Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Monster ❯ Chapter 3 ( Chapter 3 )

And that's when the serial killers started coming, normal people, family people. Good people you'd never expect it from. Gross violence committed in every part of the world, a sort of desperation gripping the hearts of anyone who learned of them. You couldn't trust anyone and after enough teachers, law abiding citizens and parents slaughtered away their loved ones, a horror that even Sin couldn't create chilled the world.

Anyone who had ever wanted to kill, thought about killing, or somewhere deep down inside had been curious about it, killed. A gym teacher was found smiling after he'd insisted that all of his basket ball students stand behind the gymnasium bleachers and then closed it, slowly crushing the tiny bodies into blood and gore. When asked why, he'd simply replied that he'd always wanted to do it and now was as good of time as ever.

But none were quite as sickening, none quite so horrifying and none quite so brutal as the Pizza Man. The arrival of this terrifying serial killer brought shock to small towns and large cities alike, as citizens refused to answer their doors after dark and children were hidden within cellars during the night hours. But it didn't matter did it? If he wanted in, he would get in.

But I'm getting ahead of the story aren't I? Let me start off by telling you how it began, how the Pizza Man gained his despicable fame becoming notorious within a week for his insane and gut wrenching taste in murder. If I was to tell you that he was just another pitiful creature, deserted at birth, never shown love and merely striking back at the cold, cruel system, I'd be lying. That was the beauty about The Pizza Man. He didn't have a reason or an old score to settle with the world. His crimes weren't about passion or out of hatred. Merely interest in death and a sort of boredom from nothing better to do.

Blood thirsty and without conscience, his murders were always horrific, the bodies hardly discernable even through the technology and new testing that scientists had invented. Through dental records, names would be tagged to cold toes. But never because he intentionally left bodies in tact.

It began on November 24th at around midnight. The air was cold and chilling in the suburbs of California, the street abandoned and echoing with the sound of the Gildian's doorbell ringing. Shiloh Gildian, the obese, gruff father stomped irritatedly down the carpeted steps of his medium sized house, his forehead wrinkled as he pushed his hand through his thinning hair.

Opening up the door and tightening his bathrobe around his rounded belly, he met the stranger with an annoyed "Can I help you?" and was answered with the sight of a pizza box, held out by the shadowy figure.

"Pizza Man." Said the man in the shadows, a smile stretching his face as Shiloh crossed his arms.

"Pizza?" he grumbled. "I didn't order any-.."

And that was that. The Pizza Man drug Shiloh into the shadows of his own kitchen, shoving a blade into his mouth to silence him as he began cutting away at his body with a pizza cutter. He sawed and he sliced until blood and water began spurting from the dead body and all that was left of Shiloh was bloody filth strewn all over the kitchen. The Gildian family was next, and one by one the investigators found them. Or should I say, detectives found pieces of them.

Thus the Pizza Man was born, terrorizing cities in no apparent pattern and completely at random, though how he reached so many destinations in such a small time, baffled the police. Was it a copy cat killer, spurred on by hatred and a sort of admiration for the original monster? Or was the Pizza Man a creature of outstanding wealth, flying here and there on a private plane, seeking out victims and then returning to his life as if nothing had happened?

To tell you the truth, neither of these was correct.

But how do I know all this? How did I know how it all came to be, and how Shiloh was killed? How did I know what the Pizza Man said and how Mr. Gildian reacted?

Easy.

I dreamed it.

But I hate to scare you like this, forgive me. I only mean to explain myself better and in my efforts, I'm certain I've given you an eerie sensation about me. Perhaps, perhaps that's for the better. As my story unfolds in the pages you're about to meet, I'm afraid it is a ghastly telling and your opinion of me will alter very much from what it may be now. Trust me on this one. You don't know who I am.

As with the dreams of my sexual other half, my nymphomaniac side that I kept hidden away like a shameful family secret, I had dreams of murder. Of hatred. Of contempt and of an unrighteous revenge. All pretty words compared to what I saw when I closed my eyes, seeing myself through their own as I journeyed like an unwilling servant through their horrific deeds. Seeing the world as they saw it. Seeing their acts without feeling, without remorse, but with a detachment that only the sickest of murderers could pride themselves on.

The first time I saw it was through the eyes of The Pizza Man, seeing his feet beneath me as I walked them on the wet concrete, seeing how the dull moon reflected off the cracks and crevices of the street. I heard a dog barking somewhere not too far away, Pizza Man's head turning to see it but catching only bits and pieces of the furry mongrel who soon hid in its dog house, whimpering at the unholy presence that walked the street. Could it tell what he meant to do? Did it sense the evil in his heart like I did when I dreamt it?

I realized he was staring straight ahead suddenly, his eyes fixated on one single form. The Gildian's house. His fingers brushed the mailbox seductively as they passed over the letters of the family name. The G and the I and the L, all in raised, splintering wood. A smirk lifted his cheeks into my vision and I felt a sort of happiness suddenly. A sickening happiness.

I saw his fingers lift to the doorbell, the sound absolutely screaming through the street. A newspaper floated alone across the shadows of the concrete and the Pizza Man smiled as Shiloh, the fat, irritated victim answered the door. The happiness flooded my pumping heart, victory that much closer, that much sweeter as I felt the words leave me like a breath of air I'd simply been holding too long.

"Pizza Man."

