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Suspense Stories | Dec 8, 2011 | 6 min read
36 Votes, average: 4 out of 5
Have you ever googled "murder"? Scrolled through the images?

When Saddam Hussein died, did you look up the video?

I'm not saying everyone does it. But it's normal. People have told me I'm crazy, even screamed it in my face, but I'm not. I've given this a good deal of thought and I'm normal. Humans lust after violence. That's just what we do. Executions used to be public entertainment. The original "Faces of Death" earned over $35 million. It contains footage of seals being clubbed to death. For your viewing pleasure.

I'm not saying I'm good. I'm not saying I'm likeable. But I'm normal.

It started small. It started with the internet. Google image searches with SafeSearch turned off. Then, I discovered Rotten.com. I once saw an image of a man who shit out his own intestines. I'm not saying that's good. But you're curious, right? A part of you, a dirty buried bloodlusting part, wants to see it.

We're normal.

But, one could say I took it farther than most. My ex-girlfriend used to cut herself. Short, shallow gashes running up and down her arms. That's why I asked her out in the first place. Once I got to know her, I asked if I could watch. She obliged.

It was… intense. Waiting while she took out the disposable razor. Wincing. Imagining the pain as the blade slid across. Then the climax—the release—watching the blood trickle down her arm. It was better than sex.

Afterword she looked at me and smiled and asked, "Do you want to taste it?"

Some people are freaks.

We had to break up when she died. I don't think she did it on purpose. She seemed pretty happy, mostly. Of course, after that I needed a new fix. Google image searches wouldn't do it anymore. I tried cutting myself and that was okay. But with my own body it lacked the same excitement. And to cut deep enough to produce any real amount of blood was just dangerous. Also, I didn't care for the pain.

I needed something new.

My pastor once told me a story that he said described "sin." He said that Intuits used to hunt wolves by dipping sharp knives in blood and freezing them. They would stick the knives out in the cold and wolves, attracted to the blood, would come lick them. And keep licking them until the blade was exposed and the blood they were licking was their own. And they would bleed to death, tongues split open, consuming themselves.

The story did little for me on a spiritual level. But there was a dog in my neighborhood I was not fond of.

I'm afraid I can't say if the Inuit method works. I got tired of waiting. Eventually, I walked over to the dog, rubbed its belly, and cut its throat. This method I will vouch for. It was marvelous, exciting—my first real thrill in months.

I took the dog back to my garage (my mom works nights) and the two of us played for hours. I opened him up and his insides came out to greet me. It was… intimate.

Now up until this point, I think we can agree that I have behaved normally. Perhaps not the way every person would, but we are all individuals, are we not? The point where our opinions may start to differ is… well, let's call her Ms. Jones.

Ms. Jones was a skilled English teacher. And though I admired her gift as an educator, she did not deserve to live. She once told me the story of how she'd almost drowned as a child. The details are irrelevant. What matters is that her life, her career, the biking trips with her husband, the evenings spent with her darling baby, all of it, wasn't meant to be. But I could help. I could take away the burden of her undeserved life.

As you can see, I did not choose her based on unsound logic. I thought it out, as any normal human would.

Of course, Ms. Jones was no neighborhood dog. She wouldn't lick a bloody knife or be distracted by a belly rub. She would however meet after school to discuss a failing test grade. What more do you need?

A rag soaked in hydrogen sulfide.

It took little effort to render her unconscious, but great restraint to wait until the building cleared out to start our session. It was Friday and the janitorial staff wouldn't be back until Sunday. We could take our time. I began by removing one of her beautiful, pedicured nails. This quickly restored her consciousness. She screamed.

"Hello," I said. "Be still."

I then applied gentle, steady pressure to her eye with my knife. Did you know eyes are not filled with blood, but a clear gelatinous substance? Does this really not fascinate you?

Ms. Jones screamed again. She grabbed my arm, trying to force it away. So I had to break hers. I'm not saying I have unusual strength, but Ms. Jones was petite and I a physically fit teenage male. I had not thought restraints were necessary.

Hubris, of course.

"Be still," I reminded her. "I want to see if I can reach your heart before it stops beating." I began to cut off her shirt. Ms. Jones protested with a kick to the jaw.

While I regained my composure, she grabbed my pliers—her toe nail still sticking to them—and stabbed me in the gut. I had underestimated her strength. These were merely pliers, mind you, but my blood flowed freely.

This was not like when I cut myself. This was two people sharing something together. Something marvelous, exciting… normal.

I returned the favor, stabbing her beneath her jaw, watching blood trickle down upon her legs. I then handed her the knife. She chose to go for my chest. Uninspired, in my opinion. But she was just beginning.

I dislodged the knife from between my ribs. Though it had gone nowhere near my heart, I realized I would probably soon bleed out. Quickly, I sliced along Ms. Jones's arm, hoping but failing to reach bone. Handing the knife back to her I offered a friendly suggestion, "I would be interested in seeing my own intestine."

Ms. Jones looked at me for a moment, thinking it over, but decided to go for my throat instead. I like to imagine there was a crimson arterial spray, but at this point I passed out.

-


I came to in the back of a police car, my wounds dressed and external bleeding stopped. There was only one officer up front. I'm not saying I'm a criminal mastermind, but just one? Did they think I was incompetent?

As I've said, I don't care much for pain—but what's a few broken bones compared to prison? Like any normal human would, I snapped some fingers, took off the cuffs and used them to strangle the officer.

And, as always, God smiled upon me. Within a week, I had found a shelter for homeless youth a few cities over. Interesting thing about homeless youth—many of them have almost died. They do not deserve to live.

I'm not saying I'm good. I'm not saying I'm likeable. But I can help.

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Reviews

Crybaby.dark.one May 27, 2017

Hey, that's pretty good.

Ever Jun 13, 2012

I have to say I enjoyed the twist at the end, honestly didn'tsee that coming. I did enjoy how he viewed himself as God. Very creepy and well written.

Gabi Dec 27, 2011

Great story. Different, intriguing. Keep it up!

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