The Pleasure of Killing

"The Pleasure of Killing"

Copyright © 2011  Jonas Rosales Sario

All Rights Reserved

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Comments and votes are greatly appreictaed

 Dedicated to a very good friend of mine, thank you for all the help Rem!!! :D

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As he opened the door, the man clasped tighter to the knife on his hand.

The room was over populated by different kinds of boxes, they were scattered everywhere making the broad space of the chamber crowded, its walls and windows were covered with newspapers to prevent any kind of light entering the place. Somewhere around the room a wooden table stood full of various types of hand tools. At the far east corner, a king’s size bed was pressed against a wall, its mattresses were torn and its cover was almost ripped into pieces by rats, and bugs and anything that bites, it also has red stains all over it making the whole bed looked like a filthy rug.

The whole room smelled like toxic, it was filled with a tinge of iron and of the strong odor of ammonia, the air was heavy and moist, so sickening, almost poisonous like venom.

The scent inside of that deserted room was of blood with sweat and urine so revolting that the senses can’t deal with.

He closed the door behind him making the room pitched dark. The sound of someone moaning and of a chair moving against the wooden floorboards could be heard as he entered.

The moaning continued.

As his eyes adjust to the darkness, everything inside that room can be perceived even the small rat running around the corners of the room. The scene looked even more horrifying with the little light that was passing through the gap under the door.

The man smiled and walked slowly towards the moaning sound, the floor creaked that echoed throughout the whole room every time he made a step closer to the person bounded on the wooden chair.

Just as usual Set, the man with a knife on his hand was wearing his favorite black jacket and faded blue jeans on that special occasion. That place, that black jacket and those jeans were the witnesses of everything he had done inside that cursed room, every murder he did, every crime he made, and every life he took.

Set stopped in front of the chair and of the man tied on it.

The man looked old than he usually was, after being tied up for days, without anything to eat or drink, he was dirty, tired, hungry, weak and scared, very, very scared. The suit he was wearing was all torn to shreds; his pants were wet because of his own piss and sweat. He was bleeding because of the ropes around his body were too tight, he’s been desperately trying to make the ropes loosen up a bit but it seemed like they have their own lives, they just keep on being tighter whenever he tried to move. All he could see was darkness because of the thing that was blinding his eyes, but he was trembling, his hands were perspiring, his pulse was rising rapidly, he could feel his heart beating so quick against his chest. He could hear the footsteps coming closer to his direction, those familiar footsteps that brought him there on that very same place.

He felt a hand touched his head removing the thing that was covering his eyes, he opened them, but it was so dark, he couldn’t see a thing.

“How are you ma friend?” A hoarse voice of a man said, the voice was near, very near to where he was sitting, bounded. He opened his eyes wider trying his best to make them adjust to the darkness.

“I’m here,” the voice said.

He looked behind him and he could see Set, smiling widely, his white teeth glimmered as he grinned, his face was like a devil’s.

“Mmmh!” Harold was trying to say something but he couldn’t because of the cloth that was covering his mouth.

“Oh!” Set exclaimed, “Let me help you with that,” he said as he ungently removed the cloth on Harold’s mouth. “You were saying?”

“You Demon! Let me get out here!” Harold shouted with all his might, he so wanted to punch the crap out of Set’s face until no one could recognize him.

Set laughed, the kind of laugh that could send chills all over the body, the kind of laugh that was almost of a devil’s, the kind of laugh that means certain death to the person hearing it.

And then he stopped.

Set looked at Harold’s teary eyes and smiled evilly as he plunged the knife through Harold’s chest, he buried the knife deeper into his victim’s heart, so much force that they both fell onto the ground causing a loud blow. Set laughed as he continued to thrust the knife, the satisfying feeling as the blade cut deeper into the burning flesh until it reaches the heart. The gushing out of blood from the hole of Harold’s body was the most enjoyable part, showering with the warm, red, liquid Set twist the knife as he pushed it again, his jacket and jeans were drenched in blood, his face was covered with the red substance but he didn’t care.

He enjoyed the sound of someone suffering, the cry for help, the painful moans, and the grip on his arm as he slowly takes a person’s life.

Harold’s blood was all over the place.

“Don’t you know that you’re a demon too?” Set gritted.

“I—,“ was all that Harold had managed to say, his heart stopped beating.

“You killed my Fiona,” Set said, tears running down his face. He went somewhere in the room and came back to where Harold’s body laid, he was hugging a dead furry dog. “My Fiona.”

 He sat beside the dead body as he caressed his dog’s fur covered with blood. Set was carrying the dog like a little baby, humming to it as if it was sleeping. And then he looked sharply at Harold’s body, his dark grey eyes were full of anger and hatred. He threw the dog away and snapped the wet knife out of his victim’s body.

Looking closely at the knife, the blood flowed towards its tip, dripping. Set slowly licked the metallic substance out of the blade and inhaled the sickening scent of room.

“Ah~,” he exhaled, “the pleasure of killing.”