50 Inch Blade

Birth of my pleasure

No killer is born with an M.O I am a proud man, but even I will admit that my first kills were not clean. I didn't know how to deal with blood, nor had I learned how to seemlessly kill a man. We didn't have Google to quickly search "how to murder your first victim" and we never had fancy tv shows explaining how to be a serial killer. I had to learn on my own; practicing on small animals and getting as much as I could from my freshman biology class.

I was sixteen when I it planned out. My neighbor grew a hatred of me over the last month. She was convinced that I had stolen her dog and killed it for fun. I hadn't, that yapping little creature was not killed for fun, but was a test for my own technique. Either way, I decided she was a perfect candidate.

Ms Rossfield was a crude middle aged woman with a bitter personality that was well known in our town. It could be anyone here who wanted her dead.

The night was cool and quiet. I gathered my "equipment" which I now would laugh at. But at the time I thought it was perfect. A heavy claw hammer, bolt cutters, bleach, and a flask of rum. I never drank before, but tonight seemed like it was appropriate.

I snuck into the back yard of Ms Rossfield's home. Her back door was locked shut, but the window wasn't. I crawled through the small open frame and found myself in her kitchen. The place reeked of cheap perfume and cigarettes, whine bottles we're strewn acrossed the house like an alcoholic Easter egg hunt.

I cautiously walked up the stairs to the second floor. I had done this walk before. When I snatched her small rat of a dog. Her bedroom was the second to the right. I gently turned the knob to her door. I swore under my breath when I realized it was locked from the inside. I refused to go back home. I made it this far and would not go home without satisfaction. Beside her room a door to a closet sat slightly open.

I waited for hours. It had to be at least 9:00am when I heard her door open. Her frame walked drunkenly by the closet I hid inside and my heart beat loudly in my chest. It was time, my time. I was important now, not anyone else. She closed the door to the bathroom. I waited another ten minutes, exercising my patience as I listened. A shower had been turned on and I found my opertunity.

I turned the knob of her bathroom door. It wasn't locked. I chuckled quietly to myself. It amused me that she didn't lock the door. I gingerly opened that door and slipped into the bathroom. Her disgusting body sat as a shadow on the other side of her shower curtains. The reality of my intentions hit me then, the pure Bliss I felt then. This was my time, this was what I had planned for.

I threw the curtain open, my hammer held high. Adrenaline surged through my veins, I slammed down towards her skull prepared to hear the crack. But I missed. Rossfield slipped in fear and fell in the shower. Her skull cracked, not under the power of my hammer, but from slamming it against the bathtub side.

Beautiful, crimson blood trailed from her skull into the shower stream. I sighed and sat at the base of the bathtub, staring at her lifeless, grotesque body. I decided that cleaning wasn't needed. She slipped. That's all. I was never there.

I collected my bag from the closet and meandered back out the back window. This was the start of something beautiful, and I knew it.