Category Archives: The Serial Killer

The Serial Killer – Cut Open the Doctor

I Am Not a Serial Killer

I Am Not a Serial Killer (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The Serial Killer – Cut Open the Doctor


Empty my purse and scroll out my pockets because I am about to make a killing, one that would shake the world free from all other shallow-graved bodies. Power is my motive and power is what I am wielding within my hand, bring forth the dark ages as this temptress of the apocalypse is on the verge to seduce sin itself. Thou shall not kill; whoever, people or persons that wrote that wasn’t taking to me, I am an uncomfortable need and like every need, you begin with small doses, soon addiction take effect. Let my weapon free.

“Where you off, babe?” Alan ponders, while picking up Gracie’s toys from the hallway.

“Well a girl has to work and I have to go to my other home and see my other husband, have to do the whole family-time-thing, it’s really hard to be a bad wife.” I jokingly jeer; almost believe my own lies sometimes.

He trundles over and runs his hands all over my body, while I apply my war paint.

“Well give those papers hell, make sure you don’t work too hard; and while you’re out I will invite one of my fancy-ladies around here, maybe a few drinks a few hours under the sheets, you know how it happens.”

I burst out laughing. “Well all those hours I don’t see must be going on her; give her hell, not too many friction burns as I maybe home later and may want to crawl naked into bed with you both.” I apply my burning red lippy.

“Oh God, you can’t say stuff like that and then split.”

I stretch up to his face and leave my red imprint on his cheek.

“Put on the cable and turn to the dirty channels, look for some ideas because when I get back I wanna’ see your best game. I’m going.” I grab my bag.

“Take your umbrella, it said on the news it was forecast for torrential downfall of rain for the next twenty-four hours.” He waft’s the brolly my way.

“Thanks, I love you!” I holler, not too loud to help creek open Gracie’s eyes.

For years I have been losing sleep, it’s countless to finger how much beauty I have lost with this thought; my masterpiece has finally found colour, bring the brush to the skin of the canvas and give evil a face.

This drive will be represented within my life as a bridge; the white lines on the road slither passed my car, should I follow? Nah… This is my purpose. These lines will lead you to his home. Around every turn my bag of bad tricks rustles, chinks and clonks, something wicked inside wants to break out. The heavens open upon my windshield, crying at the future the clouds have already seen, my path in life is soaked in rainwater and blood, luckily I am wearing my boots. I used to think as a girl, everytime it rained, someone had died and it was God crying because they were important; what does he do when a bad person dies? Makes it thunder and lightning, heaven may have a party and that is the angel’s music. Tonight we shall see if he is really watching.

Dr. Jeremiah Rivers, you have abused your position in life and taken innocence from people less than you, today I will extract back what you have taken from us all. But as a doctor you must hear of all kinds of conditions, my true-true shape is that of a Nyctophiliac, I feel comfort and safety within darkness.

I pull up to the woodland that surrounds his safeguard home, a small wall perimeters his castle, this King is about to be killed by the same sword that knighted him. My hair turns from thread to a leather whip which snaps an attack-attach on my face. The mud is that thick it almost takes off my boots with every footstep; luckily the rain will wash away all that I stumbled through. I am rather anxious to get this done for some reason, the feeling of not cleaning a mess when it first arose.

I’m armed into a dingy dim-lit room by a female police officer, a one way window, one table, two chairs, one ashtray and two plastic cups.

“C’mon in Sally, now here is Doctor Rivers, he will be helping you through the emotional anguish from losing a friend, some of us on the force know exactly how you feel. This guy will be able to help you.” She affirms with a smile.

Shockingly I bite into another fingernail the nub seems close, I should move onto another finger before I show blood.

“Will this be recorded?” I lisp in the chaos of my sobs.

“No – no. What you and the doctor talk about will be for your ears only, it will never leave this room.” With her thumb she stokes a tear from my cheek.

Would she treat me the same way if she knew I was the one to commit the heinous crime the news babbles about?

I wrestle into the chair, snugly. The ticks from the clock above the door mimic my steady heartbeat; I must keep up this facade for my sake, if I am too ever get free without chains straggled to my wrists attached to the chair.

Deaden voices chunter beyond the door where two silhouettes stand idle one another. I know one is the female officer, who is rather pleasant to be a police officer, than most. But the fellow reflecting her, he must be the invader of my senses, set in human form and named a psychologist. Yeah, go team psycho!