And then he was mine, his fat, thick flesh between my fingers as I tore him through the living room into the kitchen, his chubby hands trying to grip the sides of the walls as I drug him towards an unknown destination. There was no reason, no rhyme to what I did. I simply wanted the happiness to grow. I breathed on it. I needed it. It was sexual as it built, as I could feel his screams growing against the palm of my hand, hot, hotter, hotter. I could feel an erection in my pants as I yanked his worn, old bathrobe off his body, leaving him naked to the dead moonlight that flooded into the kitchen through the lone window that could have saved him.

I saw my fingers on his hairy chest, his eyes wide and his head attempting to shake as I moved my hand to his inner thigh, still holding him tightly as I raped him. He never got hard, never got excited. Just screamed like he was dying into my hand as The Pizza Man mercilessly tore his head back and forth, digging his fingers into the balding surface. It was violent and blood was soon staining the slippery, wet floor. Oh but it was Heaven. Absolute Heaven. I loved Shiloh in those moments, as his eyes were wide and his blood staining my knees. I was his passionate lover, making him bit his own tongue off in pain, his weary, fat little hands trying to ward me off.

God, I loved how he looked when I let him go, watching him crawling on all fours away from me, his bloody little fingers moving over the gore ridden tile. He was vomiting uncontrollably, all kinds of filth slapping the floor as his body moved through the chunky substance. I could feel The Pizza Man sigh, suddenly bored with this love affair, as all love affairs eventually become dull. He stood up, zipping his pants nonchalantly and together we moved towards the kitchen drawers, one by one, opening, closing, until we found what made us smile.

Oh but what a beautiful pizza cutter it was. So shinny in the moonlight, sparkling as our fingers made it twirl like a dancer, tasting the sour air as it spun just for us. Just ours. Me and Shiloh. Or I mean……..

I mean The Pizza Man and Shiloh. Not me.

The pizza cutter glimmered in his hand, the rounded edges so sharp, so gorgeously sharp, he wanted to taste them. But we knew we didn't have time to now didn't we? Shiloh was gaining strength, his moans more desperate, his fat, naked body soaked with sweat. Well it wasn't like we could have him like that now could we? He might wake the others up, and boy, did we have something special planned for the others! Couldn't spoil the surprise.

The first cut was the sweetest, his blood running like strawberries. Yes, that's perfect. It was like the taste of strawberries as it oozed out of his back, our hand wrapped around his mouth so tight that no one could even hear his screams. He seemed really agitated, his fat little toes smacking the ground as we cut again and again, his back arched as we pulled his head up and began to saw it off. But the love was renewed, don't you see? We were alive again, heated and making love like we hadn't before. Like it was the first time as he began to choke on his own blood, the pizza cutter half way into his esophagus. His blood bubbled like foam through my fingers, squeezing through the cracks as it dribbled to the floor. He began to gurgle and wheeze as he choked, tears falling down my knuckles from his eyes.

And then, like pre ejaculation, he just had to go and die before I got off again. So typical that the fun end so early into the night and there was nothing more to do than to open up a few more strawberries and make use out of an old, dead body. No one would recognize him now. No, not a chance. We didn't even recognize him. He merely looked like jellied cranberries on Thanksgiving, mashed into goo by a toddler.

Ah how love ends so quickly. But we found it again, as the strong heart always will. Over and over again with our victims that night. Sweet little Tara all alone in that big room. Kind of seemed small when she covered it. Who would have thought that home made ceiling fans wouldn't come to an automatic stop when you were shoved into them feet first? I'll tell you, Home Depot will be getting a strongly worded letter from THAT family!

Even rebellious Murphy, that little 13 year old imp, so quick to jump out the window like that! I don't think he was expecting that we would catch a piece of barbed wire around his throat right before he virtually threw himself out. Or that we'd tow him back up and have a little threesome with him and his little sister, or what was left of her.

But I'll never forget my shocking infatuation for Mrs. Shiloh, as she came at me screaming like a banshee, a hammer sailing at my head. Such a strong spirit in that one. Too bad she died so quickly like that. I guess we'll have to take it easy with the lawn mower next time, though it was fun to watch her squirm like that as I rolled it over her, the sweet little hackers at the bottom tearing her to shreds. It was poetry I tell you.

And as we left, our hands soaked in blood and neighbors standing dumbstruck on their porches, just staring at us in shock and horror, too afraid to move a muscle, we just smiled and waved. We were stars now. Just me and Pizza man. Casanova, the ultimate lover.

When I had awoken from the dream, it wasn't in fear, with sweat falling from me, bolting up in bed like they do in the movies and I'm convinced no one actually does. No, I awoke with the sunlight straining through the window, bright against my cheeks as I smiled and stretched contentedly, only feeling fear rip through my body as I later watched the news unfold from the T.V screen, just as it had occurred in my nightmare.

But I shouldn't say nightmare should I? It was a dream. A fantastical, beautiful dream land where nothing had consequence and I felt no guilt for loving my victims in my own special way. Who's to label love? It comes in all shapes and forms doesn't it?

I feel myself smile. Can I love you in my special way?

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I am starting a mailing list for this story, so if you'd like to be on it, make sure to include your full email into your review. For now, how are you liking the story? I do hope the content in this chapter wasn't TOO much for everyone as I didn't feel the need to edit it. I felt that if I wanted the reader to REALLY understand and grasp the concept of the story, it needed to be graphic and even borderline offensive. It is a POWERFUL story Goku is about to tell and I will warn again, it is NOT for the faint of heart.

Tsk tsk tsk. I know you people are reading, and yet, no reviews? Now come now my friends, you ought to know by now that that's just rude.

Camaro