Youngstown Demon
You don't say anything, just sit tight and wait for the man the turn onto Kimmel. You can sense the excitement of the other ones building.
"Where on Kimmel am I taking you?" he asks as he makes th turn.
"Does it matter?" you ask.
"Well, no," he says. "But I need to know when to stop the car."
"You can stop it up here, just at the wood patch."
He nods a bit and moves his mouth like he's chewing gum. He's not chewing gum, though. His coffee breath has been dominant in the cab since the moment you sat down. You wonder if he thinks he's getting lucky.
He stops the car. You note that the streets are pretty much empty tonight, just a few thugs looking hard a bit up the street.
"Here we are," he says.
You smile at him.
"Yes," you say, straddling his lap. He is all smiles now, and you feel him harden beneath you. You reach for and yank your knife from its strap at your leg. "Here we are."
With all your force you plunge the blade into the point between the neck and the center of the collarbone, the steel sinks in as though the skin parts to receive it.
Charles just stares back at you with eyes wide in fear and a slackened mouth. He doesn't know what to do or say. He's like a deer in headlights. It's always fascinated you how much like animals we are in our final moments; all Gods creatures die the same.
You grip the handle with both hands and pull down with all your might, the thick steel blade of your knife cracking through the collar bone and ripping through the center of the rib cage. He finally starts to scream when your knife tears through his stomach. You stop at his pelvic bone.
"Hush now, sweet Charles," you tell him in a soothing voice. "It will all be over soon."
He starts shoving at you and trying to push you away but you stop such nonsense by shoving the blade through his neck, up under his collarbone and into his brain. He goes very still. Having a knife like this is a blessing.
You take the knife and cut him horizontally, intersecting with your vertical gash at ninety degree angles. After taking a moment to admire your work, you wipe his blood from your knife on his pants, and get out of the car. You walk around to the driver side and shove the lifeless form of Charles Morton over to the passenger side.
With a turn of the key in the ignition you are driving away. Two faces stare back at you from the woods, children. Their big white eyes almost glowing against their dark skin. What sort of monster allows their children to play in the woods in the night on this street?
You drive off, heading for a dumping ground that you've used once before.
"Where on Kimmel am I taking you?" he asks as he makes th turn.
"Does it matter?" you ask.
"Well, no," he says. "But I need to know when to stop the car."
"You can stop it up here, just at the wood patch."
He nods a bit and moves his mouth like he's chewing gum. He's not chewing gum, though. His coffee breath has been dominant in the cab since the moment you sat down. You wonder if he thinks he's getting lucky.
He stops the car. You note that the streets are pretty much empty tonight, just a few thugs looking hard a bit up the street.
"Here we are," he says.
You smile at him.
"Yes," you say, straddling his lap. He is all smiles now, and you feel him harden beneath you. You reach for and yank your knife from its strap at your leg. "Here we are."
With all your force you plunge the blade into the point between the neck and the center of the collarbone, the steel sinks in as though the skin parts to receive it.
Charles just stares back at you with eyes wide in fear and a slackened mouth. He doesn't know what to do or say. He's like a deer in headlights. It's always fascinated you how much like animals we are in our final moments; all Gods creatures die the same.
You grip the handle with both hands and pull down with all your might, the thick steel blade of your knife cracking through the collar bone and ripping through the center of the rib cage. He finally starts to scream when your knife tears through his stomach. You stop at his pelvic bone.
"Hush now, sweet Charles," you tell him in a soothing voice. "It will all be over soon."
He starts shoving at you and trying to push you away but you stop such nonsense by shoving the blade through his neck, up under his collarbone and into his brain. He goes very still. Having a knife like this is a blessing.
You take the knife and cut him horizontally, intersecting with your vertical gash at ninety degree angles. After taking a moment to admire your work, you wipe his blood from your knife on his pants, and get out of the car. You walk around to the driver side and shove the lifeless form of Charles Morton over to the passenger side.
With a turn of the key in the ignition you are driving away. Two faces stare back at you from the woods, children. Their big white eyes almost glowing against their dark skin. What sort of monster allows their children to play in the woods in the night on this street?
You drive off, heading for a dumping ground that you've used once before.