Dark Screams, Volume 8 by Dark Screams-Volume 8 # (v5.0)

Author:Dark Screams-Volume 8 # (v5.0) [#, Dark Screams-Volume 8]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2017-10-30T00:00:00+00:00

The Man

Ten was a hasty kill. I knew it would be, that close to Willigan’s Bar. I did it in my car with flickering shadows from the acacias punctuating the kill. People coming and going, someone might see. I only got to plunge the gnarly wood into her heart and pull it free, that’s it. No posing of her body when I got her to the alley. No excitement of making her look all Hollywood, with her shirt pulled down and her hair brushed off her face. I killed and hurried away, sliding through darkness like the wraith I hoped to be.

If I’d chosen another subject, it wouldn’t have been that way. I could have taken my time, done my creative best to twist the limbs into ungodly formations. I don’t know why it had to be this particular girl. It just did. There’s no way to answer the question. The overweening mother, maybe. The close relationship they enjoyed. I admit I hated it.

A month later I was ready to shadow number Eleven, when the night before I planned the kill I saw a news report on television tell me there was evidence found at the pier. A shoe print in the sand where I’d dropped Nine.

I began to hyperventilate and rushed to the hall closet for the shoes. They were Archer brand, some knock-off Chinese shit, and as ragged as garbage. I turned them upside down and peered close at the soles. Just like the print blown up large on the television. Sand still snuggled in the rugged warp and weave of the cheap rubber. Was that blood? I looked closer, so close my eyes started to cross. There were tiny dots and clots of black…it was…something. They smelled bad. I threw the shoes on the floor and stomped them like live snakes. I cried out in frustration.

Nasty goddamn things! Cheap fucking Walmart crap sneakers that hadn’t lasted a year. And I’d stepped in the sand, leaving the print in the bloody mud for everyone to see. Was I losing my brain, the only element I thought I could count on? Was I really so sloppy I left this evidence and didn’t even know it? How stupid am I?

“You’re gifted,” they said. “You’re Mensa, high Mensa,” they said. “You’ll be brilliant no matter what you decide to do.” They said. Would a smart killer step in bloody sand and just walk away?

The authorities didn’t know I’d become a serial killer who was successful until I found a goblin cane and took a young woman with it beneath the pilings of a noisy pier on the oceanfront. A detective began putting cases together and realized what they were dealing with. The artful poses, the stabbings, the dead women littering the West Coast rim of California like dots of icing on the edge of a cake. It was serial, all right. A task force was set up immediately. As far as I knew they hadn’t named me with a serial killer moniker yet.

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