Nighty Night Ripper

“Can’t sleep?” I ask my wife.
“No. You?” she asks.
“Me neither,” I reply.
We both stare at the ceiling for a while. The fan is spinning.
“I can’t stop thinking about that one serial killer,” I say. “They wrote so many scary stories about her. You heard about her too, right?”
“The Nighty Night Ripper?” my wife asks.
“Yeah!” I reply, snapping my fingers. “They say if you left your doors and windows unlocked at night, she’d come inside your house and stab you to death. What the hell.”
“Honey, we’re trying to sleep,” my wife replies.
I laugh. “What? Afraid? She’s long gone. She broke into the wrong house two years ago. They had thirty rottweilers living there. They found her dead in the morning. The dogs had ripped off all her limbs and eaten most of her. What the hell.”
“What a lovely mental image,” my wife grouses.
I laugh again. “I wonder if there was some kind of conspiracy there? Maybe she was a- a contract killer or something. She killed plenty of ordinary Joes to throw the cops off her trail, but really she had a method. She was paid to kill important folks without suspicion.”
“Maybe,” my wife replies.
“I heard they found out she had extra organs during the autopsy,” I add. “Almost as if she was an alien or something. Or grown in a lab. Such a weird story. Guess we’ll never know the truth.”
“That we won’t,” my wife replies.
“Hmm.”
“What?”
“Maybe she’s still alive. Maybe she sent some pasty to die in her place. I hear some killers have apprentices. Maybe it was just her apprentice that became dog food.”
“Guess we’ll never know,” my wife says.
“Not unless she comes back,” I reply.
“Honey, you’re scaring me. Go to sleep,” my wife says.
“What? Am I?” I ask. I laugh. “Look out, honey. The spooky scary Nighty Night Ripper is coming for you. She’ll slit your throat in the dead of night. God save you!”
“For fuck’s sake, Jared, go to sleep!” my wife roars.
We both lie in silence.
“Are YOU the Nighty Night Ripper?” I joke.
“Yes, Jared,” my wife sighs. “You got me. Now go to sleep.”
I chuckle and close my eyes.
“Really?” I ask.
“No. Of course not,” my wife replies. “The Nighty Night Ripper is dead.”
“Not completely. We still remember her, don’t we?”
“I guess we do.”
“True that.”
I pause for a second.
“Give me a minute.”
“What?”
“I need to go check if the door and windows are locked.”
My wife smiles. “Take your time.”
Category:Dismemberment
Category:MalumLibrum958