The doorknob turns and with a twitch so does my head, I find a black smudge on the wall opposing and do not take my focus away from its awesomeness. Do not give him anything, Sally.

“Hello Sally, my name is Doctor Rivers, you can call me that or Jerry, if it makes you feel more comfortable; or not.” He places a wad of papers on the table; he licks his index finger and flicks through each of the top layers with pouting lips from concentration, the occasional murmur from interest and an information overloaded nod erupt from him. What does he know?

“The policemen and women outside, along with your guardians would like me to talk to you in private to perhaps get a better insight into yours and a Miss Lacy Burns. You can tell me anything, your relationship with each other, school, anything that may be inferior; I have to get a broader picture of the people in and out of her life. Okay?”

I chug a nod. “I don’t know what you want from me.” I sputter from excess saliva.

“Anything really; what was Lacy like?” He crosses his palms on the stack of paper.

“Lacy was my best-friend, she was so wonderful to be around…” He jumps into my train-of-thought. “Sally, do you know what secrets are?” I dip my head once. “Well, I have spoken to others within your class and friends of friends and there was a rumour going around that you two were more than friends.” Busted!!! “I am not here to judge, but if you want me to help, I need to know the entire story, not just the parts you feel me, the reader, wants to know. Now shall we start again? Were you and Lacy intimate?”

I give in; if I am going down, there is no point playing it down. He knows.

“Yes. I loved her, I would have died for her; she knew that, but I found out at the end, it was a relationship based on her terms and conditions. I was the outcast and she was the popular girl, our love was the thing that love stories were made of, but in every true love story, tragedy shows its ugly face. She broke my heart with her words, so my actions took on bad-words and I could stop myself, I killed her.” The tears spill over the verge of my eyelids and within a suicidal plummet they each fall to their watery graves. “Tell the world it was me, I was betrayed in love and I did a stupid thing, this is my life. Go tell them.”

He sits back in his chair, his whole demeanour instantly shifts within a sniff of confidence.  His eyes analyse all of me, bit by bit.

This silence lasts forever, almost.

“Now why would I do that?” Okay, I am confused. Is this a trick? “Do you think you’re the only one with secrets? Now keeping secrets is my specialty, I keep them for a living and I have done many a stupid thing in my time, some I am proud of some not so. Now do you really want to spend your life behind bars?” I jiggle my head. “I didn’t think so, now there are no suspects within this case, I could go out there and tell them you two were just friends, I know you want me to do that, but if I do you have to agree to come and see me for private sessions, in my sessions are only my rules.

Back then I reluctantly agreed; I was young and naive. He was just like my disgusting father, made me do things that no one should ever have to do. He abused me along with his power over me; give me life in a real prison any day because he helped put me in one within my mind every day.

The path to his home is spotted my marble stones imbedded into the grass. I stray closer, the kitchen light is on and his back door is wide opened. Something isn’t right. I could always turn and walk but this chance my never come again, he’s heading to an all male prison.

I stretch through the doors, quiet as cat’s footsteps. I hunch-sway through the kitchen, I hear women laughing coming from the living-room. I prey forward, blade in tow, my heart take a leap into overdrive. The living-room is dark-out, the laughs come from a porno on the television; one lazy-boy chair sits in front of the massive screen. A hand extends from the right, grabbing a whiskey bottle and swilling up a glass full, taking the glass back into its confines.

“Well aren’t you going to say anything? I left the door open for you. I knew you would come for me one day, I thought it may have been sooner after what I made you do.” A drunken slur chants with a slurp.

“You knew I was coming to kill you? Why didn’t you run?” I boast with my own confidence.

“Because I help make you; I saw that evil and one thing you can’t run from is the evil you help make. I am the Victor to your Frankenstein monster.” He spins around in his chair. “Let’s get this over and done with.”

I smirk.

“Gladly doctor Jerry. I’m going to cut my secret from you. Nurse – Scalpel.”



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Fiction Writing For Adults – The Serial Killer Part 3 – The Kill of Love

A quiet family meal, Grace sits up close to me so I can wipe her mouth when the food falls off from the fork. Alan sits shovelling mash potato into his mouth, slowly trudging his way through his meatballs.

A male reporter mimes his way through a subtitled story on the television that’s been muted.

“All I am trying to say is it’s a doctor’s duty to make sure he takes better care of his patients and not shoot up on morphine when conducting interviews.” He grumbled over his chewed food.

“What’s a duty?” Gracie interjects.

