Spook The Killer

My town had a bit of a problem. You see, we had a serial killer, roaming about in the area. At first, I brushed it off. The killer wasn’t on my turf and the only reason I leave town nowadays is to hunt game up north. Then the local newspaper had an article about him. He was described as a young male of unknown race, extremely tall according to witnesses. He was noted to have been wearing a mask during all of his attacks. A white mask with a massive smile drawn on its bottom half, along with big black circles around the eye holes. Basically, a clown, I wasn’t really shocked that a modern-day serial killer would choose this type of a look.

The article also noted how he preferred to use some sort of a large sharp weapon and has a tendency to psychologically tormenting his victims before attempting to strike them down. That made me wonder if taking an explosive to the face would make him feel? Would that be enough of psychological torture? I brushed it off and carried on as usual. Others were more concerned than me with this guy. That all changed when they found the corpse of a kid dumped in a drainage tunnel. He mutilated the little thing beyond recognition with cuts all over her body. Her face was completely destroyed, and her uterus was gone, I think. My memory doesn’t work as well as it used to.

From that point onward, I’ve decided to be extra careful. God knows what this sick fuck could do after what he did to that girl. I’ve spent less time out of the house and avoided going out at night. I’m not that old, but I am disabled. It wouldn’t surprise me if the bastard decided to go after someone like me.

Eventually, he did.

I remember going to sleep as usual. The wife and kids are abroad, visiting her relatives. I was never the biggest fan of that bunch. Her mother is a pain in the ass, though maybe I shouldn’t be saying that. Anyway, I was sound asleep when the noise of something collapsing onto my porch woke me up.

That wasn’t the dog. She was sleeping right next to me.

I forced myself out of bed and made my way through the house, which was uncharacteristically dark. The light was out. Looking out of the living room window, I could see the light emanating from my neighbor’s house. That meant, either, something was wrong with the wiring, which was unlikely; the house was recently renovated, or someone turned the power off. In both cases, I had to make my way out to check the power box.

So, I made my way slowly towards the front door, half pissed, half asleep. The moment I opened my front door, I was finally fully awakened. The best way I could put it is, I was punched in the face by the awful smell of rotting flesh mixed with something sweet. A slimy black garbage bag greeted my eyes. My agitation was replaced with heightened alertness. Whoever left it there was a sick piece of shit. The smell alone should be enough for this bag to be considered a chemical weapon. I dared open the thing; the odor made me recoil and the sight inside didn’t make it much better. Something that looked like a part of a human. Not thinking too much, I lifted the bag carefully and tossed into the garden, better there than the porch.

I then swiftly made my way towards the power box, which was turned off. Someone turned it off. When a sigh emanated from behind me, it all made sense. It was the man from the newspapers.

I turned around, but there was nobody there. He had nowhere to hide either. My yard has no bushes, or high trees.

Regardless, I knew what I had to do; I bolted back inside and locked the door while the various electronics around the house began showering the rooms with their little lights. My dog woke up and came to greet me as if I was gone for a while. What a good girl she is. Sending her back to sleep I went to get one of my rifle if this fucker wanted a piece of me, I was willing to give him one.

I loaded the gun and cocked it, before taking it back into bed with me.

All the while I was arming myself, I could hear disturbing moaning and grunting coming from outside the house. I really hope he was just making these noises to freak me out. Psychological torture my ass. Just some perverted sadist.

I got back into the bed and closed my eyes, waiting for the son of a gun to show up, bursting in through my door. Nothing came though, and I guess I dozed off again before being jolted awake by the sounds of barking and someone banging on my front door.

I hushed the dog, but the banging wouldn’t stop.

I knew going to him would be a mistake, so I ignored his attempts to lure me.

He let out an anguished cry, and the banging stopped.

I knew he was playing his sick game with me, so I just stayed put, waiting for his next move.

Nothing came again, and I guess I just passed out once more.

Tock… tock… tock…

I shifted in my bed, hearing a faint knocking on my window.

Tock… tock… tock…

The knocking persisted.

Tock… tock… tock…

I finally awoke, facing the window, son of a bitch scaring the living shit out of me. Imagine waking up to the sight of a giant with a pale face and huge toothy grin smeared on its face, tapping with the handle of a machete on your window.

My heartbeat skyrocketed and my head filtered out everything other than this man’s form. I picked up the rifle and aimed at his chest before yelling at him that I’ll blow a hole through him. The dog was barking and snarling at the window. He didn’t seem to care, just lowered his weapon, and tilted his head to the side before running his finger across his neck.

I guess he didn’t think I had it in me to shoot him, but I did.

An idea formed in my head; I lowered the rifle and turned to face the bed. Son of a bitch ran the blade of his machete over my window. That pissed me off. The sound of steel on glass irritated me. The notion of this guy just showing up on my property and dumping his garbage on my porch pissed me off. He dared threaten me!

I turned around and snarled at that gigantic bastard.

His reaction was to stumble back. He was visibly cowering away from me, before losing his footing and rolling down the hill on which my property stands.

I called the cops, and they’ve arrested him shortly after. He broke his back on the fall, and I’m pretty sure he would be able to ever walk again, not that it matters. He’s probably going to spend the rest of his life behind bars.

Now, it might be surprising that a man who is probably a foot taller than me with a weapon and an apparent lack of fear suddenly got scared of me, the average Joe. Heck, I’m not even average, I’m below average – I’m disabled.

Well, herein lies the secret. My disability results from having a grenade going off close to my face.

I’m pretty sure anyone would run away in fear if they saw me in the middle of the night without my prostheses. I look like the lovechild of Jason Voorhees in his advanced decomposed state and Freddy Krueger missing a left eye.