Uncle Charlie.

Bedtime.

TRIGGER WARNING

Okay everyone this chapter is very graphic. So if you aren't comfortable with rape, murder, or strong language just save me the angry comments and skip this chapter.

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He came back to the room about an hour later, and she was fast asleep. He watches her sleep for a while, his preferred beginning.

Its the afternoon but the room is nice, and dark thanks to a few bottles of black spray paint. No one can see in, and no one can see out. A man like him needs his privacy.

The feelings of uneasiness still lingering at the earlier mention of God. But as he watched, the sick twisted feelings overtook him, and comforted him.

He stands ominously towering over her. He strips his body of all articles of clothing. Then turns, locks the door, and shuts off the dim light. He doesn't need rope, or duct tape. He doesn't even need to put much effort in it at all as he holds the girl down in the bed.

The girl still sleepy eyed begins to wake. Her blue eyes fluttering open in confusion.

" U-Uncle Charlie?" She stammered. "You're hurting me."

Even though she couldn't see him though his face was only a foot away. A evil grin spreads across his face like a madman.

"I'm not your fucking uncle you stupid twat!" He spat." And I'm about to do a whole lot worse."

The girl squirms beneath him, which excites him sexually. He rips off the pink, and yellow sundress she was wearing discarding it to the floor.

Screams bellow throughout the house, and echo into the woods. But no matter how loud they are, they fall flat in the silence of the mass of trees that surround them.

When he has finished he leaves her lying in a heap upon the bed. Arms, and legs pointing in unnatural directions. Blood flows from the stab wounds in her body, pools and runs off the edge onto the floor.

He steps out of the room, closes the door behind him, and locks it. He is quite satisfied with himself at first but as always a sense of repulsion and self-hatred comes upon him.

Once the craving for the hunt is gone he feels remorse for what he has done, but of course he cannot change what he has done.

Like so many times before he needs to get rid of the evidence, he steps to the kitchen cabinet, pulls out a drawer and sets a large meat cleaver and a sharpening stone on the counter. To take his mind off the evil he has just committed.

Instead he focus on the evil he must do, he starts to hone the cleaver to a razors edge. In just a short time he is satisfied with the blades sharpness, he gathers a couple garbage bags, and starts to go outside to find his shovel.

It is only then that he realizes how time has flown by, the sun as lying low in the evening sky which only gives him less than an hour to finish.

He knows from experience the process takes a lot longer than that, and just the thought of being out in the dark among all those unmarked graves sends a chill up his evil spine.

He has often had a dream where he is trapped in the woods after dark, and his victims begin to rise to come after him. He falls in a freshly dug grave, and hits his head waking up drenched in sweat... gasping for life's precious breath.

Snapping out of his thoughts he reluctantly places the cleaver, and bags on the counter. He decides to finish in the morning, knowing how much this goes against his rules. He starts to get an odd sensation knowing she is still in the house, and the chance to get caught begins to worry him.

However the grumbles of his stomach, and the heaviness of his eyes means it is time to eat and retire to his bedroom. So like an ordinary man he grabs some leftover pizza, and a beer from the fridge.

Heading to the couch he turns on the TV. Just to check, and see if anyone is looking for the girl laying in the other room. It just dawned on him that he didn't even know her name. He smiles at the thought as he looks through all the stations, eating, and drinking his dinner.

After he has gone through all the channels he decides he'll check again in the morning. He finishes his beer, and headed to bed after a long day of being horrid.