I wipe her bottom lip with a napkin, gravy.

“It’s someone’s job sweetie. I totally agree with you, it’s a misuse of his power. He wasn’t diagnosing his patients properly and some of them ended their own lives as well as others. A total travesty.”

“And he was getting high from his own stash; any drug dealer I lock up knows that’s the first no-no.”

As Alan shakes his head forward into his piled food, I am the one who is ravenous inside. No one knows this but Dr. Jeremiah Rivers was my doctor as a young teen girl, he was the one to give me help when Lacy Burns was murdered – Yes, by me. – Now as I clean-up our dirty dishes and get ready to go to my second job all I know is the story of her will be on my mind. Your first love and murder usually rest on you heavier than any other.

“I will hold my heart over you.” She injures the demon within me with her words.

The date was early 90’s and lacy and I were sitting making daisy-chains in an open field just behind Donnie Larks farm. This was our spot, our time and how we showed love to one another. For teens worldwide falling for the equal sex for a time in curious nature may just be a fad, but for us it was the real deal; Lacy and Sally forever carved into trees we held each other in. Here we lay staring into each other’s starry eyes. Our ankle socks pulled up high as well as my hope for our love.

“Are we going to be together forever?” I look for my insecurity to be laid to rest, her words will heal me.

“You don’t have to ask, Sal. I love you.” She sucks her tight lips into her mouth. I should have read the signs at this moment.

My world becomes smaller and we are the only two inhabitants on it. I jerk my face quickly towards her and peck her on the lips.  This is how I want my life to be until the end of time.

“Say something, I want to hear your voice.” I urge.

She turns on her side and arches up her head with her hand. I look up to the sapphire sky with lightly dotted clouds.

“Once upon a time, the sun and moon were in love; a man fell in love with the sun, but with a passion he hated the Moon. So with his magic powers he separated the Sun and the moon forever. Now the Sun shows her face during the day and the moon took upon the night, one day every thousand years they meet in an eclipse, but during their time apart they send wish messages on the wind, depending on the power of the wish, depends on the speed of the wind.”

“Run away with me.” An idea sparks my words.

“What? …Where will we go?” She squeaks.

“Anywhere as long as it’s with you, it’s you I want to be with, that’s all I know.” I pull her closer and hold her head on me.

We made plans to jump town and get on a train and head into the sunset far beyond our eyes can see.  So here I am waiting under our tree, stars and moon watching over me. I am so in love, I don’t even realise she is twenty-five minutes late on us meeting.

Where should we go? We can always get part-time jobs build up our money and head for Paris, a dream you can almost touch.  I look ideally at my watch to figure out what could be taking so long? Maybe her father has found out about our running away? She got lost in the dark? Kidnapped? ….Cold feet? Possibly.

After a long night of my hope waiting in the darkness as a thrown out dog, I head to my heart owners home for answers. Knock-knock, her mother answers in her 50’s style dress code, she is very beautiful.

“Hi there Mrs. Burns, is Lacy home?” I politely cluck.

“Hi Sally, I am sorry, Lace has gone on a date with Jason Stewart from school; you two are so close, I thought she would have told you.” My heart breaks, love has become her weapon to use against me, she has shot me so many times in the same spot.

“No, she didn’t mention it to me, thank you.” I turn and the door closes on me and our love.

She has destroyed my world I guess that is her nature, but revenge for this hurt turns into an idea which springs up instantaneously. Stick to the rules of yourself, do not hurt anyone to further yourself and you will live. A monster is born.

After 22 hours of persistent phone calls and door knocks she has agreed to meet me, but we must keep it a secret as I am sure this will be our break up, she can only kill me once.

Moping across broken twigs and dead plant life, her head in between her legs to show the hurt she put me through, she knows she is in the wrong.

Her hands stretched out to bargain. “Please Sal, just hear me out.”

Biting my tongue and holding back my shattered hearts pieces I hold cupped within my hand, I nod.

“I think we should just be friends, it’s not that I don’t love you it’s just that I can’t love you just yet.” Here come the water-works. “And I know what we have is special but we are living a lie if we think we can get away with it and it not slip out and have everyone call us out.”

One thousand and one things to say and she has me stumped, she really is my kryptonite.

“So why when we started to do this did you continue, if deep down you were feeling like this? Stopped me before I fell by myself in love, huh? Lead me along the road of a happy future and you hitch a ride from someone else and leave me stranded. How shitty is that?”

