What They Deserve

Personals are placed in the local paper. The ads are small, inconspicuous; to the average person they would seem innocuous, which is why it works so well. Special jargon is used, phrases – only the right people understand and respond.

They call a pay-as-you-go phone. As you’d expect, ‘Unknown Number’ appears on the screen; a time and date are set. You can hear the excitement in their voice as the final arrangements are made, the anticipation palpable.

It is so hard for the police to get leads. The victims are very hesitant to come forward, due to threats on their lives and families. You cannot blame them – they are so young and impressionable.

The preparation is done in plain sight. It’s surprising, the nonchalant attitude they have towards their crimes; they think they’ll never get caught, some of them never will.

It’s around 4:30pm and I’m in the darkness of the garage. I sit on the same chair I sit on every time I wait.

Sometimes the man, it’s always a man, doesn’t arrive and I am free to go and do what I want for the rest of the day. It’s a relief, as the stress can be quite overwhelming, and they are just such horrible people. But they come back, they can’t resist it, so it just delays the inevitable; today he arrives on time.

The thin aluminium door creaks as it opens.

“Hello?” the fat sweaty man queries.

I can see the toad-like sub-human scum fumble for the light switch as he apprehensively enters. The little light that is left of the afternoon paints his trench coat with a slick slime like appearance. He looks just like you’d expect of his ilk.

“Oh there you are,” the man said, pleased. He unashamedly licks his lips, happy to see his clandestine tryst was not a ruse.

I stay silent as my mouth has been gagged by a pillowcase, tied around my neck. My hands are bound behind my back. I am naked.

I peer into his eyes, looking like a frightened rabbit in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle. His heart melts and I can see the desire in his eyes grow.

He puts his hands out in front of him and wiggles his fingers as he approaches me. In his rush to satisfy himself he has not closed the door or found the light switch.

He looks me over and runs his hand down my arm, he shudders and is ready. I’ve seen this look plenty of times before, I ready myself for my special place.

He turns and walks towards the workbench, barely visible from the light that’s available. He takes off his trench coat to reveal a Transformer’s Autobot logo emblazoned on a very tight black T-shirt.

He walks towards me for his final approach. I close my eyes tight. I hate this part, but it will soon be over.

He places his hands on my shoulders. I reinforce my grip on the kitchen knife taped to the underside of the chair. The false knots around my hands fall apart with ease as I release my weapon and prepare to plunge. I look into the man’s eyes as he catches sight of the immaculately sharpened implement of his death, his eyes wide with incomprehension; priceless.

I grab the handle with both hands and jab the knife into the man’s stomach. The familiar sound of squelches nauseate me as the blade enters and exits his guts as I try to get as many stabs in as I can before I am too repulsed to continue.

The man turns white with shock, doesn’t utter a single sound as he stumbles to his knees and comes to rest on the plastic sheeting I have covered the floor with. The blood seeps out of his confetti-like damaged flesh, spreading outwards like a slow tide.

I run for the trapdoor to the basement, my bare feet slapping on the concrete floor. With great effort I open the heavy wooden hatch; the smell that emanates is revolting.

I return to the now dead man and pick up the corners of the plastic, wrapping him up in a makeshift body bag. I use pre-prepared duct tape strips to hold it closed. I drag him over to the trapdoor – the corpse moves surprisingly easily over the painted floor. I line up the bundle over the basement hole and let go. I watch as the polythene cocoon rolls down the stairs and comes to rest on top of the others down there.

My daddy is going to be so proud, he says all pedophiles should be killed; they need to get what they deserve. I’m going to have to tell him soon, the smell is getting really bad and I am running out of space.


*As seen on Reddit’s Library of Shadows

Leave a Reply

  • (will not be published)

XHTML: You can use these tags: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>