Me... Creepy... Never...

"The Homicide Diaries"


Entry 1


Again synchronicity.
But of what?

I was having dreams of particularly loving sex (very little blood) along the luminous surf of a deserted beach in Hawaii. I remember at the time I was mentally ignoring my dream-partner, slamming away and concentrating on a single memory to fuel my dying erection.

1986… the plump calves and springy sneakers of High school cheerleaders, me hiding under the bleachers, catching a glimpse up red skirts at long legs, masturbating furiously…

I woke up, glad to see those same legs next to me, rotten to bone, wrapped around my body and hanging from meat-hooks on my wall.

There was no dream girl. This was not Hawaii… this was my filthy basement in Upstate California.

I was not a lover, I was a killer.




Entry 2


That sonic taste…

The waking nightmare I’ve grown to love. The detailed shadows of moonlit grass against stucco walls. The sounds of silence.

I stopped licking the lawndirt and put my cock back in my pants. Despite the late hours… this was suburbia, and there were watchers in every window.

I thought of that old rhyme my mother had sung to me as a boy:

Watch the watchers
Watch them well

They are always watching you

Watch the watchers
Watch them well

For you are now a watcher too


...Mother

I realized my knife hand had begun a slow pumping motion.

I put my cock back in my pants.




Entry 3


I came in through the bathroom window, humming a tune by a similar name.

I killed her children first. Sharp ,swift cuts. Painless.

A merciful stabbing.

Cute little things that made funny noises when they died.


I moved into her bedroom and slit her husband's throat. She didn’t wake up; I knew what I was doing.

I took out her miniature poodle out with a piano wire for purely comedic reasons, then hastily returned to her bedside, watching her stir in the growing crimson of the man she loved.

I wanted to fuck her right then and there in his pooling blood (and would had no moral qualms about doing so) but I knew very well I would be unable maintain my erection in her presence.

She wasn’t like the others. She was special.

(I almost chuckled to myself.)

I have the names of everyone she’s ever loved written down on a neat little list... I’ll scratch them off one by one just to see her in a funeral dress.

...
~The rest of the pages are blank or stained with blood.~