Nothing but the caws from crows and hoots from owls fill this awkwardness.

“Yeah well, it’s not like it was real or anything.”

Right there I become a libertine, my thoughts clear away all I want to say as my head rises to darkness.

“You bitch, that really does hurt me. You better because I am going to chase you.”

The fear of her life lies on her face, she about turns and runs for her life.

We lollop through the low branches. Pants and slight breathable squeaks shunt through the nightlife.  As she turns to see her stalker she is clothes-lined by a branch is hurtled backwards to the floor. I stop my chase and walk to Lacy, she is going nowhere.

“Why couldn’t you just love me?” I sputter up the shards of hate.

She tries to show words but her mouth is battered from the impact. She reaches out her hand and tries to bring me down to help level for a makeup hug.

“You made my heart bleed for you, now it’s your turn.” I reach for a branch and crack it straight through her rib cage and have it protruding from her beautiful heart.

The love has gone.

Dr. Jeremiah Rivers was the psychologist assigned to Lacy’s case to perhaps find who did it and also give the ones she loved some mental support.

I guess he didn’t do his job properly and now from my point of view he could have stopped me years ago, I wonder what other monsters he let slip through his fingers. It doesn’t matter, I am going to pay him a visit and get the answers I want.

Time to for my dark side to take control.

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Psychological Fiction Writing for Teens & Adults – The Serial Killer Part 2 – Hollywood in Flames – Written by Alexander Kennedy

So here it is, the second part of Alex Kennedys “The Serial Killer” Stories. We have been overwhelmed by the emails from fans of psychological thrillers asking for me. So the wait is over. We hope you enjoy. Like, Comment and Subscribe.

Caution Advised: Bad Language.

The Serial Killer Part 2 – Hollywood in Flames.

I kill and mangle insides without a second thought but I love Grace more than life itself. I do wonder sometimes while she is within my arms if she will ever amount to being a monster like her mother.

“Mommy’s going to work, come give her a kiss.” I urge from the hallway.

Little Grace toddles over to me, gripping the dolls hair as it’s dragged along the floor. Blonde curls and rose cheeks and a smile to ease the demon.

“What time you gon’ be back?” Gracey pouts.

I lower myself to her level; taking one of her hands and re-raising her sad face that has found refuge at her feet in a sulk.

“Well past your bedtime. Mommy has to go talk to a bad movie man who has done some really awful things. But I tell you what, when I get back home I will come and tuck you in and kiss you goodnight. Okay?” I hint with a wink.

Her eyes brighten up with a quick show of her gums. She scampers off, bare foot across the laminate flooring to her cartoons playing in the other room.

The way I look at parenthood, to protect the one thing I love more on this floating toilet I must kill like a African wildcat to ensure my pup has a safer chance of survival within this dangling rock.

I grab hold of my handbag full of torture techniques and weapons, disguises and phony I.D’s. What more could a suburban female killer need?

I enter my car and turn on the radio to Eminem, this guys lyrics hit just the right note for the symphony I will be playing with someone’s lungs tonight. My target, Jack Foreman, Hollywood actor from such action movies like, Enter the bullet, Beats of the bad and my personal favourite, Tainted. But tonight Hollywood and I will be making our debut in a new slasher-horror movie, I will write as I go with the flow called; you like to take the purity from little kids and that really pisses me off to the point where you have to die, asshole! …Good title, huh? I’m sure it will be a blockbuster hit worldwide.

I know I’m a small-time T.V. reporter for channel 43, every other week when the regular guy is sick, but hey, I’m working within a global recession. I can’t stand with all the reporting saners and still get in.

He will be locked away in his hotel room, a scared king in his castle, with over fifty networks from around the globe circling his moat, nibbling at his door handle for the chance to ask just one question or get one quote from his people. So a diversion is needed for us to be all alone, so I can take his soul he has taken from the innocent. This is a once in a lifetime, one on one converse, where all doors are open as well as his windpipe.

I pull up across the street of the Tyrann Hotel, which stretches to the clouds and camouflages into the night the further you look up. Flashes from photographers and limelight’s for the news anchors enlighten the feet of the skyscraper. I am a superwoman; they call me the woman of steel. What is a skyscraper? Probable rubble; but I always get my man and will go through hell fires to ensure this death.

My disguise on and my fury on fire; I exit the car with the master plan of extinguishing a star. All eyes of the surrounding area are focused on the media, flash riots and speculations. So I slip blindly passed the by-passers and cameras in my dock martins.

