Earworm - short stories inspired by songs

Baby, I'm a Sociopath

TW: murder, blood, knives, weapons, violence, sociopathic characters

Warning: might seriously mess with your brain

Dark shadows swirled in the alleyway as Nick Bass cracked his neck. The sound echoed like a gunshot, joined only by the sound of blood dripping to the ground from his knife. His face was blank except for a slight curve in the corner of his mouth, an indicator of predatory satisfaction.

"Ooh, that was a good one. You know, we should work together. I'm sure you could teach me some of your tricks," the girly voice reverberated off the cement as Brooklyn's most notorious serial killer whirled around.

The murder in his eyes fizzled into disgust as he saw her. Standing there in her pink bow dress, she looked like a lost girl scout, a blemish in this blissful blackness. She wasn't young, exactly. She was his age, late twenties, by the looks of it. But the naivete in those wide brown eyes made him want to shove her over a cliff. In anyone else, he would have wanted to kill them. But not this girl. Killing her would bring him no joy.

"Go away, little girl." His voice was more bored than threatening. He had heard of this girl before.

The girl crossed her arms. "Oh no, I'm no little girl. I'm Molly, and I'm going to be a serial killer. Just like you." She clumsily pulled out a knife and showed it as if it were proof."

"Ah," yes, it was her. "I've heard of you. You're a fan." Fan didn't exactly describe it, but the word seemed like the closest fit. In a twisted way, Molly was flirting.

Molly straightened up a little as if she was proud that her reputation preceded her. "Really?"

Nick rolled his eyes. "Please stop going to the police station and telling them you are going to kill someone. It really casts a bad light on my craft." As any good criminal, Nick had connections at the station.

Molly's lips tightened into a line. "Our craft," she corrected. "And I'm not lying. I really am killing people."

Nick internally groaned as he began to clean the blood off his knife with a rag. "Right."

"Why doesn't anyone take me seriously? The police? My victims? You? Can't you have a hint of respect for me?" she squeaked.

Nick stood before her. "I would have more respect for you if you got out of my way." He heard her scoff as he barreled past her.

"Mark my words Nick Bass, I'll prove it."

As she turned away, her indignant expression melted into a satisfied smile. Only the black cat crawling over the nearby rooftops saw the glint of true murderous intent in her eye.

Make no mistake, Molly Werner-Matthams was a murderer. A smart one, too. Every few days, she'd put on the ridiculous childish outfits, pranced around, and declared loudly that she was a murderer.

The genius in her plan was that no one ever took her seriously. For Nick, taking out that knife the way she did proved to him that she was not a threat. But for law enforcement, she didn't pull out a weapon of any kind. Instead, she just made empty promises.

For Molly, this process was extremely enjoyable. She was like a cat playing mouse, toying with people.

"Guess what, everyone? I've decided to become a serial killer, not just a regular murderer," she'd chirp.

Everyone would roll their eyes. "Go home, Molly. This is ridiculous at this point."

She'd stomp her foot and cross her arms across her chest. "No, I'm serious. I can prove it."