Writing Prompts

When Twin Trails Meet

The fall sun beat down warmly upon the hiking trail Alfred N. Knox was walking along.  Really, it was unusually warm for October, especially considering his current atmospheric level. Well, he wasn't all that high.  His chosen hiking spot was less of a mountain and more of a hillock, nothing like one would find deeper in Switzerland, where he was currently on holiday, but he was further above sea level than was his daily norm by over a thousand feet, and that was something at least.

Alfred unzipped his jacket, noticing again how dreadfully tacky the orange thing was,  but it kept him at the perfect temperature for fall,so he put up with it.  No one would see him anyway, no one who counted at least, and if they did, well, there are all sorts of marvelous ways to get rid of people in the mountains, aren't there? He chortled a bit at this thought, and began considering some of them... pushing someone off the edge of a cliff was simple, but so expected, not like him at all.  He had a rifle in his pack, but guns were so boring.  So distant.  And really, most of the exciting things one can do, the types of things that leave policemen scratching their heads and the general public experiencing crushing paranoia, those required more detailed setups. 

No, Alfred insisted to himself when he came to that thought.  I'm a resourceful man.  A Knox!  Of course I can come up with something interesting.  And if I come across another lonely hiker like myself, well, why not try a new technique?  Make the public scared in their homes and on holiday!  He hadn't really been intending to murder anyone on this trip, after all, even killers need their rest, but really, why wouldn't he?  That's what holidays were for, weren't they?  Doing things you enjoy?  Of course, this holiday was more to remove him from his base city while the police were spreading their nets for the "Treble Torturer," but why shouldn't he have fun while he was away from home?

He'd talked himself into it.  If he ran into another hiker, they were as good as gone.  And wouldn't it be lovely to do the whole thing out in the fresh air?  Now, he mused. What's the most painful way he could think of killing someone with a portable propane element, a tin mess kit, three litres of water, a sleeping bag, a one-man pup tent and the contents of a red-cross regulation first-aid package?

Margaret Toff was happy about being on this mountain, on the abnormally warm fall day, with a walking stick in her hand. 

My goodness it's lovely, she thought.  Too bad that she was alone, but she was bound to come across another hiker sooner or later, and then who knows what could happen?  She started daydreaming about who she might come across.  Would they be a man or a woman?  Young or old?  Who would be best? A man, she decided.  And not too old, her own age.  Maybe a few years older.  Forty-five perhaps, to her forty-three.  Yes. He would be a bit roguishly handsome, but carry himself with reasonable dignity.  Oh, wouldn't it be exciting if it was some sort of minor celebrity, she thought, giggling a bit.  But no, she mustn't get her hopes up.   Now if only the fellow she'd imagined really would show up!

Alfred was thinking about taking his jacket off entirely as he rounded a curve in the trail.  He was only getting warmer with all this exercise.  Wait, what was this?  Another trail crossing his?  That's right, he mused. The trail he'd picked was half of the "twin trails."  He hadn't thought they met, but apparently they did. And, was that a figure approaching from it?

"Why hello!" called Alfred.  A woman, he thought.  A middle aged woman.  Haven't done one of those in a while. 

"Oh, hello yourself!"  answered the woman.  "Do wait up won't you?"

"But of course!" he replied. She picked up a bit of speed.  My goodness she's excited for this, he thought.  It's a good thing she doesn't know what's really going to happen.

"Thank you so much for letting me catch you," the woman said, "I was absolutely sick of being alone with my thoughts.  I'm Margaret."  She extended her hand, smiling.  He's perfect, she thought.  That crooked smile he flashed, the confidence he held himself with.  Simply ideal. The jacket isn't exactly attractive, but everything else?  Yes, he'll do just fine.

"Alfred," said Alfred, grasping her hand firmly and giving it a good shake.  She's perfect.  "It's lovely to meet you.  You know, I was hoping to come across someone I could walk with.  Shall we join our two parties?  Unless of course you're heading back the other way?"  How easy this will be if she agrees to come.

"Oh, that would be lovely!" Margaret answered.  How easy this will be.

"Good, then let us set off," Alfred said with a smile, offering his arm to her.  She giggled a bit, slipping her left hand around his elbow.  They set off.

Three hours later.

My goodness this woman is a talkative one, Alfred thought as he set his pack down and began rifling through it.  Then again, he usually only spent a few minutes within talking distance of his victims before they began screaming, so perhaps he just wasn't used to so much conversation.  He sort of liked the discussions they'd been having.  And she was funny too, like when he'd asked where she was from.  "Liverpool, I"m afraid," she'd said, and then she'd done an amusing imitation of a date she'd had who hated Liverpool, raging about it until he had to backpedal furiously after he found out her address.  He smiled remembering the story and how Margaret had told it.  But it didn't matter if he liked her, he'd decided on his methods of torture already.  It had to be done, he'd planned it all already.  Alfred pulled out his mess kit and some cooking supplies, then he unstrapped the rifle from the side of the pack and leaned it against the log next to him.  Margaret was sitting on a stone not too far away.

"I've decided I'll make dinner if you don't mind," Alfred told her.  "I don't do it too often, I'd like the practice."

"Lovely," said Margaret, who had just finished digging her own mess kit and several other odds and ends from her pack.  "The only thing that tastes better than food you've made yourself is food made by anyone else, I always say," she told him.  This is getting better and better, she thought.

"Right," he said.  Every victim deserves a last meal, he thought, I'll make it extra special. 

After a meal of spaghetti he'd packed for himself, accompanied by fried mushrooms they'd found on the way and he'd managed to identify as non-hazardous thanks to a book he'd brought, they ate a dessert of fruitcake he'd kept in a tin.  He did like to eat well.

"My that was good," Margaret said, leaning back.  "I'm glad for all that hiking, though, I won't have to worry about it adding anything!"

"You don't have to worry about that, love," Alfred said.  Now's the time, he thought.Margaret blushed.  "Do you really mean that?" Oh, this is exciting.  It's almost time to pull out all the stops!

"Of course," said Alfred.  "You're a beautiful, interesting woman, and I've loved spending time with you!" he subtly reached for his rifle, which he would use not to kill her but to inspire the type of fear needed for good, strong mental anguish. What was his next line going to be again?  That smile of hers was so distracting. And her clavicle, where he'd decided to carve the treble-clef signature that had given him his name. 'Unfortunately, that time is up.'  That was the line.  Good.  His hand hadn't found the gun.  He glanced down to look at it.  He'd reached past it. My goodness, I'm beyond distracted! He glanced up again to see if Margaret had grown suspicious of what he was doing.

Margaret had moved while he'd glanced away.  Quickly, terrifyingly quickly.  She had a knife in her hand.  Within the split second of him noticing the knife, it was against his throat.

"Unfortunately, that time is up," said Margaret with a smile.  She slashed his jugular in one swift motion.  His eyes, which had already grown to the size of saucers, widened even further.  He choked on his own blood for a moment, just a moment, then the eyes went dead and his head fell back, the weight of it pulling the neck almost in two.  Blood poured down her hands. 

How satisfying, thought Margaret.  My first victim. And what a good exit line, too!