I enter the underground structure of the skyscraper, dynamite would be a great idea if I had any, drag the star down to the ground, I don’t, but this is my justice I must see through. A plan of how to enter the building still baffles me, everything is security locked and swiped.

Just before the nervousness of failure snuggled into me like a bad idea; when a stroke of luck in the sound of clonks from over within the darkness echoes through the doubt, within the shape of heels across the oil spills and tire burns on the floor. A middle-aged woman; grasping her bag that rests on her waist; her wide eyes show so much hope to the light that rest behind the door to the car park.

“Excuse me, do you have the time.” I query. At first she seems startled to my presence; a sigh of relief is puffed when she realized I am a normal girl, just like her, sort of…

“Oh God, you’re one of those reporters aren’t you?” She begins to walk fast towards the door, I slink behind. “The answer is no, I’m not letting you in, so you and your blood sucking vulture friends can fuck off. We’re not allowed to let any of you in or say a word or we could lose our jobs.” She asserts.

“I’m sorry, I have offended you.” She stops in her tracks and turns with sorrow. “But bitch, you need to learn some manners; what mommy and daddy weren’t strict? You’re lucky I don’t kill you where you stand; and I am no vulture, I kill my own prey.” With that I pummel her face until she falls over, knocked-out. A small price for her to pay to make this world a little safer from bad guys, now I know what you’re thinking but my evil is necessary.

I thought she may have been a receptionist or a cook but I have just hit the jackpot, a cleaner, with access to everyone’s room and lives.

Standing in the elevator watching the light jump from number to number, I look upon my thoughts and back track my overreaction to my addiction of murder, victim to victim. Why should the people in power take what they want? I am the result, the aftermath, the monster my dad and his friends made on that day.  School was a nightmare and my dad had heavy feet, not only on my ribs but also when he walked on the floorboards of our broken home. Mom left us both for another man with another family; I guess it was her loss.

I’m stuck in a world that doesn’t understand me, I just don’t fit in anywhere; I think deep down I like it this way, alone.

“Sally, get your ass up already!” He rumbles the windows when he shouts.

I could slash out my eyes to not witness anymore hurt; I do hear that if you lose one sense that your others heighten. I creep down the stairs, tiptoeing in my sneakers upon the edge of each step.

“I’m up; I will pick something to eat on the way to school.” I report quietly.

He sits on his faded patterned, raggedy chair; an opened paper obscures his entire nefariousness to me.

“Good; make sure you get there on time, I don’t send those school cheques for you to sleep in and be tardy. You hear me, bitch.” The paper comes down. His bilious stare helps tense up my bruised stomach. Bar brawling scars echo on his nose and cheeks. His exterior is that of a builder and that is because he lost his job building after he started drinking when mom left, she has a lot to answer for. He glocks a full mug of coffee in front of me; waiting for me to step out of line somehow.

“Get out of here, and remember what I said. Oh and I am having some friends over tonight, for some beers.” The paper rises again.

I do a kind of weak curtsy to him before I make a hasty retreat to his eructs.

{High School}

I have a secret. To tell you the truth, I was a girly nerd, a nerd who wanted to be more. But how can you be more when you’re in high school? Ritualistically bullied because of my body’s small build and my adventurous nature I take when I escape into learning.

I walk down the busy hallway, eye shy within the traffic jams of people, honks of nicknames and insults along with clips of closed lockers. I huddle into my homework with both arms; I stare at the floor, a meter in front of me the whole way to my class, English lit.

“Hey skank, you’re walking in my way, your bad.” I get shouldered by a Lacy Burns, the make-up queen. My life is hell here.

I wasn’t in any click or associated with any group, I couldn’t even blend in evenly. I did try to dress accordingly, a blue shirt with a black dragon logo on the back, fitted jeans and my sneakers; still wasn’t enough for the pop-kids.

I never wanted to be this girl but this is the result of my history that shifted my geography, since then my mathematical problems doubled, tripled and quadrupled and within my science all I am left with is the P.E. I learned that made me run away with a pipe-dream for bad English and dark-side of the human anatomy and biology.


I dragged the tips of my feet through the front door, unravelling my arms from my backpack. I glance into the living room. A football game, a few packs of beer and extreme whiff of weed, smoke fills the room as angry faces indented in the atmosphere.

“I’m home dad.” I chimed in over the horde of grunts and belly laughs of drunken men.

