December 1. 2017; CORPS OF MISSING TEEN FOUND!
The corps of missing teen girl Alana Walt (18) was washed ashore the "Limmat", near Baden. [...]
She shows the same signs of torture as the unidentified corpse, found several weeks ago.
February 17. 2018; Another teenage boy missing
February 21.2018; Missing teenager found dead only a few miles from last corpse. [...]
Alexander Adon, went missing after a party on February 16. found dead, seemingly tortured in the same way as Alana Walt and other victims.
«These reports have been going on for months...
The police is sending more cars into patrol than ever before, uhh... Well... They still haven't told the journalists, tho... Dad says the want to avoid mass panic...
Everyone in his departement has their own theory on who the killer is, but most of them would have never imagined that he, whoever he was, could ever do this. The chiefs always told everyone that the murderer was male, it never once crossed someone's mind that she, in fact, could be a female too... But I guess he seems more like a male, so...
Ahh, anyways. The first report of a missing teen was about two years ago. For a long time nothing happened, but then, after about half a year, more and more people started vanishing. The bodies of the first ones were never found, but after some time more and more corpses started to appear all over the country. At first, there didn't seem to be a preference in genders. By now, almost all of the missing teens are boys, there are only a few females. The last case of a female was about five months ago, but there is one right now. Well, Dad says she probably just ran away, well, but there is no way to be sure, unless maybe she gets found, dead or alive.
I'm not exactly scared, even if I do fall into his or her victim profile, regarding my age. Call me dumb or careless, but I think I could fight him or her off pretty easily.
As a fact, I did take lessons in self defense in college, ya'kno, my dad kinda forced me to do it, plus I'm pretty strong and big.
Not really the type you would like to fight in hand to hand combat. And, at least that's what the profiler the police recruited said, the killer doesn't use weapons other than knives and stuff, so if that's true, there isn't really something I wouldn't be able to compete against. As for you, I'll protect you. Okay? I promise.»
I remember him saying that. Him, the 6' 5'' tall, muscular guy, two years older than me and just so sure of himself... It never even once crossed his mind, that I was and still am able to protect myself quite well.
I remember us sitting at a ur favourite place, dark, rusty bars all around us, the street in front of us with all those people... We loved to sit there, smoking our lounges out, barely talking, if we ever did talk it was about stories we heard, or that talk about how we would kill people. Just jokes, of course. We would listen to music together, sometimes we would even sleep there. Cans of beer next to us, small sticks we used to burn forms, dates, sigils into our own flesh scattered all around us. Every time we went there, nobody questioned us. We would sleep in the cold, both crammed under a blanket, using our jackets as mattresses and ourself as the only thing that would lend us even just a little bit of heat.
We were childhood best friends. He was there for me, whenever I felt like I needed someone. We were as close as lovers or brothers. He never called me names I didn't want to be called, he always respected my twisted mind. He never laughed about my ticks, if I myself didn't. He was my family, more than my real one was. I didn't exactly have a bad bond with my mother, altho my father was something different. Y'know, they got divorced some years ago. I started living with my mum, and soon after started hating my dad more than anything. He was a liar, possessive over everything we owned. He kicked us out of our house, and even tho everyone always told me he was good and loved me... I never really saw it. He didn't accept me for me. He wasn't a bad dad, until they got divorced. My mother started working multiple jobs at once. She met someone new, after a while. I liked him. Well, or let's just say we got along well. He was more the submissive type, other than my dad. He always said my mother was to dominant, but well. He was just the wrong one for her. Her new one was better. He fit better, they didn't fight at all. We even got a dog. He was old, eleven years old, a Sheppard. I loved him, even tho he didn't have any teeth, was mishandled and couldn't walk well. But still, my family never really... Fit me.
But sitting with him at our spot... This was what gave me the feeling of having a family.
There weren't any people, most of the time. Sometimes there would be groups of teenagers trying to get our spot...
All those people...
Heh. If only they knew what was coming. If only they knew that some of them would follow all the reports, then more, more, more!
But they didn't know. They never knew, until it happened. Until I snapped. They were always so full of themselves, so sure they'll never be the ones... They would try to kick us while we were asleep, spit on us, pouring our unfinished beer over us or even tried to rob us. Needles to say, it never ended well. Some of them disappeared, some of them just came home all beaten up, hiding from their parent because otherwise, they would have to explain.
The ones I got-... Heh.
Every time I got a new one they started begging for me to set them free... Begging, begging, the fear in their eyes, the red rivets starting to form a pool underneath my shoes, coloring them a beautiful, deep velvet, staining them for a few hours until I went to clean them off, again and again.
The sounds they made... The screams, the gasps when they tried to suck in air but their throat was already ripped out, dripping more and more blood every second, their sharp inhales whenever the glowing hot iron touched their skin, marking them as a part of my collection... I loved to hear them trying to get free, breaking their shackles or snapping the rope...
They never made it tho. None of them did. There were a few good attempts, but they never had enough strength to finish what they started. One of them stood a good chance... Well, untill he broke down crying. »I'm not a murderer, I can't do this...«
Heh. You better should have started to be a murderer. Maybe, maybe if you would have tried, you would have had a chance to get free~ You could have killed me~ But instead you decided that breaking down, bawling like a little bitch was the better option. To bad. I liked that one. But he disappointed me by doing what he did. What a shame.
I vaguely remember how scared I was, back when I was still a kid.
I always knew I would end up killing someone. No one believed me. None of the therapists, they always just told me it was a special kind of OCD.
And they were right. I had some kind of OCD, always counting things, always making plans...
But what started out as paranoid thoughts became reality quickly after.
More than just plans, or counting cars, more than just remembering exactly when people leave their houses, more than counting the seconds until their home-security was fully installed after they turned it on...
Whatever it was, it became reality. And I started to enjoy it. Oh how I enjoyed not holding back anymore, not always staying in that bitter-sweet darkness, haunted by my thoughts... My demons, the darkness in my mind, it started eating me alive every second I held back. More, more, more...
Maybe all the stories I read as a teenager just helped me build up joy whenever I thought of being a killer. Seeing all those killers being pictured as a big, happy family... Maybe I just wasn't satisfied with imagining being like then anymore. Maybe I had to become like them. Feel, what they felt. See, what they've seen, experience what they've experienced, all by my own hands. Maybe I had to see how their expression started to fade, how their eyes dulled, how those salty tears started to drop from their cheeks and then, once and for all, stopped... Who knows~
Ugh. Actually, it's sad, heartbreaking almost, to not be part of the big family they were always pictured as. There is no one here, none of them are real. I suppose, all the people who told me so were right.
But that doesn't matter anymore. I now know why everyone was so obsessed with those murderers, the creatures that were said to steal your intestines or kill with those sweet catchphrases~
The boy with the hatchets, the man with no face, the boy with the smile carved into his face, the masked one, the hooded one, none of them are real, but I, oh, I am. And you, Doll, you will soon be part of my very own family~ So stop struggling. It would be a shame to destroy this pretty body of yours~ Red looks so good on your skin, but don't die on me just now. Breathe.
YOU ARE READING
Manticore
Horror*BASED ON TRUE EVENTS «These reports have been going on for months... The police is sending more cars into patrol than ever before, uhh... Well... They still haven't told the journalists, tho... Dad says the want to avoid mass panic, even tho there...
