(Picking up from the end of Halloween)
My knife was so close to that bitch's throat and I could smell her fear. I took a deep breath and inhaled the moment – this moment that I favored so much and the best part of my artwork. A gun was suddenly firing bullets everywhere, bouncing off of the bullet-proof vest I was wearing underneath my uniform ruining my perfect moment. The agitation! The ignorant police officer ruining my moment… still, what was the fun in just standing there? To complete my artwork I needed to take action and "pretend" to be in great pain. I suppose a reaction they would like seems to be "dodging" those bullets by going backward. My feet slip, and I am falling out of the two-story window.
The feel of the cool Halloween breeze is a turn on; the shattered glass flying freely through the sky is as well. Being thrown out of a window in order to save some bitch is a turn off. Firing some bullets to save some child watcher… why, that's just a criminal act. They call child watching "Baby-sitting". Keeping children out of danger? All the more reason to hunt them down. No parents – only some teenage junkie who cares about not missing their favorite TV show expecting a paycheck. Why not give them a scare while I'm at it?
I land rather hardly by the grass. "Baldie" is looking out the window onto my body - like his life-time dream has been fulfilled. When he gets back into his little police cruiser thinking I am dead and goes off to the little press and blabs about me – he won't get the chance. If he would continue to live, he should grow hair and lay off the donuts. No, he won't. I will make his corpse special. Why not scare him and torture his fugly life? He ruined mine, after all.
Of course a split second after looking at me he goes back into the room to make sure the little bitch is "all-right". Speak, speak, speak… the world can hear you two. Why not just scream? "… He's dead! We are saved…" Baldie's Police friend is yelling. Oh please… why not give Baldie and Baby-sitter a little scare? Time to roll off under a bush close by. Not a second later they all are all looking at the window where my body was. The beginning of the game begins when the look of terror arises on each face at that window. "…Monster is gone… more victims… serial killer at large… protection…" Baldie is speaking. Blah, blah, blah.
I stay in my bush. They all come out of the front door. The two little children run off to their houses quite scared. (That's definitely a start.) Baby-sitter is looking for me in the dark. She has brains but no vision. She will be a challenge… but all the more fun. I suppose that Baldie is still going to protect her. But why not get Baldie first? Why not get him tonight?
Talk, talk, talk. That's all he does. He talks when he walks Baby-sitter to her front porch, he talks to the "mom" and "dad" and he talks on his small-radio to his other police friends. I watch the bald spot on his old ugly head. He gets into that police car of his and drives off. No matter – while he is busy talking it only gives me time to get into my car as well. Baldie is far too busy eating his French Fries to notice my car following him. Not that he would notice, he probably is to busy "protecting" more people from me - or the so-called "it".
Baldie drives on and on. The minutes tick on and on… I have all the time in the world. The sun is rising off in the distance over the rolling hills. They remind me of memories of that place, that hell-hole of when I was a child. That place where police officers surround us and didn't let me work on art. I hate those memories and am suddenly furious at it all- furious at Baldie, at Baby-sitter, at the car… I will get my revenge, get that woman who dragged me to that place. She is next. I will make her special…
His police car is driving into a near-abandoned run down shack place. I sit and watch. He struggles with taking keys out of the ignition. Who struggles with that? What a loser. Wait, that fits the description of him. He nearly topples out of his car when he wretches the door open and spills a cup of coffee all over his fugly tie. He curses and walks oh-so-slowly into the dump or so-called "bar" by civilians who live in this place the so-called "middle of nowhere". The seconds tick by. Time to get ready.
Bullet-proof vest, mask, gloves, and a knife. It is all there… now it's time to use my sneaky skills to creep around the bar. Sneaking isn't necessary… but all the same, this must be a surprise. The smell of fear with the adrenaline is just the start. The knife is out and ready to stab as the door swings open with a slow creak. Someone sober actually turns to look to see why the door is open with their painfully-slow reflexes, but see nothing. The only place to hide before he looked at the door was this closet – and someone is already in here. The closet door is shut before someone can blink and eye… and this man's fear is such a seduction.
The memories of killing the victims come back. This certain man's heart is racing and his adrenaline is way up. It is a seduction – a torture – and somewhat a turn-on… the best part of taking human lives with a knife. Torture is an entertainment. It's a mouse playing with a cat then eating it later – it is the best part of the game.
He opens his mouth to scream, but the knife goes into his heart too fast. Blood gushes out of his chest staining his already-stained shirt. He falls onto the floor and rolls into a ball of agony. A puddle of blood is at his feet getting larger each minute. It is beautiful. The knife and the scent of this man's fear mixed with his sweat makes means one thing – I will never stop. The knife is getting pushed into him further and further. The man's face is agonizing. He makes a choking noise and a pleading gasp… the blood suddenly stops gushing. The scent smells wonderful. His corpse is a masterpiece that shall never be disturbed.
Dried blood has bubbled under the door. The men in the bar murmur about the mysterious substance under the door. Baldie talks crap about "being a policeman" and "handling this". Baldie will NOT ruin this for me again. I yank the bloody knife out of the corpse and thrust the closet doors open. The people in the bar all go instantly silent. Their eyes wonder to the bloody mess on the floor, from the knife to the dead man. They all feel terror at the same instant – and their hearts all race.
"You don't have to do this!" It's Baldie trying to reason with his damn mouth. No surprise. "Please. Don't." Ignore his pleas, and it will all be good. The sound of silence is too loud. A man runs out the back. Well, the man has got a brain. Just like Baby-Sitter. No one else moves but all eyes turn on him. Hunting him down will be next year's Halloween game. Baldie makes a move for the box that he communicates to his police friends in – but it is thrown across the room before he can grab it with fast reflexes.
It now has bloody glove-prints on it and he doesn't retrieve it. His heart isn't pounding in fear like the other men. That's a deal-maker. He's next. The people in the bar file out of the door in the back one by one as the minutes tick by… he stands watching. The perfect opportunity; a snake about to strike it's prey.
The men are all gone. Silence fills the air. For someone as out-of-shape, bald and ugly, he can run. Baldie gets into his car like wind – another turn on – and he is driving in his car away into the night. My car follows. Baldie is talking on that hand-held radio attached to the car – or at least he tries. But part of the plot was disabling it… he tries to turn on his police siren, but that doesn't work either… the car speeds up and turns back the direction it came from – It turns back to the neighborhood; the neighborhood with the house, Baby-sitter and all her little friends. Baldie is going to get his police friend's help, if he is allowed to live.