Bloody Souvenirs

Prologue

It was a cold windy night in London. The city was still awake and Redbridge was no exception.

Chris Renner sighed as he turned his car into Newbury Street. Running a hand through his curly brown hair, he let out a long exhale. He was returning from a party his friends had dragged him to. Turned out, all of them got pissed drunk and Chris had to drive them home.

Sure, the party was fun. Music, alcohol, weed, dancing, your typical high school senior party. But after taking just a couple of shots, he had started feeling woozy and decided to stop. This led to him playing chauffeur for all his friends. The only person he didn't have to drive home was his best friend, Scott Rivers, and that too only because Scott's girlfriend didn't drink and took him home.

Chris smiled when he thought of Scott's girlfriend. He really liked her, not in that sort of way but in general. She was a nice person, beautiful, no doubt, with her enigmatic green-hazel eyes and long brown hair. But she was nice, not just in looks but in the way she was, always helpful, always polite, so likable. Scott was lucky to have her.

Sighing, Chris turned on the radio. Immediately, a news telecast came through, "The serial killer, known by the name of The Polaroid, that has been terrorizing London for many months now, is still on the loose. According to experts, his patterns suggest that he'll be out to hunt presently. People are advised to keep their doors and windows locked and not to let any strangers in."

He quickly shut off the radio. "Geez, I want to sleep tonight and this will not help."

Chris took a look at his face in the rearview mirror. He wasn't completely wasted but the remnants of alcohol were visible on his person and his jade colored eyes were lightly ringed with red, betraying the fact that he had smoked weed.

But right then, he didn't care. Nobody cared, actually. He lived alone in his apartment and had no one to worry about. All he wanted to do in that moment was curl up in bed and sleep for the next five years or so. He parked his car in the parking and got out.

Taking the elevator up to his floor, he quietly unlocked his apartment door and went inside. He kicked off his shoes, took out a bottle of cold water from the fridge and gulped half of it down.

Just then, Chris' ears pricked up. He thought he heard some kind of noise from the other room. Next thing he knows, there are sounds of rushing footsteps and then somebody hit him on the head, hard. The last thing Chris heard before blacking out was maniacal laughter.

.........................................

Chris opened his eyes slowly, only to close them tight again. It was too bright. How long had it been? Five minutes? Five hours? He had no idea. His head was aching and he could still feel the blow the unknown person had landed on his head. The pain was radiating from the back of his head to his entire skull. Very slowly, he opened his eyes again. What he saw shocked him.

He was still in his flat, no doubt. But he was sitting in a chair. With his hands and feet tied up. "Hello?" Chris croaked, his voice hoarse, "Who are you?"

In reply, he only heard the maniacal laughter he had heard earlier. The diabolical sound made him shudder.

"Tsk, tsk." Whoever it was said in mock sympathy, "You didn't see that coming, did you?"

The figure emerged from behind Chris, startling him so much that he almost let out a scream. Instead, he swallowed hard and asked quietly, "What do you want?"

"What do I want? Hmm... let's see. What do you think I want?"

Chris was getting frantic now, "Look, if it's money you're after, I don't have any. I'm just a broke college student. You can take anything you want from the apartment, just let me go!"

"Let you go?" the person said, "Where's the fun in that?"

"Then what the hell do you want!?" Chris yelled, making his head ache even more.

"I want," the person began, "to see you suffer, to see you in pain." The voice got lower and lower with each word, "To see the look of sheer fear on your face when you realize that I'm going to kill you. That's my high."

"No!" Chris screamed, his franticness getting the best of him, "You're a psycho!"

This only elicited another maniacal cackle from the person. Coming closer to Chris, the person whispered in his ear, "Spot on."

Chris's eyes widened as the possibility finally set in that he may really not make it out alive. The figure fumbled around in a bag and pulled out a Polaroid camera. That's when Chris realized who he had the misfortune of seeing. It was the Polaroid.

"You probably know what this is for." he said, referring to the camera, "I love to capture fear." Without any warning, the camera clicked and blinded Chris with the flash. Then there was another click and another flash. The picture came out and the Polaroid took it out. Shaking it around to dry the ink, he said, "That is my memento. My souvenir."

The next morning, Chris Renner was discovered dead in his apartment, his throat slit completely. In his hand was clutched a Polaroid photograph.