Fan Fiction ❯ Horror fic ❯ Horror Fic ( Chapter 1 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: KML 
The short story of a man obsessed with killing others.
Anime/Manga: Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Horror | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 11.13.2004 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.5K | Visits: 263 | Status: Completed
The short story of a man obsessed with killing others.
Anime/Manga: Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Horror | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 11.13.2004 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.5K | Visits: 263 | Status: Completed
I was living in the world of my dreams, passing through each day in pure joy, enjoying every moment of which I lived. I had moved to my home countless years ago, happy to get away from the things I loathed the most in the world; Humans. I hate people, their greediness and ever materialistic ways, mixed with the thoughts that they were always right, they were always the victims when something goes wrong, and the evil thoughts that always pulsed beneath the emotions they showed to others. So to leave that horrible world, I had moved to the West, to a house that stood alone for miles. I cared not about the fact that I had to drive for an hour and a half just to pick up food and other necessities, nor did I mind the dust, or the silence that was constant in the empty field upon which I lived. My home was small, and seemingly very old and rickety, but it was cozy, and I enjoyed spending my days relaxing in it. It’s roof and outer walls were of grayish wood, what paint there ever was had already chipped almost completely off. Its windows were smudged and hard to open, so once I had gotten them open, they remained that way. I wanted for nothing out here, it had a kitchen, a bedroom, a living room and a washroom. It was all I needed and all I wanted.
But hatred for humans wasn’t the only reason why I left, no, it was also because of what I had been doing to them, crimes I had committed in my anger at the foul creatures. Though, even moving all the way out here hadn’t stamped my habit and desire out. But I had to leave to stay out of the police’s clutches and jail.
It was an uncontrollable thing, no matter how much I tried suppressing it, though even if only for my sake and freedom, but it continued to surface. I still couldn’t stop slaughtering every human that came my way. I can’t even begin to count how many I had stolen the very life from, how many I toyed with and learned their life stories before lunging at them, using whatever was within reaching distance, or if nothing, my very nails and teeth, to spill their red hot blood upon my white-tiled kitchen floor and watch their life ebb away even as they clutched and scrambled for it, as they searched for any sign of having a chance to live.
The only thing I liked about humans was their mad fight for life when I came at them, snarling like a beast and using the tools I had for the kill in any way I could. Those tools were usually my knives, which I kept sitting at the very edge of the counter for me to quickly grab at when needed.
I remember, one time, a female tourist had come passing by, she had asked for directions. She was lean, and slightly taller then me, and was wearing a pair of purple shorts, made of fabric I didn‘t know of, a green tank top and sunglasses, she would constantly flip her long and obviously dyed hair over her shoulder. I, acting as the friendliest person in the world, invited her in for a drink and a snack. She, unaware of my intentions, hopes and desires, gladly accepted. So, we had walked down the mall entrance hallway, and gone into the kitchen. The woman noticed how close to the edge my knives were, so close that an edge was protruding out. So she took it upon herself to neaten my kitchen up a bit, and pushed my knives towards the back of the counter up against the wall. I, in pure rage that she would dare touch what was most precious to me, had immediately leaped at her, teeth bared and growling deeply in my throat, all kindness gone. My true nature had come up, and she screamed, her voice high and shrill, unearthing pure fear in her, unearthing an even deeper desire to spill blood in me. She, at once and in pure instinct to survive, had turned away from me to run, but in her crazy scrambling to get away, she slipped and slid across the floor. I was upon her in seconds, aiming for her throat but tearing at her back instead. I was wild in this moment, killing had always been ecstasy for me, the rush of adrenaline and power, the need to feel flesh tearing underneath my hands, the desire to see the life blood flowing from the gaping wounds I inflicted upon my victims, when I did these it was the most amazing feeling of satisfaction in the world. The warm blood splattering all over me, the floor, the room, the victim, their long, agonized screams of mercy and finally death was an amazingly beautiful sound, made up of the worst terror and deepest sadness of knowing that their life was ending. Their heartbeats were loud and clear, at first beating wildly in the sheer terror, along with the hope that they could get away, then, the erratic pulsing of when they began to die but still hoped for their filth lives to go on, then, finally, the slow, steadily growing weaker beat of near death. And yet through all this, they did not wish to accept their death, they pleaded, whined, and mumbled to themselves and God as the last traces of life left them, clinging to every last shred even as their eyes glazed over to a gray, and their breath became nothing and their lips turned blue, and their skin paled to a ghostly shade.
