Warning: This work has been rated 16+ for language, violence, and mature content.
Dancing down a lone road singing as loud as my voice allows me to, nothing on my right and nothing to my left, a barren desert surrounds this one road. To dance is an expression of joy, and sometimes victory. But in this case it’s a combination of both. To sing is to vocalise power, power to live life on the edge, and to the absolute max.
As I sing and dance down the road, I hold up what is gripped in my right hand; the head of a hitchhiker whom I had killed earlier in the afternoon. But killed is such a plain, unattractive word, why not say “I hacked the head off of a man, just for the fun of it.”
The head is big, the man’s chin was rather wide, and his eyes were brown before I plucked them out. Not a bad looking gentleman, but not worth keeping alive. But who is worth keeping alive? Who says anyone is more important than any other person? It’s not known.
After a while I grow tired of dancing and singing, and grow tired of waving around the head of just another pointless victim. I get bored rather easily. Up ahead there is one rock that sits right by the road, I go over and sit down, and it’s hard and uncomfortable. Which is fucking great, the discomfort drives me to thrill.
I make a rough estimate of how far the next town might be, I measure about 9 miles. Perhaps waiting for a passer-byer to hitch a ride might be a good idea, don’t have to waste all the energy that way.
This is what I do, every single day; hack’n’run. And to add to how interesting my adrenaline pumping life is, I carry a single pocket knife around which I use every time I hack. It’s more challenging and keeps me occupied.
Out of the now 35 people I have encountered and hacked with a gross amount of passion, about 16 have begged for mercy before dying and often they have asked the same question; “why are you doing this?” In all truthfulness, sometimes I know but other times I have no idea.
For instance, there was this incredibly sexy woman I met at a brothel last march. She made me so moist my underpants were almost soaked with cum. Anyway, she danced for me at the brothel, and it was hot. But little did I understand why there was a strict rule about touching the strippers; it was not allowed. This rule was meaningless to me so I touched her anyway, feeling right up her voluptuous thighs. Before I could reach orgasm, she turned around quickly and slapped me across the cheek.
The arousal turned to boiling anger and humiliation. I clutched her arm and maintained a heavy, threatening gaze on her, she tried to break away but she struggled. I think she realised she was going to die at that moment, because when the guards came over to kick me out of the Brothel, she just ran straight out of the brothel, but I hunted her down. I found her. And her head became my memento.
That was a time I knew why I was killing, but that is only the most specific reason because really there is a whole lot more to it than that.
Then again, sometimes I just get bored and develop an intense desire for a thrill fix, so I go out and hunt what I can to satisfy me. Of course, I’m aware that others will think I am sick, twisted and evil as they call it, but what they don’t know is that I am actually doing everyone that falls victim to me a huge favour. Everyone is worthless, pointless, just another…person who just happened to be the tadpole that entered the womb. It doesn’t mean anything, it’s all just science.
How do I know this is true? Because when I was a boy, my Daddy used to beat me. Beat me until I was bruised all over, sometimes he would even burn me with cigarette butts and toss the ash tray in my face. And he would always say “you know why your Mamma left? Because she didn’t wanna have to look after just another living product, you’re a worthless piece of shit with no guts to hit me back boy, you little pussy.”
Daddy would say that after each time he beat me, and each time I got older and stronger and more tired of being pushed around. But the one thing good I can say about Daddy is that he taught me something, which has been ingrained in me ever since the day he last hit me; we are all worthless, just people who happen to be on this Earth, so it really doesn’t matter what happens to anyone, even me.
Then, Daddy was wrong about one thing. I’m not a pussy, I made sure to clarify that after the last beating he gave me.
So I figure, if everyone is worthless then it won’t matter if they die because I understand that they are just people. Others won’t get that, but it really has to be true.
But anyway, now my Daddy knows that I’m not worthless. In fact I am 35 times less useless as he is.
At the horizon, a car comes into my vision; it’s a truck of some sort. Here comes another one. I point my thumb upwards as the truck gets closer and pull an expression that appears desperate.
The truck pulls up and the driver pushes the door open.
Its number 36.