Not even a look of care. I slink off up the stairs, counting ever step to my mortifying loneliness.

An hour had breezed by, when an unnerving thought sprinkles over my skin to give me goosebumps. Silence has moved in downstairs. I waft down my Superman comic; the creeks of floorboards outside my room were deathly deafening. The stairs lead straight to my door, I don’t have a lock on it anymore; he kept on breaking it down. The door flings open to the reason of my addiction. I won’t go on and put my mental thought process over what 4 fully grown men and my dad did to me; you have an imagination almost as sick as mine, use it, but please keep it there.

I will tell you later on that night, I remember brushing my hair in stupor, one stroke at a time, prolonged and emotionless. I place my brush next to my make-up bag, not breaking eye contact with myself in the mirror. Red marks and slight scratches show off in the mirror as highlighted sex brandings.

I wipe clear everything on my countertop.

“AAAARRRHHHHHHHH! You fucking bastard; fucking evil sadistic fucker! You want a piece of me, huh?! Get you fucking ass up here and fight me like the cunt you are, Dad!” I dared him as my monster surfaced from the grave I had kept it in. I don’t break contact with both sides of myself in the mirror, looking for a familiar side of me to creep behind the shimmer.

The sound of beer can’s being trampled on and kicked to a side echo from downstairs. He is coming, the oaf. No more backing down Sal, these people have made your life hell and expected you to live in it, so why not show them the hell they so easily send you in everyday.

As he stomps I march for battle, fist clenched and teeth bared. From within my bedroom I see his head bob and weave to aside, still shitfaced. I shan’t even let him get that far, I take off running for him and by the time I know it, I am hurtling myself through the air, open palms in his direction. I collide with him and we both tumble-down the stairwell.

I remember waking up sometime later; this was the last time I was ever in his arms and also the last time he was on top of me.

And ever since I have always found and detested men or women who take advantage of their position within this world, whatever the power.

The remembrance of murder will have to wait, the ding from the top floor is about to go. I will rethink about past murders later.

I need a plan for this guy; think Sally, think… Ding*

I exit warily, peaking around the bends with my peepers. Two bodyguards are yakking to one another outside of room 126. Now I must make those cretins skedaddle for about five minutes without Jacky boy.  Sally, you’re an evil genius.

I reach into my bag and retrieve a fake news reporter I.D. card and a powerful camera but the necessity must be able to carry it within my pocket. I exit the elevator, walking in the completely opposite direction; I can feel their eyes on me. My time here must be terse, so let’s get to work.

I turn the corner, my back up against a wall near to the stairwell. I have one finally look around. I pull the fire alarm lever. A shrill pulse chants through every hallway, the elevator doors close along with my back of tricks lying on the floor, I will get it later. I can just about eavesdrop on the bodyguards trying to figure out what is happening and what to do, over the shriek.

I head through the stairway door and head to the reclusive shadows of the last flight of stairs, I sit and wait. One of the bodyguards chops through the door, walkie-talkie in hand shouting orders at the security downstairs.

Round about now, an assemblage of paparazzi are edging their eagerness through the security officers and entering the building. Jack Foreman has been left all alone within his room to ensure his own safety until they figure out if there is a blaze somewhere in the building or if someone has a deadly prank to play. I strut down the stairs; the ringing of the siren imbues a ring within the ear. I trudge while the sound of screams cannot be heard.

The corridor horror-show is empty, a time to strike. I love fire alarms, when you have a system like this one, where you have to swipe electronically to get into a room, in the result of a fire alarm all room doors open automatically to certify safety is carried out.

I walk straight in through the door; from under my blouse I retrieve the black-lace with knife in it, pushing the material in my back pocket. He stands at the window wall; the skyline of the entire city is pictured perfectly from this angle. A brandy in hand, his thoughts blank out the alarm and hustle downstairs, he swigs another dreg.

I wrap my gloved hands over his forehead and press the blade against his neck, his glass drops to the floor.

“People like you shouldn’t be allowed to live!” I snarl over the racket.

Within one flash I stripe him across his Adam’s-apple, the blood sprays over the window, bloodstained glass. I look at his peripheral vision, his eyes glued to the horizon line as he has reached his own. I let him go, he shucks to the ground lifeless. A star has been extinguished.

Now here comes the tricky part, I wrap my weapon back in its lace-case and put him to bed under my waistband. I fix up my disguise and retrieve the phony I.D. and camera and begin to take pictures of him lying in a slump. The blood flood edges my way.

