Satanic Panic- A Homage to 1980's B-Movie Horror

by Daniel P Coughlin

  The Tempo drove through town, stopped at the edge of the bridge, and killed the headlights. The Killer exited the car, glanced both ways—saw that no one was coming—then discarded Nick into the icy waters of the river below. Smiling, The Killer zoomed his camera on Nick’s corpse as it sank below the water surface and then traveled with the current. It wasn’t long before the camera image of Nick’s bobbing head disappeared into the blackness of this icy river.

  8

  In the upstairs bedroom of a rundown Victorian home near campus, sitting at his desk, The Killer removed the SD Card from his video camera, inserted it into the card reader that was connected to his Mac Book Pro via SBC cord and then imported the footage of Nick’s demise. Once the footage was imported he quickly edited the clips together and uploaded the artistic demise of Nick Benson onto the Dark Web. A quick ting struck. Scrolling his eyes along the side of the computer screen he found that bit coins had been deposited into his account. As always, The Killer saved a copy of his work as a souvenir. It would be a good edition to his collection.

  Sitting back, The Killer ran his hand through his shaggy hair and then reached for the aged scotch that rested in the cabinet above his desk. He poured it into a neat whiskey glass and sipped from it. The first sip was the best. It scorched down his throat and eased his mind into a relaxed, reflective state. The next part of his ritual was the crystal. He broke off a chunk of the clear white rock and stuffed it down the straw at the end of his glass pipe. His torch lighter hissed, ignited, and he held the flame beneath the glass bulb. He watched the methamphetamine melt and create a ribbon of smoke that he then inhaled. He was always impressed with the amount of smoke expelled from his mouth when he exhaled this drug. Something about the toxic recipe created an abundance of smoke—more than with any usual narcotic substance. Now—he thought to himself—this is only after a completed kill. Meth was very addictive and very intense—a wonderful drug that heightened the experience of a kill and added an orgasmic sensation as a cap. After he’d smoked a bowl of the smooth Russian ice, his brain felt quenched in fire. He sat back and watched the murder he’d committed while offering prayer to his Dark Lord. When Nick’s agonized face showed signs that his life was diminishing, The Killer would pleasure himself. Masturbating while viewing a kill was majestic, especially on meth. He’d spend at least three hours doing this before downing a few tabs of Valium to ease out of the amphetamine high. Then he’d relax, settle. But that would come later.

  When Nick died on camera, The Killer ejaculated hard. The trajectory of his spray was guttural and felt like Heaven if Heaven was Hell. He finished his scotch and then settled into bed and watched a few of his past victims lose their lives. Technology was great. He could watch these videos in the highest quality.

  Chapter 9

  Breakfast Chit Chat

  1

  B rock arrived at the cozy off-campus diner, hurried into the building, and grabbed a booth at the farthest corner of the restaurant specifically because the topic of conversation between Brianna, Lance, and he would be unsuitable for ears of decency. Hoped so anyway. Naughty would be good. In a sense, their banter would be comical, maybe disturbing—to the uninvolved ear. For this reason, they needed to meet at a secluded diner to discuss. Attempting a mature discussion about how and when to execute their heathenism was excitingly humorous. Brock took his seat, scanned the near empty restaurant, and waited.

  Brock had only settled when the cheap, rusted bell above the entrance jingled and Brianna walked in with Lance. Both were laughing at something Lance had said. And Brianna kept touching Lance’s arm, which caused mild jealousy. Quickly dismissed. Both surveyed the diner before spotting Brock at the far corner, near the restroom. Connected, they’re smiles were contagious and laughter was involuntary.

  Excitedly, Lance and Brianna shuffled to Brock’s table.

  “Hey stud,” Brianna said as she sat then inched toward him.

  Their legs touched and their fingers clasped together briefly.

  Brock glanced at their hands. Lying parallel to each other, he thought Brianna would close her grip around his. She didn’t. Glancing at her face, he wondered if at some corner of her thought process she assumed they’d entered into a romantic relationship—the kind of relationship where holding hands at the dinner table was an expression of affection. He despised that brand of a relationship. Nothing about it attracted him.