It was no different with this woman, I had finished tearing all skin off her back, and had begun to go for her throat again, aimed for the jugular, the vein that would produce the blood that I wished for. She had been clawing at me too, her sharp, manicured nails leaving long gashes in whatever part of my body she could get to, but it would never stop me, it only pushed me to try harder to reach my goal, her death. At last! I had reached her throat even through all her squirming and struggling, I held it tightly, shaking back and forth as hard as I could, her head banged against the floor, left spots of blood where it landed. Then, leaning forward and baring teeth, I bit down into flesh and veins, and the jugular burst open, blood flooded into my mouth and onto the floor, her body went limp beneath me, and I heard her last shuttering breath in my ear. I was still for a few minutes, still leaning on her so I could feel the warmth and heat she had created in herself in her fight for life slowly gave way to cold numbness, and her limp limbs stiffened slightly, the muscles no longer working to make them bend properly. I stood up to my full height, and had looked at the drying blood caking my hands, legs and shirt, spreading across the floor about the corpse. The woman’s eyes had been sightless, staring into an empty void from which she could not turn away from.
I had taken her down to the two lower levels of my house, both were underground. They were damp, and rats and flies had taken it over, not that I cared. I had come to my other victims, their rotting bodies piled up against each other, eyes staring around the room, mouths agape, disgusting fluids from their dead bodies spilled from their open lips, dripping to the floor until the corpse was empty. The ones at the top were most recent, and their flesh half rotted off, but at the bottom, were the oldest, their gray, rotted skin almost nothing against their bones, hips and ribs were shown almost perfectly, bits of hair still upon the skulls, their eyes had long rotted away, leaving open sockets for worms and insects to crawl through, the grim truth of death showed on their faces. I placed the woman’s body on the pile, and I remember standing there for hour, watching as the insects found their way to her, chewing away at the new meat, eating their fill and laying their eggs in her.
You must know how wonderful I felt, the feeling of power bestowed in me, the knowledge that I could do what I wish with someone’s life was overwhelming and it drove me to kill a often as possible, just to experience that feeling again. Soon enough, I had once again forgotten to even try to suppress it.
So I’ll remain out here, living my life in solitude, and waiting for the next poor, lost sap that wandered to my porch for directions to the nearest town. Perhaps this time I’ll wait a bit before killing him, I would love to hear his story, hear his babbling as I tried to think of what I should use to shut him up for good.
But hatred for humans wasn’t the only reason why I left, no, it was also because of what I had been doing to them, crimes I had committed in my anger at the foul creatures. Though, even moving all the way out here hadn’t stamped my habit and desire out. But I had to leave to stay out of the police’s clutches and jail.
It was an uncontrollable thing, no matter how much I tried suppressing it, though even if only for my sake and freedom, but it continued to surface. I still couldn’t stop slaughtering every human that came my way. I can’t even begin to count how many I had stolen the very life from, how many I toyed with and learned their life stories before lunging at them, using whatever was within reaching distance, or if nothing, my very nails and teeth, to spill their red hot blood upon my white-tiled kitchen floor and watch their life ebb away even as they clutched and scrambled for it, as they searched for any sign of having a chance to live.
The only thing I liked about humans was their mad fight for life when I came at them, snarling like a beast and using the tools I had for the kill in any way I could. Those tools were usually my knives, which I kept sitting at the very edge of the counter for me to quickly grab at when needed.
