house of cards :: m.g.c.

0.1

michael removed the girl's head from his thigh. great, he thought. now i have to wash them.

he gathered up the guns he had used and the rest of the bullets before leaving the house the same way he came in. the owners would come home in three days to a lovely surprise. they'd come in, put their bags down, maybe go into the kitchen for a drink or plop down on the lounge for a while until they began to notice the smell that lingered in their house. the wife would walk down the hall towards the basement where the smell got progressively stronger because the husband was still in the living room drinking his beer. she would open the door to the basement and gag at the stench eminating from it. she'd turn on the light or grab a flashlight and go down the stairs, maybe noticing the specks of blood underneath her feet. and then she'd turn the corner and most likely scream at the sight before her. she would cry at the sight of the eleven dead teens in front of her. their blood crusted in their hair, their dead eyes staring unmoving, the dark brown puddles covering almost all of the floor. the husband would run down the stairs to his terrified wife and stand still, shocked, at what was in their house. then they'd call the police. the police would find the note with the names of the victims along with the signature mike-ro-wave and everyone would become equally terrified. news was spreading about the latest mass murderer. the couple would move away and the house would be destroyed after all evidence and bodies were taken.

michael had this down to a fine art. he knew exactly what the couples he'd terrorised would do. or, at least, he thought.

he went back to hotel to clean up his guns and refill his pouch of bullets. it was at this time that he felt the most calm. polishing the blood from the guns that had taken lives and sifting the bullets through his fingers was the only time his mind went completely still. when he was watching the teenagers kill themselves, he was full of joy and adrenaline. although, he did get irritated when they started crying and screaming. he hated screaming. you would think that a murderer would enjoy the screams of human pain, but no. it was what haunted nightmares. but michael didn't really know what were his nightmares and what were his dreams. most would say walking through a room of bodies would be a nightmare but to michael it was a sort of dream.

it had taken three months to befriend the latest group of victims. usually it took only a month and half, maybe two months, to gain his victims' trust. he'd lost time on the latest group but he wasn't really on a countdown. he had gotten a job and had managed to buy a one room apartment for a good deal. every night he would order pizza, occasionly mixing it up and ordering chinese, watch movies or play video games or watch out for his latest crime on the news, clean up what needed to be cleaned, then he went to bed, ready for the next day of work at the video game store.

he was sort of a novelty in california. firstly, he was australian. once they knew that, they were always begging him to speak in his aussie accent. secondly, he was so damn pale. everyone else was lightly tanned or darker. but not michael. he stayed inside and didn't get a tan. the very few teenagers he did hang out with and worked with thought he was weird. they didn't say it to his face but he knew it was what they thought.

oh well. most of them would be dead soon.