Serial Killer
Horror
Stephen Kingston
Contents
Copyright
About the Book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
BONUS
Still Birth
The Shadow Man
About the Author
Copyright © Lovy Books Ltd, 2016
Stephen Kingston has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.
Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.
Lovy Books Ltd
20-22 Wenlock Road
London N1 7GU
About the Book
George was angry. Retired, disabled from his job as a traffic warden, he had nothing but contempt for the world at large and the evil people that existed in it. Apart from his solitary trip once a week to an American diner, his only love was to watch the news on TV, and scowl at it. But his new TV had more to offer than simply the news. Legion offers him a chance to put right the many wrongs in his neighborhood. To remove some of the trash that tarnishes his beautiful city. To regain some of the pride he lost after being beaten just for doing his job.
Legion will guide him to the people that need to be removed and give him all the information he needs to do the job. All George has to do is follow instructions. A variety of undesirables have been selected for the justice that is George. George has a hammer and a long overcoat. He will become a serial killer.
Chapter One
George pressed hard on the television remote. Hard enough perhaps to not only remove the channel he had been watching from his eyes but to destroy all that he had seen. The news was bad yet again and George Spencer was mad too. Watching the news on a constant cycle made him angry. So angry he needed to change channels to see more news that would only make him angrier. His pudgy fingers pressed repeatedly on the remote as he hopped from station to station. He loved his television news but people, not so much. Retired and injured from his job as a traffic warden, George was 63, short, pudgy and bald. His over eagerness to slap parking tickets on as many cars as he could in a day caught up with him, one day it got him a beating he would never forget.
The guy in the red Mercedes had arrived two minutes before the ticket ran out, but George knew the game. If he fiddled and played around enough to stop the guy moving he could write him the ticket. This he had done with a smirk on his face as the man protested furiously. George was used to the tirade of abuse he would suffer during these confrontations, but this chap was not going to leave it at that. He took the ticket from George, and clenching it in his fist, slammed it straight into George’s face. George smashed his head on the car as he bounced down to the ground, his back twisting with a sickening crunch on one of those bounces. The man had stripped him of his machine as he lay twisted and broken on the ground. As the man drove away, George had tried and failed to see the number plate he had just written down earlier. The blood filling his face had blurred his vision.
The man in the Mercedes had got away and in taking the ticket machine with him, there was little evidence left to help the police investigate. No car, no ticket machine with the registration and George struggling to remember his attacker.
George had made a slow recovery and suffered constantly from headaches and excruciating back pain since. He also carried a scar on his back from the Mercedes badge he’d hit on the way to the ground. He never issued another parking ticket again. He was angry. But, today was Tuesday and on Tuesday he would take himself to town to a small American diner. There he treated himself to a cheeseburger and fries with a large cola. Only Tuesdays mind. That was the day he would allow himself to indulge for a while in the depravity of the outside world.
This small part of Manchester was about as much of the world as George could tolerate these days. The diner was functional but reasonably clean. George appreciated the fact that staff would ensure he always had a clean table with condiments on it before he sat himself down to his meal. He never left a tip of course. He was of the opinion that as he had to collect his own food from the counter nobody really deserved tipping. Though to be fair, at least here they did prepare the tables and remove the empty trays. Not like those real American chain diners where customers were expected to clean up after themselves. George had visited one or two of those and refused to follow the crowd and stack his tray and dump his trash in the bins provided. The staff in those places were polite, smiled but he knew they couldn’t care less if he had a nice day or not. He certainly wasn’t going to clean up for them.
Making the slow walk home, George passed an electronics shop. Lining the windows were a range, from smallest to largest, of the new flat screen televisions. George was already the proud owner of a smart forty inch flat screen he’d bought with some of his pay-off from work. Smiling smugly, knowing he owned one of these fancy televisions, he noticed the newsreader on one of the sets. The man eerily seemed to be looking directly at George.
The newscaster smiled at George and gave him a knowing wink as he carried on voicelessly reading the day’s headlines. George smiled and continued on his way home. Back at the house the first thing he did was turn on the TV and settle himself in front of it. The picture sprang onto the screen with all the fancy menus for those folk that like that kind of thing. George actually didn’t like that sort of thing, whatever that thing was. He actually had no idea the range of options the new television offered nor did he particularly care. He wanted his news and the few seconds of “Press here to join your friends on Friendsbook” or “Try our trial of Killer Flying Birds. You’ll be flying too.”
None of it ever moved him to press one of the buttons and he glared at the screen until the news came on again. That same newsreader he noted from earlier. Mid-fifties perhaps, George guessed. Dark, well cut hair and a smart suit. All the makings of someone that could be trusted to read the news without drama and deliver the truth. George liked the truth.