  Lance took a seat across from Brock, fist-bumped him, and then nonchalantly glanced at the menu.

  A waitress with dark circles beneath her exhausted red eyes strolled over and took their orders for coffee and water. She never made eye contact and a queer grin never left her mousy mouth. “Ya’ll need a minute?” she whispered.

  Oddly, Brianna lost her train of thought when the waitress finally made eye contact, but managed to say, ”Yes, please.”

  The waitress glanced at Brock. Her lips twitched. Then she turned, abruptly, and left.

  “She’s chipper.” Brianna shook her head.

  “Did you hear that some dude drowned last night?” Brock steered the conversation away from the quirky waitress.

  “That’s like the fourth drown victim this year. It’s that creaky old bridge, man. That and drunk people fall,” Lance expanded.

  “What do you mean?” Brock sounded interested. “Did we know him?”

  “I mean dudes get hammered drunk at The Quarter. Stumble home to the dorms across the bridge. They take that shortcut at the edge of the bridge and fall into the water. End up drowning,” Lance rambled. “And it was Nick Benson. I didn’t know him, but I’d probably recognize him at a party.”

  “Huh, I thought they pulled his body out of the river over by that generator factory,” Brianna added.

  “They did, but he fell in at the bridge,” Lance informed.

  “How do you know that?” Brock asked.

  “I read it online.”

  “Which article?” Brock pushed.

  “I don’t remember. Google it.” Lance separated eye contact with Brock.

  “Huh, that sucks.” Brock didn’t force the issue, but—oddly—thought that Lance was lying.

  Brianna broke the awkward moment. “How are we going to talk about what happened? If it’s gonna happen again? And what everyone thought about it?” She smiled.

  Brock knew she was nervous and excited, which was promising. Their sexual adventures would continue. And he was glad she’d been the one to bring it up. He and Lance were clearly insecure about how to broach the topic. Women had more power when it came to illuminating sensitive topics.

  “Those are excellent questions.” Brock found his words comical. He was excited to dive into this subject. “Can we talk about it right now?”

  “I’d like to.” Lance was unable to control the smile sprawling across his face. His cheeks flushed red.

  “I really haven’t been with too many guys ... just boyfriends and a couple of one-night stands. You both know my entire sex life.” She lowered her eyes while a smile widened across her face. “But last night I was free. That was the most liberating, intense, amazing night of my life. I think.” She must have realized that she looked overly excited because she suddenly placed a flat hand over her mouth as if ashamed. “I don’t mean to put any pressure on you guys if you didn’t feel the same way. It’s totally cool if that was like a one time deal.”

  “Is it wrong for me to say that it was amazing and that I really hope we can do it again?” Lance spoke fast. Usually, he wasn’t talkative, but on this morning he sang like a lark.

  “Sounds like we all feel the same. Brianna, when you dominated me and made me feel jealous of Lance ... that made me so horny that you could have told me to kill someone and I would have done it ... just to please you.”

  Brianna swallowed and then scratched Brock’s palm with her index finger. Then she surveyed the diner to see that no one had witnessed this. “I couldn’t believe I had the balls to do that to you. It felt amazing. And then to have La
nce fuck me in front of you ... wow. We’ve come a long way since the days of kick-the-can.”

  “The bedroom got me,” Lance said.

  “I didn’t know that getting fucked from ... back there ... would feel so good.” Brianna bit her lower lip, embarrassed.

  Brock rubbed his hands together successively before asking,

  “When can we do it again?”

  “Can we, like, plan out a scenario?” Brianna smiled.

  “What kind of scenario?” Brock asked.

  “I want to make you guys breakfast while wearing just a thong and an apron.” She laughed. “I’m serious. And like one of those thongs that chicks wear in porn movies. The ones that are just strings, T-shaped.” She bit her lip again and Brock wondered if it hurt.

  “Breakfast in you. I’m in.” Lance nodded.

