I could be anyone. Your mailman, your pastor, your kid's little league coach. I could be you. Anonymity is paramount in my line of "work". The less recognition I get for being different.. the better. Blending in has become a specialty of mine. I do what I have to do to survive and go unnoticed.
Who I am really isn't important. Knowing my name, my location, my daytime job.. all that does nothing to help you understand me, understand what I do and why I do it. There are times I don't even understand the true reasoning for what I do, only the pleasure I get. The feeling of power, of knowing that I can take so much from someone. The feeling of total control. I don't know much about control, except that which I hold over them. To hold power over another, to control their every move.. is beautiful.
You ask how I got here. Was I abused, neglected, forgotten? Honestly, no. I had the idyllic, American childhood up until a certain point. Dad worked a 9-5 job, mom stayed home with me and my little sister. We had snacks waiting for us when we got home from school, hugs were given freely, everyone sat down at dinner together. I suppose that's not the norm these days, but its what I had. One night, it all changed. A drunk driver took out my parents as they returned home from dinner at a friends. My sister and I were sent into the system. I haven't seen her since that night so long ago. I can only hope she's turned out differently than I have.
For the longest time I used drugs, alcohol, adrenaline.. anything to feel something other than the numbness that has become the standard emotion, the reaction to lifes troubles and pains. Then I discovered how wonderful it can be to turn that pain on myself. Eventually, that stopped working, even though the wounds I inflicted became worse and worse. It was when I was locked in the asylum that I came up with my ideas. They had me on suicide watch for 2 months, so I turned inward to escape. The thoughts that began to flood my every waking moment became my best friend. After I realized how much these thoughts suited me and relieved the numbness, I became a model patient. Went to group, took my meds, cried in therapy. I told them that my father was cold, distant, my mother full of rage. Eventually, they declared me sane and released me. Little did they know that at that very moment, I was at my most psychotic.
My first kill. The first time I felt anything in years. He was perfect. A beautiful specimen. The terror in his eyes as I entered my basement.. each time it was an amazing thrill. I still remember the clinking of the chains at night as he struggled to get free. That sound became my lullabye, and to this day that sound will very quickly put me to sleep. I learned quickly that if I made the shackles just a hair loose, he'd fight all the more to get free. Everyday I gave him just the slightest amount of hope that I might one day let him free.. then I'd leave him in the dark, windowless cell I had created. Sometimes I think he went almost as mad as I am.
Back to the feeling. The feeling of control, of power. Have you any idea what it feels like to sit and watch the life go out of somebody's eyes? They're not even physically dead yet, and I've already killed them. Once they stop fighting, it's really no fun anymore. Soon after that, they're disposed of and I begin the search for my next toy. They're always different, but at the same time they have something in common.. they're just toys, pawns in the games I partake in. It can be a tall, blonde man one week and a petite brunette lady the next. What they look like, who they are has no real meaning to me. I like to pick fighters though. They're the most fun to play with, to break down into snivelling children. I remember one of my toys. He was a Marine. Tall, muscular, well trained in killing.. and yet he went just like the rest of them.. sitting in his own filth, pleading for his life, paralyzed by total terror. He fought at first, I still bear the scars. Breaking him was the single most pleasurable event in my life.
The more I killed, the more I desired it. The more I desired, the more I killed. An endless cycle. The only thing that keeps me from killing more often is that fear of detection. The fact that I must, above all, go undetected. When dozens upon dozens of people go missing a year, people take notice. Additionally, it's really not as fun to have people constantly in my room of terror. It takes the fun out of it, it lessens the adrenaline. Even now I find I must do more and more to get the same thrill I got before. Still though, killing is the ultimate high, the ultimate drug. I am wholly addicted to it. Every kill is slightly different but no matter what way I end their existance, the feeling for me is the same. Power. Revenge against those who may have wronged me, even if that person is not the one I toy with. Every person I have taken is a representation of someone from my past. Who they are or what they've done does not matter. The slightest hurt to the greatest of pains.. it's all the same. People must suffer for the things they have done to me.
There are times I do have the desire to turn myself in. I think the reaction of the general public when they learn about my crimes would be another amazing thrill. To open myself up to the psychatrists, to the media, to those who might one day become far worse than me.. that desire is so strong that there are times I don't leave my house, I unplug my phone, close the blinds. Then, after a time, the desire to relieve the numbness becomes so strong that I have to react, I have to relieve it. That's when I have the most fun. After going two or three months without killing, I become so numb that the only thing that will cure me is to make someone suffer at an unbelievable level for an extended amount of time. Again, I let them believe they're going to escape.. I might even let them try to make a break for the door, but they never make it. I bring them right back and begin that breaking process all over again.
Something I often hear or read about so called "serial" killers is that they're one hundred percent insane. They hear voices from their neighbors dogs, they hear God or Satan, they believe the world is coming to an end and they are an avenging angel, taking out those who must not be around for the Rapture. Not me. I'm actually quite sane. I don't hear voices, I don't even believe in God or Satan. There is no good, there is no evil. There is only human nature. I'm not a product of any particular darkness. The darkness is not a product of my history. The darkness IS me. I am the darkness. We are not two seperate entities in any meaning of the word. I think that in itself is the scariest part about me.. I'm not crazy. This is not the product of a chemical imbalance. This is simply who I am.
I wonder what the general population would do if they felt just an inkling of the power I feel on those nights I spend in my basement. The energy I draw from the suffering of others is what fuels me to continue my supposed normal life. I wonder what they would think, how they would react to the numbness I feel when I'm not playing my games. Perhaps then they would see why I play them. Perhaps they would understand and become more like me. I wonder if they could come up with the games I play, could enjoy themselves the way I do to see someone writhe in pain, knowing that person will soon cease to feel anything at all. I wonder if they know blood tastes like pennies.
I could be anyone. Your mailman, your pastor, your kid's little league coach. I could be you. Anonymity is paramount in my line of "work". The less recognition I get for being different.. the better. Blending in has become a specialty of mine. I do what I have to do to survive and go unnoticed.
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