get my Mac fixed.

Well, there you go. That’s what I have been doing with the last two weeks. Some fun, some a load of shit. Either way, I’m ready to get on with things. Comment me and tell me how much you adore me. You know I love that shit.