The Masked Murderer

The Murders

A shallow wisp of smoke from his cigarette trekked slowly off into the air. He sat in the same spot every single time, a rusty steel chair. His eyes aiming for a perfect view of us. He smirked as he lurked behind his mask. We were nothing more than a heinous fetish fulfilled as we hung from the ceiling like laundry out to dry.

He examined us. Looking intensely at our bodies, gazing into our eyes. His voice disturbingly etched into my head.

He looked at me. I looked away.

I sobbed in dire pain. My hands felt detached from my arms as if they had magically disappeared. I couldn't feel them. The unbearable pain in my wrists trickled down into my arms.

He stood up and walked over to Wendy, the butcher knife gripped tightly in his hand, glinting with malicious intent. Slowly and sadistically, he slid it down the side of her dark brown hair.

"Please, no! I beg of you! Please, please, please!!" She pleaded, crying profusely as he stood in front of her wearing his distinctive mask. Black gloves covered his hands. He was immaculately dressed in a black business suit, the kind you'd find on the cover of a GQ magazine. One had to wonder if it was just his psychotic obsession to dress up when he killed or if he was some kind of professional by day and murderer by night.

A devilish laugh erupted from his mouth as he pointed the shiny, metallic knife to her abdomen, just like he did with the last two women he killed.

We were strangers. He kidnapped each one of us. Throwing us into his grungy, dirty basement, one by one- piling us up, collecting us like baseball cards, then killing us off like a five-year-old stomping on ants with no emotion and no empathy. He relished in a gruesome, sadistic joy.

I watched her cry out in agony as we hung there, our wrists tied to a chain that trailed from one end of the wall to the other. My heart was skipping beats and rapidly pulsating to the point I thought my neck and chest were going to burst open at any second; at least then, I'd be dead before he could kill me.

The dim lights buzzed as if they were dying out; flashes of light flickered against the concrete walls. They were the only lights glimmering in the dark. We never knew if it was day or night.

He took his butcher knife, swiftly entering it deep into her abdomen.

"No!" She screamed out in pain, "Stop! Stop! Nooo!"

"Ahh!" I screamed as tears rushed down my face.

He twisted it while it was still inside her abdomen, and she cried louder. I heard the swishing and squishing of her insides. I bowed my head, crying. Tears rapidly escaped my eyes and flowed relentlessly down my cheeks.

He jerked the knife up, securing it into her body.

Oh my God! Help us, please!

Slowly, he pulled the knife out. Blood, guts, and pieces of flesh were stuck to the knife as he removed it from her abdomen.

She hung there, dying a slow death. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she struggled to take one last breath.

I turned my face the opposite way. I could not witness another death at the hands of that monster.

He stood in front of me. I looked away. Strands of my auburn-colored hair fell in front of my face.

I screamed out.

"Nooo!"

Dangling in utter helplessness I  awaited my turn while tears flowed from my eyes uncontrollably, blurring my vision. I couldn't see a thing but hazy images floating before me. The beads of sweat and tears intermingled, seeping into my mouth, tasting as if I gargled with salt water.