At that moment the Fire-alarm stops screaming. I hear a multitude of footsteps stampeding in my direction. The door bursts open.

“Oh my God is he dead? He’s been fricken’ murdered.” A male voice says.

I stand in stun. Is this security or a bodyguard or is it who I am hoping it to be? A man stands at my side, scruffy looking with long bedraggled hair, big thick glasses and a camera in hand.

“Hey, I’m Dave, channel 9, central news. Did you find the body?” Dave ponders as he winds up his camera. The party gets bigger as another several men join the carnage of the murder scene. Each taking pictures from all different angles.

Security bursts in from the door, tackling Dave and another couple of men. I stand in the corner as tussles and scraps break out between the paparazzi and the security.

“We need more security up here now; Jack Foreman has been murdered in his suit!” One security officer barks down the walkie-talkie.

And while the room turns less violent with thrown punches and name-calling, I make my retreat out of the room. The doors to the elevator open as soon as I reach them, I walk in faced down to avoid the cameras; I pick up my bag and hoop it over my shoulder. I press the G1 button on the panel, halfway home.

The lobby of the hotel has become overrun with reporters and police officers and without an effort I exit the building to freedom and scurry over a couple of roads to my parked car, away from this madness.

A sigh of relief I exhale. I turn the key in the ignition and begin my journey back home to my little Gracie, need to tuck her in and kiss her goodnight.

I stand in front of the camera, microphone in hand. I feel comely to the eye of every man surrounding me.

“3, 2, 1 and… Action.” Chris my cameraman points in my direction.

I put the microphone just below my chest.

“Good-evening, Mark. All we know at this time is the actor, Jack Foreman, has been murdered within his hotel room at some point last night. This is the man Hollywood dubbed the next Paul Newman of our time. But recent weeks of the actor’s life have been sent into turmoil after allegations of sex acts had surfaced, that is the reason behind him being held up within the hotel, behind me. His people and the police have not released any other details of the case or the why, but all we can do is keep watchful eye on what the investigators and pathologist say when they have done their reports. We know there is a strange female reporter and a few men found at the scene that the police are interested in talking to. It is a sad day for fans worldwide. All of our thoughts go out to his friends and family from channel 43 news. This is Sally Rose, here at Tyrann Hotel. Back to you in the studio.”

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Filed under Fiction, Literacy, Story, The Serial Killer, Writer, Writing, Writing #2

The Serial Killer Part 1. Chalk-Lines and Blood-Spatters

Here is another installment for the Young Adult Fiction Writer, Alexander Kennedy. This is a narrative thought processed story of a serial killer with good intentions and also alot of raised questions about her past. Like, Comment and subscribe.

Caution Adivised – Bad Language.

The Serial Killer Part 1. Chalk-Lines and Blood-Spatters

I am going to show all of the saners worldwide, my world.

I guess introductions are necessary at this point, my name is Sally. This is my fifth Vic; I would like to believe I am doing a public service when killing. There are not large job openings on either sides of my curriculum vital, upon one side, my normal job title of TV reporter, advanced literacy conqueror, mother to my little girl, Grace; wife to my beloved Alan, a police officer for six years, seven months and fourteen days. Upon the other side of my page, written in invisible blood, I am a psychopathic murderer.

He lies hogtied in his stripy boxers on the motel bed, wriggling, baby-like; unable to shuffle his little toes just yet. Not yet found his big-boy voice to cry for his mommy, the pervert’s mouth is duct taped; I drew a smile over it in black felt-tip. How dare he anyway think I was streetwalking bimbo; who just came here to fuck the dark memories away, how wrong was he? My dark memories are about to fuck him.

I stick him in his podgy belly with a box-cutter; he groans under his voice in pain, his eyes shut trying to remember a few minutes prior to the cut.

“Stupid little man, I ain’t no prostitute and I certainly ain’t no business venture you can finger fuck over with your board of directors, overtake a small company and leave hundreds of people not only fighting for their jobs, but also money and food to keep their families from harm. This is your judgement Terry Wilkinson, CEO of the Formed Electrics Empire. You make billions off business investments and liquidizing smaller projects assets. And here we are a corrupt billionaire, a motel room and a killer.” I theorize.

I fix up my disguise in the finger-printed mirror, black gloves on, contact lenses and wig. From my jacket I reveal an item wrapped in a black cloth, I place it ever-so gently upon the dresser. And duel my reflection once more.

