He stood across the street from the crime scene taking it
in. Studying the scene from afar gives
perspective into the killer’s insights and provides an overall picture of his
chosen prey. Looking over the scene, which
eerily stood still in the cool midnight air, he was getting a feel for what
story will be told by the crime scene. He
quietly watched. The crime scene will
tell a lot about the person who created it, were they careful or were they
sloppy? Did they take a trophy? Did they leave a telling clue behind? It would all be discovered by paying
attention to the minute details of the crime scene.
He
stood across the street watching patiently before the forensic investigators
snapped their pictures, collected their swabs, dusted for fingerprints, took
measurements and searched for evidence of the crime. It was before the reporters showed up
creating a three-ring media circus and before the brass showed up barking empty
orders to sound important and validate their presence. It was before the heart wrenching scene of when
the victim’s loved ones showed up with false hope and disbelief on their faces,
and then leaving with bitter acceptance and tragic loss gripping their souls.
The small residential house that sat
on the corner lot of a small intersection bestowed the honor of the macabre
scene. Its modesty was apparent with
well-trimmed hedges, a neat lawn and swept walkway. A giant oak tree loomed over the side of the
house casting a dark shadow over the yard and opposed the dull orange glow of
the street light by the road. The tree’s
graying beards of Spanish moss swayed gently in the night breeze. This would be the likely path of the killer
as it offered the ideal shroud of darkness to conceal a stealthy approach.
There was a blue light flickering
in the far window to the right, obviously the master bedroom. They were watching television, or had fallen
asleep without turning it off. No other lights
were on and no movement in the other two windows which undoubtedly held the children
sleeping quiet in their beds. The front
door was shut and the small covered porch was clear. A few decorative plants and flower pots
adorned the railing which bore no real purpose to the scene.
On the approach, the noticeable
odor of dog feces was emanating upward.
They have a dog, or at the very least, the neighbor has a dog that likes
to leave foul smelling deposits in their yard.
This would cause concern because an alert dog would give away the
approach, and all would be lost.
Beneath the giant mossy oak he watched
further. Another angle offers another
perspective into the eyes of a killer. The
shadowy crevice in the deep corner of the yard offered the perfect concealment
from any nosy neighbor or untimely passersby.
From this spot, he could observe his prey, unnoticed until the perfect
moment to strike. It was mere feet from
the master bedroom window and looking in from the right angle offered a glimpse
into their lives. He could watch his
prey in living color before he introduced them to their untimely demise. This angle also allowed the killer to see the
foot of the bed and the sleeping legs and feet of his prey. This confirmed they had fallen asleep.
A simple scratch of the door or
slight scuffle on the porch would test the ears of the potential watchdog
inside. After no response, he would
proceed.
As the killer felt comfortable
enough, he would move stealthily toward the front door, as this was his choice
of entrance, and what a grand entrance it would be. The door was not as well kept as the rest of
the house. It was old and faded from
facing the setting sun. It was dried and
the locks tarnished from age. It would
not offer much resistance to the determined killer.
The door was violently kicked splintering
the door frame into shreds deeper into the living room granting him access to
his prey. A single dusty boot print left
on the exterior of the door would be evident.
But now came the challenge, now is when the thrill of the hunt would
come into play and the experience of the killer revealed. The killer’s presence was announced and soon
the element of surprise would dissipate.
Waking in a dazed stupor, the man
and wife slowly withdrew out of their slumber to the confusion and utter chaos
that would soon follow. Was the loud
crash a part of their dream or was it real?
Before realizing they were the hunted, the shadowy killer deftly advanced
into the master bedroom. He would be
backlit from the glow of the television screen and his silhouette would be cast
on the back wall giving the illusion of a hulking monster on the attack.
A shiny glint caught the man’s eyes
as his dark world slowly came into focus and reality came crashing down. As the shadowy killer pounced on the man, the
sharp sting of metal slicing through his abdomen was slow to develop but the
killer would soon overpower him with his deceptive strength. A quick withdrawal from the wound released
the initial gush of blood that was met with disbelief from the man. Surely, he was still dreaming. Before a scream could escape his mouth, there
was another piercing stab deep into his gut silencing the pain as it grew
exponentially and controlling. He looked
in disbelief over at his wife who had just joined his new reality but it was
too late for her as well.
The shadowy killer grabbed her
flailing arms and pulled her back onto the bed aside her dying husband. She tried to fight back but was met with hard
strikes to her head that sent her back to the realm of the confused. Her brain told her mouth to cry for help but
only a muted push of air made it out.
She managed to struggle through the hazy fog but it was like fighting while
neck-deep in quicksand. A strategic
slice to her abdomen suppressed her futile attempt of escape. She gripped the killer tightly hoping for any
ounce of humanity on his part that would allow her to live and not perish in
this moment. But that was not to be, her
fate was already determined and death was the sentence. A series of follow up stabs, each more
violent than the last, would follow the first cut. Anger and rage had taken over the shadowy
killer who had exercised extreme control and patience up until this point. He edged the line of control and chaos. He grew aroused and the thrill of the stabs
somehow led him to gratification.
