My favorite time of the year. I love the thrill of possibly getting scared. I also love the candy. Of course, the main reason is I can dwell on my fascination with serial killers, especially the movies. I’m not a huge fan of paranormal. I have watched a couple that I am sure I will never own because of the sheer anxiety they bring. I will not buy the Exorcist, nor will I buy The Conjuring. Both movies give me an unpleasant feeling. They were scary in their own way, but something about those movies unsettles my nerves. If you are slightly upset that this post will not contain people in white sheets, too bad; people in white coats and straitjackets, perhaps.
I enjoy slasher movies because the probability of it happening is, well, probable. Not the fact that some creature killed over twenty times will suddenly be chasing you through the woods, but the fact that a psychopath may actually be plotting your death as you read this. The statistics are low, but plausible. This is my reason for loving slasher films. I really love watching older ones and screaming at the tv about how ignorant you have to be to keep running up the stairs.
“What are you doing?!!!”
For today you shall have another look into my warped.
I’m really trying to work my way into a “sick” persons psyche. What goes on in the brain moments before the kill? What doesn’t? I try to capture it here. Enjoy. And Happy Halloween…..
I wanted to push her. Watch her body fall down the steep set of stairs, frantically trying to save herself from a certain painful death. She was standing there mocking me, talking in that demeaning tone. Scolding me for the thousandth time since dawn. I never knew what kept her in her angry state. She was just there and could never seem to leave. Looking back, it occurred that anger was the only emotion I had ever seen her show. That is why the stairs were so tempting. I’d be doing not only me a favor from her constant bitterness, but I’d be saving her from herself. It seemed like a situation molded in heaven and dropped by angels just for me to play with. Strings for me to place upon my delicate fingers, set behind a curtain, and when the time is right, draw back so the entire world could see. To be free of such hatred would draw thousands, and cheers would fill the atmosphere. I would be a hero. A legend. The one who killed the meanest, nagging bitch the world has ever known. I smiled. The joy of such pleasure sent excitement pulsing through my veins, my nerves, and sent my brain pounding. She stopped talking, questioning what could possibly be so funny. I smiled a broadly, making sure to show all my teeth, reassessing the stairs and with a slight push she fell. I relished in the moment and imagined the crowds of people thanking me. I laughed wildly when I saw her reaching for something to save her. It was useless for her to try. I silenced when her body hit the bottom step. I heard a snap, and then as her body finally stopped squirming, blood drained from the back of her head. The deed was done. My body relaxed, my nerves eased, my head cleared. The excitement left with ease and a sense of calm came even easier and from the corner of my mouth a slight grin.
The screaming echoed in my ears. Trying to stop it, but not really knowing how. There is no clarity, only confusion. Scream after scream, then laughing, then crying. Never in order and always followed by a mumble of incoherent words, a shout, then screams. Nothing helped. Yelling back never ceased it. Throwing a tantrum never helped. Only one thing would help. Only one thing would keep the screaming at bay. The only logical thing, a true moment of clarity.
Hands cupped the screaming, holding it in. The muffled scream hidden by flesh that kept pushing the screams inside until they retracted into a place where they couldn’t be reached. Where they would never be found. Breath in, breath out, breath…