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125,014 Literary Works • 672,845 Reviews
Wow! I have to say, this story definitely fits in the horror category! It was deranged and disturbing, which I assume is exactly what you were going for. So, nice job!
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For starters, I admired the fact that you made the murder seem almost like an intelligent, reasonable person, rather than the completely insane person he is. His backstory was classic. It wasn't really too original, but that doesn't mean it was bad. I enjoyed it a lot, but I suggest that you try to add another unique twist to it just to make it a little bit more exciting (not that it isn't already).
The way you described the man's feelings was excellent. He seemed almost proud of what he did. You also touched on the idea that he killed people partially to spite his father for calling him weak and a pussy. I might develop that idea more, if I were you. Try to have him analyze himself without really making him look like he's doing it. What I mean by that is try to drop a few more subtle hints like when you wrote, "I am 35 times less useless as he is." That might even increase the depth of the story. A good horror story can always be improved with a little more character analysis
Well, that's all I can really say. Hope this helped!
Hey Legible!
First of all, that was a wonderful, terrible story. It was very well-crafted and interesting. I really could see inside his twisted mind. It was extremely interesting and disturbing. Well done.
Now, onto the nitpicks...
'Dancing down a lone road singing as loud as my voice allows me to, nothing on my right and nothing to my left, a barren desert surrounds this one road. To dance is an expression of joy, and sometimes victory. But in this case it’s a combination of both. To sing is to vocalise power, power to live life on the edge, and to the absolute max.'
I would suggest changing 'singing as loud as my voice allows me to' to something more along the lines of 'singing as loud as I possibly could'. The first one sounds a little awkward. Also, I would suggest either changing 'nothing on my right and nothing to my left' to either 'nothing to my right and nothing to my left' or 'nothing on my right and nothing on my left'. It flows a little better and it adds a certain continuity to it.
'As I sing and dance down the road, I hold up what is gripped in my right hand; the head of a hitchhiker whom I had killed earlier in the afternoon. But killed is such a plain, unattractive word, why not say “I hacked the head off of a man, just for the fun of it.”'
This is just creepy, but in a very good way for horror stories. It sounds like he is almost proud of what he did. This is also extra creepy to me because a few days ago, a few teenagers killed a man, because, in their words 'they were bored and they did it for the fun of it'.
'After a while I grow tired of dancing and singing, and grow tired of waving around the head of just another pointless victim. I get bored rather easily. Up ahead there is one rock that sits right by the road, I go over and sit down, and it’s hard and uncomfortable. Which is fucking great, the discomfort drives me to thrill.'
I would suggest changing the first sentence to 'After a while I grow tired of dancing and singing, and even of waving around the head of just another pointless victim.' The first sentence is a bit redundant.
'For instance, there was this incredibly sexy woman I met at a brothel last march. She made me so moist my underpants were almost soaked with cum. Anyway, she danced for me at the brothel, and it was hot. But little did I understand why there was a strict rule about touching the strippers; it was not allowed. This rule was meaningless to me so I touched her anyway, feeling right up her voluptuous thighs. Before I could reach orgasm, she turned around quickly and slapped me across the cheek.'
March should be capitalized.
Anyway, kudos. This was a very interesting story and it was very cool getting inside that character's head. Nice job and keep writing!
~Pen
(Shout out to the other members of Team Black Plague!)
Hulla!
You have definitely nailed the horror part to this story. You have shown(not tell, which is very good) the psychopathic mindset of the killer very well. The story about the father was exceptionally written and it tells you why the MC does what he does. I love your writing style.
I'm going to leave this as a comment as I do not have anything to review here.
I look forward to reading more of your works!
-manisha
Loved this story!!!! I hope to eventually write horror myself
First of all I love the idea of this. I've always loved the serial killer hitchhiker stories.
I do have some criticism though: your writing flows at points but at others seems too wooden which can really let a story down. I just suggest going over it and re-wording some sentences such as "Then, Daddy was wrong about one thing. I’m not a pussy, I made sure to clarify that after the last beating he gave me." It just doesn't feel right if you know what I mean.
But overall I think this could be a chilling story, especially if you ever want to extend it into a real novel
Thanks for the tips