Scream

I am a man of simple tastes. I love women, sex and power. But, what I enjoy the most, is blood - thick, and warm, and dripping down the fingers of my arms. Knives are my favorite. Though they are not as gratifying as the bare hands around the neck of a subdued victim, they share my love for blood. And they let me relish the look of terror in the victim's eyes, the panic in their voices, their convulsed breathing, the tears for mercy, the shivering bodies and their naked souls.

One of my other loves is Thallium. I got acquainted with it when I used it on a friend long ago. He was a writer. And he fell ill. I offered to take care of him. In the next nine days, I injected him with massive doses of the substance. After the first day, his legs and feet throbbed. On the second, he complained of dizziness and asphyxiation. On the third, he felt a sharp sting in his heart and I wallowed in his suffering. In the next week, I had some of the biggest erections I have ever had in my life. Just the sight of his writhing body aroused me and I masturbated, sometimes repeatedly, in front of him. I buried him in his living room, twenty-three days after he died. After a while, I could not keep the worms and flies off him. He was a writer. And he died.

I have always hated writers. They think they can change the world with their crazy ideas and vacuous words. They think they have the power to create. They think they are gods. But, they are not and someone has to put them in the place where they belong – in their graves. And I savour the responsibility.

Look, I am not a monster. I just have my own indulgences. This one was going to be short one.

The girl was always late to class, but not today. That was a mistake she would rue for the rest of her short natural life. As soon as she entered the room, a solid fifteen minutes before anyone else did, she sensed something was wrong. I could see her instincts rebel. Yet she stayed. To my pleasure. Within a few minutes, her face turned pale and her entire body began to quiver. Her eyes fluttered about the room restlessly, looking for the signs of the devil. I watched her from a distance, devouring the smell of fear her body reeked of.  She had no reason to suspect me and before her innocence turned to suspicion, I pounced on her. Pain found her and bliss found me.

Soon the others arrived and the session began, but no one noticed the eternal latecomer for a long time. What more can you expect from a bunch of self-obsessed writers? Those hypocrites did not care.

I waited patiently though, fantasizing the pain that would crawl into everyone’s face when the discovery was made, hoping that the wait was worth it.

Eventually, the Greek goddess of fertility put an end to my wait. ‘What’s that?’ she sounded her annoyance, pointing at the object that lay dumped behind the television and the others turned their gaze towards it. To them, it was a strange object that did not belong where it was, on the floor, draped in ritual black. To me, it was a surprise gift to them.

I would have really loved to uncloak it myself; to proudly display my handiwork to them, but I denied myself that opportunity. Nick or Nike, whatever he was called, gladly accepted the job. He reached behind the television and pulled the sheet off her.

And there was my baby.

She was curled up in a ball, just like I had left her. Her fists were clenched and her ankles were tied. There were over fifty stab wounds all over her body. Life was seeping out of her in frothy red. I licked my lips to it. The others did not share my appetite.

Flora was the first to shriek at that horrific (at least to her, it seemed so) sight. She could barely keep her eyes on my gift and covered her nose and mouth with her handkerchief as she hurried away from the scene of the crime to the opposite corner of the room. A few more shrieks followed, but they were muted by a roaring thunder and the howling winds. Within seconds, dark ominous clouds engulfed the building, cutting it off from the rest of the world and a heavy rain lashed down. My accomplices never failed me in an adventure.

Gaia and Charis got down to their knees to help the dying girl. Charis offered her some water, while Gaia checked her pulse. She must have felt something, a faint one perhaps, which prompted her to do a quick check on the girl’s breathing. When she was finished with her examination, ‘Call the ambulance,’ Gaia cried, before she began to resuscitate the girl. That sense of urgency in her voice pressed everyone into action.

Many grabbed their phones from wherever they had left them to make that critical call, but no one could beat Nick to dial one-o-eight. ‘I don’t have a signal.’ After four tries, he gave up. Zeus went next and he was not able to get through either. ‘Mine seems to have some problem too.’ So did everyone else in the room.

If watching writers scamper about the room helplessly was great fun, witnessing the last few minutes of a human life was sheer elation. As I basked in the confusion and panic I had created, the goddess of fertility walked up to me. No, not to me. To the part of the room where the men were fidgeting with their phones.  

‘Can someone check if the landline at the reception is working?’

Once again, Nick offered to help and no one objected. So, leaving me behind with my prey, he left the room for the reception. A few seconds later, bam. Everyone in the room heard it. Except for the poor girl lying in a pool of her own blood.

‘Shit! What was that?’

I knew what it was. A gunshot! Finally, my human accomplice had risen to the occasion and had added a kill to his resume. And for once, he had listened to me by not using the silencer. I tell you, the sweet sound rings in your ear forever. Who was he to deny me of that?

After a frenzied discussion, the writers agreed that they would find what had happened to Nick and try to get to the reception. After all, they had to save the girl and for that they had to find a way out. Zeus and Apollo were tasked with discovering the fate of their classmate. I joined them in the hunt. I knew a gruesome sight was awaiting them and a glorious one was awaiting me.

My accomplice did not disappoint me. We found Nick on the stairway leading downstairs to the reception. His body was sprawled out on the stairs like the Vitruvian man. Part of his head was ripped off and his brain lay all over the floor in little bloody pieces. If he ever had a face, he did not have one now. I loved everything about the kill from the shotgun that was used to the way the body was staged. It can’t get any better, perhaps, except for splatter pattern on the walls. But that can be forgiven now that I have had an erection just looking at the gore.

My friends did not seem to share the same enthusiasm for gore. In fact, Zeus fainted at the mere sight of it and had to be carried back to the room. Inside, Apollo delivered the shocking news to his classmates.

‘Something is seriously wrong. Some one has blown his head off.’

‘What? Who did it?’

‘We have to call the police.’

‘Without our phones?’

‘We can’t go out. The killer is still here.’

‘Have are we going to save her?’

‘Let’s first save our own asses.’  So much for compassion and empathy these writers rave about.

‘Lock the doors.’

Gaia heeded to that advice, hoping that would save them from their fate. How wrong she was for as soon as she reached the door and closed it shut, a shadow darted past the translucent door panels. Startled by it, she gave a cry, ‘There is a man outside,’ and backed away from the door.

The others saw him too, but only I knew who it was. It made me laugh at how these brave writers cowered down to a man they had been commanding for years when he lost his identity and wielded a gun. And as if he wanted to mock them, the man showed up at the door once more. This time, he did not dart past. Instead, he walked to the door and standing on the other side of it, stared into the room. He did not snort. He did not give an evil laugh. He just stood there staring and then disappeared, just as he had come, leaving the writers haunted.

I loved his theatricality. And the stalking too. To see fear creep into the faces of even the bravest, I would kill for that.

A minute later, the power went out and the dark room got even darker. Footsteps and other strange noises started coming from different areas of the building. For their part, the writers’ silent whispering added to the creepiness of the situation.

Then, when no one was looking, the door knob twisted and the door opened partly with a squeak. Several eyes turned to the sound and many waited for the killer with a bated breath. I could see apprehension in every one of them. I could see the skin on their face crawl with horror beneath their masks of humanity. I could see they have become vulnerable and that aroused me.

I had to kill. And it was not personal.

It was not her age. It was not her smile. It was not even her fucking attitude. It was the dried tears on her cheeks that invited me on to her. I slowly rose from my crypt and crept behind her without attracting much attention. She did not realize that I was standing on top of her until I put my hands around her neck softly. And then she got ready to squeal.

Lying on the floor beside her, the latecomer smiled at me.

The sound of crunch when her neck snapped was ecstasy.