  “I want you to make me eat everything.” Brianna rubbed her hand over Brock’s groin while she extended her foot beneath the table and rubbed it over Lance’s erection.

  “I so can’t believe we’re doing this. It’s so exciting.” Brianna stopped moving when she realized what the waitresses and cooks would think if they saw her gyrating like this.

  “I guess we should talk about being secretive,” Brock mentioned.

  “Good point,” Lance chimed in.

  “What are you going to do about Grady?” Brock asked. Brianna looked surprised that Brock was concerned, which he really wasn’t. Appearing concerned would allow Brianna to think that he cared, which would rile her up, sexually. He thought.

  Brianna glanced around the diner and then returned her gaze toward Lance and Brock. She opened her mouth to talk, but didn’t.

  “That’s my job to do that.” Lance smiled.

  “Do what?” Brianna looked confused.

  “Open your mouth to talk and then not say anything.” Lance smiled again.

  “You definitely do that. I just ... ”

  Brock reached across the table and placed his hand over the top of Brianna’s. Defensively, she tugged her hand away, but Brock didn’t let go. “Tell us. Whatever you want to say, you need to tell us. Our friendship just elevated to the next level and if we can’t tell each other exactly what’s on our minds at all times then this is going to fail and so will our friendship.”

  Brianna nodded then looked to the tabletop, ran her finger along the edge of a deep gash, and twirled her thumbs. “I ... I, um ... it turns me on to have a boyfriend ... and cheat on him.”

  Brock smiled.

  Lance nodded.

  “It feels good to be honest about those deep feelings, doesn’t it?” Brock whispered.

  Brianna smiled. When her lips quivered, Brock knew that she was fighting the urge not to smile.

  “It would turn me on to fuck you behind his back and make him out to be a total chump,” Brock continued. He was serious. His sly grin was a telling expression.

  “I like that I like Grady as a friend, but that I’m having sex with his girlfriend.” Lance took a deep breath.

  The only sound was their breathing.

  Then they began laughing hard and guttural. The waitress was alarmed.

  “We’re so deplorable,” Brianna continued laughing.

  “God it feels great to be honest about this stuff.” Lance inhaled deeply and laughed so hard that the manager exited the kitchen to see what the noise was about.

  Brock glanced at the manager and silenced himself, embarrassed. Lance and Brianna followed suit and soon the table was silent, red in the face, trying not to laugh. It felt like they had nearly been caught. Thrilled. The waitress returned with their coffees and water. They thanked her and ordered the sampler platter.

  “So where and when do we have our next ... excursion?” Lance pried.

  “A nice hotel?” Brianna was still flustered.

  “You have to stop looking so embarrassed about what you want to do. This is we, and we can do anything,” Brock stated.

  “You’re right.” I want to get a room at the Marriott. Downtown. Top floor. I want Brock to fuck me from behind while he shoves me up against the glass with the curtain open. And I want Lance to watch from the bed.” She was smiling ear to ear.

  Brianna reached over and rubbed Lance’s shoulder. “What do you want? Honest.”

  Lance glanced from Brock to Brianna, smiled, and said, “I want to fuck your mouth, like hard. We can make up a safe word so that I know to stop if it gets to be too much. Is that okay?”

  “That’s more than okay, that turns me on. In return, I want you to lick my asshole while I’m propped up on all fours on the bed. Is that okay?” Brianna returned. “I can’t believe we’re talking like this.”

  “Me neither.”

  “I’m super turned on right now,” Brock stated.

  “Fuck it.” Brianna stood from the table, threw down a twenty and marched outside.

  2

  Soft panting melded with deep groans and echoed from the nearby woods behind the university practice football field where Brianna leaned forward against a thick elm tree with her jeans bunched around her ankles.

  With rapid succession, Brock thrust into her from behind while she took Lance in her mouth. Eagerly, Brock and Lance switched positions. All three nearly climaxed. Afterward they clung to each other as if they were unable to separate.

  “Oh, my boys, my boys.” Brianna held them both.