“Imagine, Terry, a plethora of teeth chattering, heart cupped, fear gulping saner’s, saners are people, which would inevitably be someone like you. Now this mob is being chased, about to be mort by a maladroit soul who is swinging an axe; he is chopping down people who are slow on the foot. This type of psychopath is what I like to call Fire-holders; these fire-holders have always had a problem with society, thinking they have been wronged in some fashion and have to take their angst out on innocent people.  Their mental health problems have always been known by everyone within their path of life. Now an ice-holder like me is the person who befriended you years prior to this act of an attack with axing; came round for beers and dinner, basically loved you. But hold your thoughts right there. Within this evil event, I am the person who would suggest hiding within this room where the lock is on the inside, I turn the key and put it within my pocket and reveal my own axe. You see, where the fire-holder only gets a handful of victims, I will get a roomful. I am smarter. I am.”

He begins to shake his head, I believe he wants to get something off from his chest; hopefully it’s his heart; if I remove the gag he will scream as if he was a teenage girl losing her virginity.

“Why are you shaking your head, Terry? Is your head going to fall off? Don’t worry, you will not be forgotten within this world, I want the whole world to know you were killed here in this poggy room, and still you are shaking your head. Here, let me give your head a head-start.”

I pick up the item wrapped in a black cloth and unfold it. An old knife rustic knife lays silently on the material, it has been over used and sharpened so many times, the wonder is, why hasn’t it been trashed by now?

Wrapping each one of my fingers around the handle, I march for a war of wrath against Terry, taking the knife and dragging the life from his throat.

Silence is the scream within the night that screams back around.

Nothingness has his grasp around my trembling hands and vacant eyes. The blood treacle’s from his void, spraying the sheets and carpet red. I wrap my weapon back in its cover, putting him to bed. I made sure I touched nothing and maintain on doing so. I retreat from the chalk-scene and blood-spatters into the danky bathroom, pubic hair toilet rims and used condoms in the bathtub.

I open the bathroom window and making sure no scuff marks are left, I exit cat-like. I do not close the window, the less I touch the less I am likely to be caught. I have no ties to this man; it will look on the news as a sex scandal gone wrong.

Over the brush I travel, not looking out of place, hood up and on a one way mission towards my car which is a thirty minute walk away. I take my high heels off and plonk them in a homeless man barrel fire, no shoe prints. I make no face contact with the homeless man; he was drunk anyway so his testimony is invalid.

I get into my beamer, sitting in my seat, putting my head back while I listen to Otis Redding – Dock on the bay.

I am a killer; I never thought as a child I would amount to anything, now all I do is scare the streets to staying in at night, an old west scenario, when you rolled into town and they closed their doors and shutter windows. I didn’t want any of this to happen but once I started it was for the greater good for my own benefit and now it’s a solution to stop people to find out who I am and what I’ve done. I feel so crippled with this anger of shadows within me.

I know now, I am here from this world’s amusement and disobedience; I am a walking, talking Frankenstein monster, they made me and now they can’t control me. I am worse than any terrorist, thug or nuclear weapon because I know who and truly why I am killing, I put the effort in to know how these people will die in a precise way and I follow no one’s plans. You can call me evil, scum or inhumane but my mother branded me as Sally.

I’m twenty-seven years old and I’ve lost count on how many people have crossed my path and lost their future in some diabolical way. Someday I will take my own life, but before I do I would like to tell you my story, but with every story there is a beginning and an end. So let me take you back to the warm summer in Clayford, a small suburban community. It was nineteen ninety-seven, I was thirteen years old when my soul was taken from me, my father had a rough time at work and I was the one to blame, I was the one who helped his anger process really get loose, the office banter must have been my fault too. That’s when he and his friends came.

I laid belly flat on that ground, burning ants with my magnifying glass. I was a really goofy looking kid and that wavy brown hair was nothing to be proud of. She rolled by on her pink bike with entourage, Lacey Burns, Her dad owed Burns hardware store in Town. She will always live within my memory as perfection. She will always be my first love and first victim.

I’m getting a little too far ahead from head. I think I will leave my coldblooded thoughts to rest in peace for tonight, I do not wish to tell you all my tales, straight away, you’re a stranger. Perhaps another night we can continue.

But for tonight I am going home to spend time with my little Gracey before her bedtime; I like knowing the world has one less corruptor within in. I will sleep well after Alan time. Goodnight and I will be seeing you soon.

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