Game of Death

1

I slowly walk along the road. It is dead quiet. The only noise I can hear is the sound of my feet scuffing across the ground. There haven't been any cars drive past for at least an hour. In the distance, I can see a house. Perfect. Just what I am looking for. The nearest house to this one would be about 6 miles. Even better. I walk all the way up to the front door. I knock three times and wait. Four giggling teenage girls open the door and I laugh at my luck. Teenage girls are always the most fun. "Hey girls," I say, flashing them a smile that I know makes them weak in the knees. "I am a little bit lost at the moment and I'm looking for a place to stay the night." The blonde girl grabs my wrist and drags me into the house. "You can stay here." She offers. "My parents are out. It is only us home." She adds, winking at me. I shudder at what she is hinting. I've never been interested in that kind of stuff. "Thank you," I reply. "Oh, it's no problem. Do you want me to take your backpack?" The redhead adds, gesturing towards my bag. "I would prefer to keep it if that's alright." If only they knew why. "That's fine." The brunette cuts in. Could these girls be any more desperate? They are just making this too easy.

  All of the girls except for the one with long dark hair leave the room. "I'm Rose." She says, sitting next to me on the bed. "Rose. That's a nice name." She places her hand on my leg. "You didn't tell me your name." She pouts. "Cole." I mutter, staring into her eyes. She begins to lean in but just before our lips meet. I manage to pin her down on the bed. She smirks as if she expected this. Without her noticing, I manage to get the duct tape out of the front pocket of my backpack. As much as I want to hear her screams, I can't risk the others hearing this. I quickly cover her mouth with a strip of the tape. Before she has a chance to react, I pull out some rope and tie her hands to the bed frame. Her eyes widen in fear as she thinks of all the things I could possibly do. Still straddling her, I pull my knife out of my backpack. She starts shaking her head and mumbling pleas for help which I can't quite hear because of the tape. This is the moment I love. The moment when a person realizes that they are going to die. I love the way they panic, thinking that it will change what I plan to do. I slowly drag the knife across her stomach. Blood begins to pour out and onto the bed. She struggles against the rope but it is no use. The only way it would come off is if I decided to cut it and I  sure as hell ain't doing that, well, not until after she's dead. I lean forward and whisper in her ear. "You're very special." She looks at me as if to say 'what do you mean'. "You're my 100th kill." Her eyes widen and she tries to scream. Hasn't she already figured out that screaming won't help her? I chuckle and drag the blade down her arm. More blood pours out. I love the sight of blood. I love the color, the smell and yes, even the taste. Finally, over her sobbing, I slit her throat. Pulling out my camera, I take a photo. What? I like to remember my victims. Gathering my stuff, I make my way downstairs, leaving her to the bloody body on the bed. One down three to go.