My Ghost

Bloodletting

The first cut of a new victim is always the best. It's like a first kiss, only better. Adrenalin pulsates through my body as much as it does his. Our hearts beat in the same speedy rhythm as we are both overwhelmingly excited, just in two different ways for two different reasons. His eyes are wide and focused on me as the blood begins to pour from the deep cut I make down the inside of his left forearm, from the bend of his elbow, all the way to his wrist.

The damage I had done to his spine has greaty decreased his ability to fight back, so this is the easiest gratification I have had so far. Ironically, I'm not amused by his inability to struggle. I actually enjoy that about my victims. It gets my blood pumping even more. But even so, the sound of his rapid, terrified heartbeat and the smell of his flowing blood is every bit as sweet.

Just for something different to do, I cut of his left ear, which apparently hurts quite a bit, and I hold it up so he can see it. He trys to squirm and he makes some moaning noises, but he is virtually quiet since I stuffed his mouth full of cloth and taped his mouth shut. But he can still express his discomfort and I revel in it.

I drop the ear on the ground beside him and proceed to my next experiment. As I cut his shirt open, his tear soaked eyes plead with me to stop. But I cannot. I begin carving him open from the breast bone, to the navel. His muffled screams ignite my desires for more. I cut off huge chunks of flesh and show them to him to make sure he can see the extent of all the pain he is feeling.

He begins to sob in both the fear, and the pain of dying. I find his sobs very exhilarating. I need more. I had taped down the saw, very creatively, to the inside of the back of my jacket. It's a small saw, but affective.

His eyes almost bulge out of his head when he sees the saw. I have never seen a more terrified look on anyone, except for the last one I used a saw on. His panic is my encouragement. I take his hand in mine and stretch out his right arm, the one I hadn't already mutilated, and place the teeth of the saw directly below the elbow area. He is freaking out, at this point. Then I just do it. I start sawing his arm off like it's a piece of wood. With every back and forth motion of the saw, he screams, muffled, quiet, high pitched screams that sounds like the screams of a little girl.

Finally the bone snaps in two, and the force I was using to cut through the bone, slices down through the remaining flesh, as well. His arm is off. But he's not screaming and crying anymore. I look at his eyes, and they are closed. He has gone limp. I hold my ear down close to his face and immediately hear him breathing, yet his breaths are much slower and shorter than before. He is only unconscious, but he is dying.

I wake him up by scalping him. I start the cut at his hair line on his forehead, and peel his scalp all the way to the back of his skull. He awoke somewhere mid-scalp and made more blood curdling noises. I cut the scalp completely off so that I can show him my handy work, yet again. Then I finish gutting him until he is dead.

I walk away leaving parts of him lying on the ground around his body. I wrap up the knife and the saw in my jacket and carry them with me to the restroom at the service station. I go through my usual clean up ritual and drop off the bag of everything I used, in the same dumpster. Tonight, walking back, is a new kind of high. It's more satisfying and fulfilling. The hunger is gone. My needs have been met. I'm now ready for a good night's sleep.