His Little Cannibal (Creepypasta)

Extra: Tristan

All it took was another 30 seconds of that disgusting, open-mouthed chewing to make the young man snap and swing the pan at his friend's head with at full strength. The sickening crack echoed in the kitchen, followed with almost silent drips of blood falling on the tiled floor.

He tightened his grip on the handle as his shoulders shook slightly, his eyes wide at the sight of his unconscious friend.

Or maybe he was dead.

His back hit the wall and he slid, his whole body shaking more violently, a series of small sobs escaping the young man. Then, it soon progressed into laughter, loud, manic laughter.

A loud thump on the floor had him shutting up, the interrupting sound followed by a "Shut the hell up, boy!", by his friend's aunt.

After he calmed, he grinned at his friend's body, suppressing another bout of laughter.

It wasn't his fault. He did ask that Glenn stop his goddamn, obnoxious chewing before he did something drastic.

It wasn't his fault.

A shaky breath escaped his mouth as he stood and checked his pulse. How fun, Glenn was still alive.

He grabbed a kitchen knife, not hesitant at all when he spit his throat. This wasn't necessary.

Glenn was a little b*tch when the young man expressed anger, immediately apologizing and handing over his money or whatever he wanted. He could definitely be scared into keeping quiet about this, make up his own excuse for being so terribly injured.

But he killed the little coward anyway.

He burst into giggles, gripping the knife handle and plunged it into Glenn's pretty face, avoiding his pretty eyes. He always liked his eyes.

Another thump interrupted his fun, reminding him that there was a middle aged, terribly moody woman upstairs. A definite witness if she were to come downstairs.

He grinned. A small problem that could be fixed easily, with the same knife.

-

His first murder was messy, he'd admit. He didn't even bother cleaning the few stains on the floor. How idiotic. Sure he'd gotten rid of the bodies, burned his clothing, and properly disposed of the knife, but he forgot the floor.

Moron.

Though he was quite happy with the second.

It was unintentional, like the first, but he made sure everything was squeaky clean.

It happened at his girlfriend's house, when his girl's obsessive ex barged in, scaring the poor thing. It didn't help that his face was in between her legs.

It happened so fast, when the man charged him with a small knife. But he happened to be drunk, so his movements were sloppy, uncoordinated by his rage. It was too easy to knock him down and force the knife out of his hands to slam it into his eye.

Like before, quite unnecessary. He could've just knocked him out, called the police, calm his terrified girlfriend. But it felt too fun to resist.

Madge's shrill scream was annoying, so he solved that by knocking her out.

When he stabbed the ex with an appropriate knife, he tied his lovely Madge up in a chair and quickly went to do his best at dismembering the corpse. It was not as easy as he'd thought.