A Descent into Darkness

Ol'Bonnie

I'm hiding in the closet of the master bedroom, waiting for her to come home. My murder kit sits on the floor next to me. My hood is down, with my mask on top of my head. No sense wearing it until I have to. If I'm being honest. It's not all that comfortable.

I'm trembling with excitement. I'm finally going to do it. I'm finally going to kill someone. I'm going to wait until she opens the closet or goes to bed, then make my move. I'll use the chloroform to knock her out. Though I have to be careful. She's old, and I want to make this last. If I use too much force at first, or used too much chloroform, I may kill her too quickly.

I hear a sound from downstairs and my excitement increases even more. She's home. I lower the mask onto my face and pull the hood up. As uncomfortable as it is, there is something immensely enjoyable about the attire. Just being that anonymous psycho. The person has no idea who you are. They have no idea what you look like. You're not a person. You're a thing that's about to inflict untold horrors on them, and they have no idea what, or for how long. With all those factors just adding to their confusion and terror.

I get the cloth ready as I hear footsteps coming into the bedroom. I then prepare to pounce as they come towards the closet.

The closet doors open. I lunge out to grab my victim, the cloth in my gloved hand. But I quickly realize something's wrong. The spot where the victim was a moment ago to open the doors is empty, and I'm grabbing at empty air. Though the weirder part is who is standing on the other side of the room, watching me. It's not the old woman whom I came here to kill. It's Rachel.

I freeze, the cloth still in my hand. Not because I wanted to. But an invisible force has grabbed me and is holding me in place.

"Tsk tsk. Nate, what are you doing with me?" she asks, tauntingly, while walking around me. "You've wanted to kill me for nearly fifteen years, and now you want to fuck me?"

I try to say something, but my lips don't move. Maybe because I don't know what to say. Typical of me.

"No," she says, pacing back and forth in front of me. "No, you don't want to fuck anyone, do you? You've never wanted to do that with anyone. So, what do you want to do with me, Wet Rivers?"

I tense up as she uses the name she used to bully me with in elementary school.

"I told you, I want to have dinner with you!" my lips finally move.

Suddenly, I'm in the middle of the room, stripped naked, and tied to a chair. Rachel is standing over me, dressed in my hoodie without the mask, with a knife in her hand.

"Are you sure this isn't what you want?" she asks holding the knife up. "Is this not what you wanted to do to me for years? Why do you suddenly not want to?"

"Because...because..."

"Because what?" she asks. "Because I like Jim Jefferies? Because I enjoy Star Trek? Naughty Dog games? Are you saying that if I didn't like those things that I would still deserve to die?"

The invisible force holds my mouth shut as Rachel starts walking around the room, examining each object closely.

"Nice room," she observes. "Whose is it?" She looks at be expectantly.

"Its...its..."

"It belongs to the woman you were about to kill four months ago," Rachel finishes for me. "But you never learned her name, did you? You didn't want to humanize her. And you avoided reading the newspapers after because you were freaking out." She resumes her walk around the room.

"Lovely family," she notes, looking at pictures on the nightstand, before looking back at me. "You thought so too as you looked at these that night, didn't you?"