Robert sat in front of his computer, his hands hovering in apprehension over the keys. The voice in his head was urging him on but he himself was still deciding whether or not he should attempt it. What’s the even point? He thought. Three dull years of his life had gone by without a whiff of violence or gore. It was unbearable. No, he thought, what if I get caught this time?
This argument definitely had grounded. The last girl had been found after two months of the police searching, in the riverbed where Robert had left her. The body was half disintegrated, rotted flesh hanging off of her decayed bones like clothes off a washing line – only dead. The report he saw described the smell as rancid and molding, like gone off meat and that the flies hung around the body even after it was moved to the mortuary. Thinking about this didn’t help. In reality, it made him want it more. That sublime rush of endorphins to his brain, watching the light drain from their eyes as thick and slow as the blood from wherever they were sliced, ground or chopped.
He couldn’t hold back any longer. His fingers were now moving hungrily over the keys in search of ideas. He needed ideas. It has to special this time, he thought. It has to be noticeable. He glanced through the articles on the Google page. All he could see were some dodgy looking Reddit threads and the Wikipedia page for some TV show. Typical, he thought bitterly. Every time you just so happen to need ideas for your next murder spree, they don’t have them.
Almost giving up, Robert slid the mouse down the page and clicked on one of the possibly hopeful links. ‘Writing ideas for your murder scene’, it said. He doubted it would be anything special, just some generic “stab him in the eye with a spoon” stuff, but he was wrong. The sicko who wrote this had all the gore Robert needed to be satisfied and more. There were so many tasty ideas on this page, it made him want more than just one kill. He wanted more. Much, much more.
However, it would be simply impertinent for Robert not to try this out on someone who had waited for so long to be caressed by his blade. The girl cowered in the corner of his damp basement, deprived of light and any safety. On a certain level, he felt sorry for her. She had been there for the past two years – only fed the scraps of meat that Robert would have otherwise given to his dog. He knew it was only right to kill her now; it would be good for them both.
As he took out his much-loved fish boning knife, Robert glimpsed the girl’s eyes for a second. He crouched next to her and whispered “Don’t worry love. It’ll all be over soon.” And with that, he set to work.