Through the Eyes

Through the Eyes

From behind me, I hear her muffled screams. She’s given me a lot of fucking trouble tonight. I look down at my table and pick up my knife. I turn around and look at her. My face stings from where that bitch smashed me with a vase. I can tell she’s trying to writher out of her ropes. Good luck there. I spend most of my days sitting in this shack, so it's safe to say I’ve gotten fairly good at tying knots. Tears run down her cheek, leaving clean lines of skin on her dust covered face. She glances down at my hands, still covered in the blood of her boyfriend. Now he didn’t put up much of a fight. I was able to gut him alive with one hand while holding down his sweetheart. Then she got her hands on that damned vase as I was pulling out the last of his entrails and up the stairs she runs as I pull a piece of porcelain from my cheek. Why do they always run up the stairs?     

I mean not that I want them to get away, but come on. I’m trying to have some fun here and they just make it so easy. Give me some sort of challenge. She’s sweated off another piece of duct tape. “Let me go!” she yells, “Please!” I walk behind her with my blade. She quiets down, maybe she thinks I’m cutting her loose. Stupid bitch. I grasp her pinky finger, pull it back, and swipe my blade across.     Fingers look so strange when they aren’t attached to the hand. Covered in blood and all flimsy until rigo-whatever sets in. It’s really quite disgusting to normal people. I walk back around. She’s screaming louder now.     

Shut.  Up.     

I wrap my hand around her jaw and bring her severed appendage to my lips. “Shhhh…” I whisper. She screams again. She is just not getting the message. I pry her mouth open and shove her finger inside. Then I grab more tape and wrap it around her head a couple times.     

Ahhh, silence.     

I see the look of panic in her eyes, as I’m sure her mouth is filling with her own blood and she knows she’ll have to swallow it. She's probably trying to think of another way to escape. That might have worked back at her house, but she's in my little homestead now. Nowhere to go where I won't find her. I walk back over to my table and wipe the blood off of the knife onto my jeans. I also want to clean off my hands off, so I turn around and walk towards her again. She starts to whimper again as I kneel down beside her. I slide the blade back into its holster and reach forward to grab the end of her dress. I start to wipe my hands clean and she looks away in horror. As I finish, I hear a faint 'gulp' sound. I look up at her and her eyes are clenched shut almost in pain. How'd that taste? I'm sure it's a little different from taking a load from your boyfriend.       

I stand back up and walk over to look over my inventory. Here’s where it gets fun. Do I go with the chainsaw? Maybe the machete. I’m like a kid in a god damn candy store. So many choices. I want this one to hurt. I look at the end and see the obvious choice. I pick up the coiled pile. I turn around and hold my tool of destruction by my side. She looks up at me. Still crying. I’ve never understood the purpose of crying. Messy and useless.     

So right about now is when the best friend is supposed to bust through the door with a gun and rescue the girl he’s secretly loved for years right? Maybe if this was some other sloppy maniac’s story, but no one’s coming for her. That best friend got his throat slashed while he was out in her lawn watching her and her guy fuck on the living room couch.     

Now there's a real monster.     

I loosen my grip on the coil slightly and the barbed wire unravels down to the ground. Her eyes widen and her body thrashes back and forth praying for a happy ending. That’s not what she’s going to get. I raise my wrist up. I can almost see her heart pounding. She pleads with her eyes, and I respond with a calm reassuring smile. And then I swing the wire at her. And again. And again. With every swipe she starts to wriggle a little less as her silky white dress slowly turns red.     

So why does this girl have to die? Because I saw her. And that’s what I do. Why do I and why have I always gotten away with doing things like this? Because I’m smart. I don’t make mistakes like the other idiots with evil impulses out there. I don't put my work on display to taunt the world and I don't send stupid cryptic messages to the media. And why would I try to blend in with the world? People disgust me, why would I want to be a part of that? So I stay hidden in my little shack. And because of that,  no one will ever find me. I will always be out there, just waiting for my next victim to give me the opportunity. And this thought always leaves me with just one question.     

Who's next?

- Brad Blackwell

Brad Blackwell is 19 years old and has been writing for 7 years. He wrote, directed and produced two plays while in high school, and in 2014, he published the first of his horror novel series, The Curtain Call Chronicles. When he is not writing horror stories, he is working on his web-comic strip, Before & After.