She was that needed good dream on a late Saturday morning, the sunlight that persisted to shine through the supposed 'black out' curtains, the date that always stood you up. She was perfection.
He was a stalker, an abuser and manipulator with a pa...
Mason had spent the last day smothering the last victim in his untamed undivided attention, she was almost ready, almost as perfect looking as the days when she was living. After Rebecca's body was fixed into a position where she was eternally blowing her killer a kiss, Mason decided he needed a coffee break, as much as he loved preserving his 'dolls' he understood that he must have time away from that; after all he didn't want to go insane.
Instead he made his way down to the closest Bean Shot Coffee cafe to sit and think about the 15 embalmed girls that were strategically placed around his house, a much healthier habit.
It started out just as another hobby, but now even him, a murder with a fractured mental state and an even more broken memory of the past , could realise that it became a life threatening addiction one that he knew would one day need to stop. Of course his theory was proven when Essie Moore entered the coffee shop.
She looked perfect and not in the hidden obscure way that you later question when she turns out to be a needy bitch, it was a combination between her long blonde barbie like hair that cascaded down to her tiny waist and her clearly self cut and hemmed short dress that caught his attention at first, but then he honed into her and all of . Mason easily guessed that she was of a similar age as his other victims, 15-18, she had the same naivety embedded in the depths of her wide teenage eyes. The very same eyes you'd probably dream about on a late Saturday morning, or the same eyes that you'd see on the top of a high school cheerleading pyramid on one of those feel good American movies . The oval of her eyes was a cold,gun metal blue which then dispersed into a more cream coloured layer. Mason could already tell she was a rebellious bitch,even her eyelashes were far too thick to be legal, maybe it was that or the fact that she had not one but two boys practically drooling over her on each arm. But it wasn't just them that found his future 'doll' gorgeous there were another three older looking man sat at a table waving her over.
Some people are sick, thought Maison Surely the blonde bombshell would do what was best for her and sit down at the table behind his . She didn't. Our killer watched the porcelain skinned princess her make her first wrong move from under his artisan menu.
"How dare you?" He mumbled beneath his coffee stained breath. He now held the menu to the left, so he could observe her but she couldn't do the same. "Essie, are you sure you don't want to sit somewhere else?" Boy number one said cautiously looking over at the bikers who had previously waved at her.
"What? I like to make things interesting" That was the line that ensured her fate. 'Interesting' wouldn't even start to describe the things Maison wanted to put her through. She slid across, close to the more attractive boy, making sure to stick he butt whilst doing so. Her and her murder were similar like that ' only the best for the best'
she used that motto to sprint up the social ladder whilst he used it to create self proclaimed masterpieces out of bodies. "Now Essie dear, all I need is just a little more information from you" he mumbled to himself whilst crossing out Rachel name on the table whilst replacing it with his new affinity. He sat for another hour thinking about her
where he would put her?
how much formaldehyde he would need ?
he had just cut is finger on the carving knife when Essie Moore ensured her death. "Yeah sure my instagram is @e-ss-ie-m125" God, you're practically begging to be my next dolly thought Mason. The killer hadn't felt a rush like this since his first kill, he was 17 then and just wanted to see what it felt like the same way other kids in his class felt about weed or sex. He was an opportunist back then less experienced but still clever enough that he never got caught plunging a knife into his high school crush's chest.
He woke from his daze stroking a shred of blood drenched material that came from an old prom dress, he must of unconsciously fished it out from his pocket. He reminisced and practised the monologue he would preform to the blonde café goer if she was to ever ask him about where the momento came from m, he would tell her how the mistakes of another teenage girl caused her own murder as well as fifteen others, he would tell her how girls like her should act- she would nod with the hope that if she did exactly what the killer said she'd be okay- he would then slit her throat. "Excuse me" "Sir- I'm going to have to ask you to leave" " I didn't even fuckin touch her" " no it's closing time" *************************************** Hope you enjoyed the first chapter ! Please vote if you would like more like this
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Xx
It's just more exciting if you make the killer attractive