  3

  The Killer rested his back against the bark of a thick poplar tree fifty yards away and watched. Covering the black box-like shape of his camera body with his palm, he zoomed in and focused on the fornication happening in the distance.

  Pressing the display button on the camera’s digital menu, he saved the footage from the diner. Then he ended the recording. He’d been sitting in his black Chevy van, which was parked across the street while the misguided youths sipped coffee. He’d filmed them through the window at a distance. This would make a nice establishing shot.

  Now, seeking cover behind a gaggle of poplars and elms, he was filming cover footage. Little shots that could fill time and add depth to his video. His surprise pleasure was in the discovery of this love triangle, which added an erotic dimension to his masterpiece. He was ecstatic that he’d been guided to such intriguing people, and at random. These sacrifices were an intervention from his lord.

  Had to be.

  He didn’t want to share these victims with the others, but he would. This was more powerful than the other sacrifices. He could feel that he was being rewarded. These three would not be drowned. That wasn’t enough. This sacrifice was a gift and he would savor it with sweet sorrow. Also, he didn’t know if he’d share all of this footage on the dark net. He’d have to edit a theatrical cut. This film was spiritually enlightening. It was to be shared between he and the Dark Master. This was the category of sacrifice that would ensure a place of rank in Hell. Sure, he enjoyed the company of his enlightened friends, but they weren’t as dedicated or as loyal. In fact, the members of his secret club could get him in a lot of trouble if they were to ever open their mouths about what transpired.

  The Killer recalled the experience of that day. The day he’d found the others. The meeting in the desert had been terrifying yet orgasmic and thrilling.

  His desire to end a human life had become a maddening itch that needed to be scratched. The itch had snowballed since his young body had begun developing, sexually. His heart would race when images of desecrated flesh flashed in his mind until he felt like it would burst. He would kill a neighborhood pet. At the time, it was the only way to sooth his internal desire. Cracking a kitten’s neck and then skinning it would bring out intense sensations. Love and hate and anger all built into twisted release. His insides revved high and his desire to kill a human being boiled to the point that he was consumed. One morning, while surfing unconventional porn sites on the Dark Net he’d discovered the Smiley Devils. He didn’t think much of the Dark Net at the time. It was underwhelming. He’d only heard rumors that you could purchase anything y
ou wanted with bit coins. It was easy enough to login. There was a YouTube video that explained how to enter. Furthermore, there was a nice infomercial detailing the legalities of how the Dark Net could not be monitored by the government or law enforcement. So he’d browsed the items on the various sites and he was pleasantly surprised, very enthused, and ultimately excited to discover that he could use the site to benefit his hidden desire. The Smiley Devils drew him in. There was something spiritual calling to him. He couldn’t resist the magnetic force driving him to check out this group. Their page was a recruiting site. Really, it was a job posting. Live videos of actualized killings—that you committed—could be uploaded to a designated portion of the website and viewed for a price. Snuff films. If you uploaded a real video that was verified by an unknown source then your account was credited with bit coin, same as money.

  The Killer enjoyed committing murder. Filming his vile acts created paranoia at first, but once he became skilled the paranoia diminished. Filming these videos became a necessity. Watching the movies, afterward, he relived the experience. He became a polished editor. With neatly composed shots, The Killer created real storylines. He would read film writing books about the Hero’s Journey and script structures and before he knew it he could stalk, stage, create, and structure live action snuff films. But the aspect of the Smiley Devils that he enjoyed most was the comfort he felt that there were others like him, walking amongst the ordinary. Suburban maniacs committing home invasions, urban torture videos, and rural human hunting were common themes. They were real and the people committing these acts were connected via this Dark Net. Once comfortable with his craft, he arranged a meet with some of these likeminded murderers. The relationships he developed with these murderous churchgoers, accountants, factory workers, lab geeks, and all other walks of life bloomed. The Killer had found his life’s calling. There was a deep spiritual side to these people. The Dark Lord had gathered them. It was involuntary. They were serving a purpose that was much greater than any one killer.