31 Days of Halloween

Vengeance

A sliver of moonbeam glinted off the cold, hard steel blade as he slashed it through the air, plunging it deep into the unknowing sleeping body in the bed. These moments, the ones filled with tension and a primal urge to kill, they were the ones who made his heart race, adrenaline drop and filled him with a powerful sense of control. It was he who decided who lived or died, it was he who decided who would suffer or go quickly. This time, as he stood in the night-darkened room as he had in many others, he claimed his souvenir.

What was this, number four, five? He tried to keep track accurately, part of being ahead of the game was in each minuscule detail. He would watch them, his prey, stalking, learning their schedule, sneaking into their homes before a kill, he wanted to know about each of them, why they should live or die. Who were they? What did they do for a living? Are they male, female, adult or child? He did not discriminate by gender, age or race, and he had only begun his trail of carnage and destruction. One family at a time he would destroy them. Every single one of them in some way had created the man he had become. For that, they would pay.

Police searched relentlessly, scouring each scene of death for clues. There were none to be found. He knew he had to beat the system and technology could use trace evidence to track him down, but he was smart. They wouldn't find a stray, random hair – every part of him was shaven clean, there would be no hair for them to find. The only hair which remained on his body, eyelashes, which were always covered with goggles, nothing would escape. They wouldn't find accurate footprints – he wore much larger shoes, with weights in the toes to make up the difference and give a correct size for the forensic team to scramble and find. There were no shoe print patterns, having put false bottoms on his killing shoes, they were flat and nondescript, nothing to identify a brand. Yes, he was smart. He knew he was smart, and knew he was smarter than they would ever be.

All the years of torment and pain caused hate and anger to grow within him, until one day, it reached its boiling point, and he acted. He was smart enough to not go after the ones who had caused him the pain, no, he had a long time to think about it and knew it would cause more pain and fear if he took something away from those who had in his eyes, done him wrong. Now, they couldn't hurt him any longer, he controlled the pain of others, he had an entire community gripped with fear, he was the most famous man in Devin County. They just didn't know it.

The first one had been difficult. He planned it out, had his details in order, knew what he was going to do. He watched her for days – when she left the house, which room was hers, when she came home, where she went. After the third day of stalking, and knowing the house was empty, he let himself in. He knew what kind of perfume she wore, what size clothes, what her favorite colors were. He also learned she was only seventeen, the captain of her cheerleading squad, an honor roll student, and the secrets she shared only with her diary. Just like her mother. Which is why she would pay.

Standing at the foot of her bed in the middle of the night, the house quiet, everyone asleep. He watched her. Innocent. Unaware of the horror which stood two feet away. Unaware that her life was over at seventeen. Blood surged through his veins, his mouth watered, oh he craved this. In the still of the night, he swung. Blood spray from the artery splashed over the ceiling and the bed, the wall behind the bed dotted with the fresh red paint. Over and over until he was out of breath. Yet, not a sound to be heard in the house. The girl, a cute blonde, covered in blood, never had a chance to scream. Soft gurgles of sound as she attempted to yell, followed by the hiss of air escaping the esophagus, severed by the finely-honed blade of his machete. She bled out quickly, and he knew she was dead. He took his souvenir and placed it in his pocket. Having covered himself with a blanket from the foot of the bed, to protect himself from the copious amount of blood, he left it crumpled on top of her, and slowly backed out of the window. He took one last look at his handiwork and sauntered away.