The bloody mess he left her lying
in paled in comparison to the husband.
This would be a clear indication that the woman was the overall
target. Attacking the husband first
would remove any chance he would pose as a threat and allow him to concentrate
more on his ultimate prize, the woman.
Blood spatter stained the sheets,
drapes, walls, pillows and the ceiling above glistened a deep dark red. Crimson dots cast off from each rage filled
stab littered the walls and on the ceiling numbered the stars as the sky on a
clear night. Arterial spray dressed the
wall and sheets, and transfer smears and swipes were left by the killer as he
was finally pushing away from his victim.
A void was left to her immediate sides as this showed where he straddled
his victim during the attack. It was a
mess. A violent bloody mess. She was probably unconscious within a minute
after the initial penetration of the blade due to the overwhelming blood loss,
so any resistance offered would have been in vain given the surprise attack.
Bloody footprints led away from the
foot of the bed and faded as they moved about the bedroom. Was there something in the room worth hanging
around for, a trophy perhaps? The
bedroom is a sanctuary and keeper of all things personal and secret. Doors are closed shut when guests arrive so
as not to subject them to the perverted secrets or shameful habits we hide so
ingenuously in the closet, the dresser drawers and the medicine cabinet. It would only take a short time to learn of
those secrets by taking a look in the obvious hiding spots.
She had long straight blond hair, a
toned body and a classical beauty about her that seemed to fit an obvious
profile, chosen of the killer’s own lust.
The rage that was inflicted to her body was on the verge of overkill and
leaned toward a personal relationship with her attacker, but in the ever
evolving mind of a killer she could have been a well-planned target. She would have been watched for days or even
weeks prior. Was the killer careful
during his courtship or was he sloppy?
The husband was just a hurdle, a
task to complete before reaching his intentions and not worthy of the attention
she deserved. It didn’t matter what he
looked like, it didn’t matter who he was, it only mattered that he was moved
out of the way so he could focus on his courtship with her.
Silence followed the heinous
act. No sirens, no screams for help, no
chirps of the patrolman’s radio, just calm silence. The rest of house remained asleep as the
killer would embed himself into the lives of his prey, not ready to let go of
their connection. A stroll around the
sanctuary of the bedroom showed that she coveted her jewelry and he, his
sport’s attire. A small chest on the
dresser was filled with pearls, gold necklaces, gem lined bracelets and rings
of all shapes and sizes. If this was
what fulfilled her material desire, this would be what embodied a reminder of
their courtship, but he had to choose carefully for just the right piece.
After leaving his prey lifeless in
the bedroom, he sauntered back into the living room checking for any additional
signs of life. The hum of the
refrigerator kicking on defrost mode broke the silence. He continued his stealthy hunt in the kitchen
to complete the insertion into the victim’s lives. He wanted to know everything about them. The refrigerator is the bulletin board and art
gallery of the family. The killer would
study the lives of his prey in pictures, snapped at happy times, exciting
times, at parties, on vacation and displayed the growth of the family, one
snapshot at a time. Scribbly finger art
and erratic crayon drawings filled the rest of the door space between the
magnet tacked pictures. Two small
children were the focus in most of the pictures and were the obvious creators
of such innocent artwork. The killer
would realize that there was still prey yet to be found.
The hallway leading to the children's
rooms were dark and silent. This only
proved the effectiveness of his stealth and cunning. Confidence grew with each passing moment. The shadowy killer stood outside of a closed
bedroom door waiting, listening and breathing.
He slowly turned the doorknob, fulfilling any nightmare of the boogeyman
coming to get them and pushed the door open.
His heart raced as the thrill of the hunt was renewed. But he was met with disappointment as the
nightlight in the corner softly illuminated a perfectly made but empty
bed. He looked deeper in the room for
the chance of a spontaneous camping trip on the floor but the room was
empty. A check of the second bedroom
revealed the same, the kids were out.
How fortunate for them or was it?
The shadowy killer would double-check
his work in the master bedroom and ignore the terror filled look on her face
but instead choosing to see the peaceful beauty of their courtship. This was his goodbye. He would take his trophy and bid farewell,
taking in her beauty cherishing one last moment. Their courtship was now complete.
With the stealth and silence he
crept into the scene and into the lives of the victims he stalked, he would slowly
creep out and into the silence of the night.
So, as he stood across the street
from the crime scene before the forensic investigators snapped their pictures,
collected their swabs, dusted for fingerprints, took measurements and searched
for evidence of the crime, he watched. Before
the reporters showed up creating a three-ring media circus and before the brass
showed up barking empty orders to sound important, he studied. Before the heart wrenching scene of the
victims’ loved ones showing up with false hope and disbelief on their face but
leaving bitterly with tragic loss gripping their souls, he waited.
As he stood across the street he
visualized what was about to happen. He
checked his bag of tools and removed the most important tool he had, a shiny
steel blade that was sharpened patiently and awaiting this very moment. He gripped the hilt firmly in his hand as
this was his scythe and he was death.
He moved stealthily toward the house with skillful purpose. He was the hunter, he was the shadowy killer.