I remember, one time, a female tourist had come passing by, she had asked for directions. She was lean, and slightly taller then me, and was wearing a pair of purple shorts, made of fabric I didn‘t know of, a green tank top and sunglasses, she would constantly flip her long and obviously dyed hair over her shoulder. I, acting as the friendliest person in the world, invited her in for a drink and a snack. She, unaware of my intentions, hopes and desires, gladly accepted. So, we had walked down the mall entrance hallway, and gone into the kitchen. The woman noticed how close to the edge my knives were, so close that an edge was protruding out. So she took it upon herself to neaten my kitchen up a bit, and pushed my knives towards the back of the counter up against the wall. I, in pure rage that she would dare touch what was most precious to me, had immediately leaped at her, teeth bared and growling deeply in my throat, all kindness gone. My true nature had come up, and she screamed, her voice high and shrill, unearthing pure fear in her, unearthing an even deeper desire to spill blood in me. She, at once and in pure instinct to survive, had turned away from me to run, but in her crazy scrambling to get away, she slipped and slid across the floor. I was upon her in seconds, aiming for her throat but tearing at her back instead. I was wild in this moment, killing had always been ecstasy for me, the rush of adrenaline and power, the need to feel flesh tearing underneath my hands, the desire to see the life blood flowing from the gaping wounds I inflicted upon my victims, when I did these it was the most amazing feeling of satisfaction in the world. The warm blood splattering all over me, the floor, the room, the victim, their long, agonized screams of mercy and finally death was an amazingly beautiful sound, made up of the worst terror and deepest sadness of knowing that their life was ending. Their heartbeats were loud and clear, at first beating wildly in the sheer terror, along with the hope that they could get away, then, the erratic pulsing of when they began to die but still hoped for their filth lives to go on, then, finally, the slow, steadily growing weaker beat of near death. And yet through all this, they did not wish to accept their death, they pleaded, whined, and mumbled to themselves and God as the last traces of life left them, clinging to every last shred even as their eyes glazed over to a gray, and their breath became nothing and their lips turned blue, and their skin paled to a ghostly shade.
It was no different with this woman, I had finished tearing all skin off her back, and had begun to go for her throat again, aimed for the jugular, the vein that would produce the blood that I wished for. She had been clawing at me too, her sharp, manicured nails leaving long gashes in whatever part of my body she could get to, but it would never stop me, it only pushed me to try harder to reach my goal, her death. At last! I had reached her throat even through all her squirming and struggling, I held it tightly, shaking back and forth as hard as I could, her head banged against the floor, left spots of blood where it landed. Then, leaning forward and baring teeth, I bit down into flesh and veins, and the jugular burst open, blood flooded into my mouth and onto the floor, her body went limp beneath me, and I heard her last shuttering breath in my ear. I was still for a few minutes, still leaning on her so I could feel the warmth and heat she had created in herself in her fight for life slowly gave way to cold numbness, and her limp limbs stiffened slightly, the muscles no longer working to make them bend properly. I stood up to my full height, and had looked at the drying blood caking my hands, legs and shirt, spreading across the floor about the corpse. The woman’s eyes had been sightless, staring into an empty void from which she could not turn away from.
I had taken her down to the two lower levels of my house, both were underground. They were damp, and rats and flies had taken it over, not that I cared. I had come to my other victims, their rotting bodies piled up against each other, eyes staring around the room, mouths agape, disgusting fluids from their dead bodies spilled from their open lips, dripping to the floor until the corpse was empty. The ones at the top were most recent, and their flesh half rotted off, but at the bottom, were the oldest, their gray, rotted skin almost nothing against their bones, hips and ribs were shown almost perfectly, bits of hair still upon the skulls, their eyes had long rotted away, leaving open sockets for worms and insects to crawl through, the grim truth of death showed on their faces. I placed the woman’s body on the pile, and I remember standing there for hour, watching as the insects found their way to her, chewing away at the new meat, eating their fill and laying their eggs in her.
You must know how wonderful I felt, the feeling of power bestowed in me, the knowledge that I could do what I wish with someone’s life was overwhelming and it drove me to kill a often as possible, just to experience that feeling again. Soon enough, I had once again forgotten to even try to suppress it.
So I’ll remain out here, living my life in solitude, and waiting for the next poor, lost sap that wandered to my porch for directions to the nearest town. Perhaps this time I’ll wait a bit before killing him, I would love to hear his story, hear his babbling as I tried to think of what I should use to shut him up for good.