“The Lady Mayoress has been stealing from the council funds again.” The newscaster reported. “She needs taking out of the equation. We might have money for things that matter if this thieving cow was taken down.”
George stared at the screen. “Did he just say that on air?” George asked himself, leaning forward towards the screen.
“Don’t you agree George? We don’t need people like her destroying our wonderful city, right? We need to do something about it.” The newscaster continued.
George nodded.
“Close your mouth George. You’re gaping. You do know, she has been syphoning funds from the Library Special Fund and from the new old peoples’ center development funds. All going into a secret bank in the Channel Islands. Can you believe the audacity of the woman George?”
“You are talking to me right?” George replied, his head snapping to look around the room as if he half expected it to be full of a dozen other old men called George. “Is this part of the new tel
evision options? I hope I don’t have to pay extra for it.”
“A personal service just for you. Free of charge. You were selected as one of our special viewers we knew would appreciate the personal touch. One of those we thought might be outraged and upstanding enough to do something about these terrible travesties of justice, George.”
“Well yes. Yes of course. This is absolutely disgraceful. And yes I am one of those that would like to do something about it. I’m not surprised at all I was chosen. I was actually almost a policeman you know?” George replied.
“A most exemplary traffic safety officer George and cut down in your prime. I’m sure a promotion was only days away if that monster hadn’t cut you down with that assault.” The newscaster said.
“I could have made supervisor you know?” George replied. He’d always hated his supervisor and his one goal had been to replace him and run the department as only he knew how.
“Quite so. A city like this needs a supervisor with your experience and dedication. So sad you had all that snatched away from you. Still, now you have the chance to make up for it. Doing some top level, secret crime fighting. If you think you’re up to the challenge of course. Many believe they are but few are able. Are you able George?”
“Totally.” George replied. “A chance to get back to righting wrongs. Yes indeed I’m able. Tell me what you know of our good Lady Mayoress and her stealing. I know a chap that works at the local police station. He’ll have her locked up in no time.”
“Oh no George, that isn’t how it works at all.” The newscaster replied.
“No?” Asked George looking puzzled. “So how do we go about confronting her? Should I try reporting it to the press?”
“No not at all. As of now, you must trust this information to nobody George. You see, most of those that are supposed to represent us, those that pontificate about how we should live our lives and those that enforce the laws of the land, are actually the worst of the lot. You can trust none of them George. The Lady Mayoress will never be charged. She has too many friends in high places. She dines with the Chief Constable. No. The only way to do it is to remove her from society ourselves, if you know what I mean.”
The newscaster replied giving a nod and a wink as he leaned forward towards George. He rocked back in his chair, shocked at how the newscaster appeared to emerge from the television and shocked at what he thought the man was implying.
“Kill her?” George whispered.
“Kill her George. It is the only sensible option.” The newscaster replied.
“I’m not really the killing type. I’ve never killed anyone. I don’t think I could. Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I’m not the man for the job after all.” George said.
“Oh you certainly are George. You will be doing a huge service to the city you love. You were born to be the man that cleans up the town. Think of yourself as the sheriff in the Old West. He had to kill or there would be chaos right?”
“But we’re not in the Old West, we’re in Manchester and we have a police force and the proper people to deal with this sort of thing.” George replied.
“As I said George. They can’t be trusted. We need people like you. People with integrity and a love of the rule of law. People that can make the hard decisions because they are the right ones. Special, select people George. You are one of those people and I trust you to rise to the challenge.”
“But how? How would I go about killing someone? Anyone? Do you issue me a gun or something? I have no idea where to start with something like that.” George stammered.
He slumped back in his chair, his head spinning and confused. The television was talking to him. The television wanted him to murder the Lady Mayoress. This was all so wrong and he seriously needed a lie down and a nap. But then, this man was a newscaster. Probably with some secret government agency. He sounded so plausible and of course we couldn’t have the Lady Mayoress stealing from the good people of the city. That would never do. But how?
He looked around his messy, one bedroom apartment hoping for an inkling of a clue as to what was going on. The room was still decorated in the same 70s wallpaper, and the furniture all came from that same era. It was cheap and cheerful then. Now it was just cheap. The cheerful caught the last bus out a long time ago. Apart from the new shiny television he was sat in front of, there was little in the house to inspire George with an answer.
“It will be easy George. You will need to trust me. You look tired and I understand this is all a bit of a shock. If you are not capable of the task, I will understand. What with you being so out of shape and disabled. Perhaps we made a mistake after all.” The newscaster said solemnly.
“But how? How will I go about it? Invite her for tea? Hardly.” George snapped back as he felt his pride taking a bit of a kicking.
The newscaster smiled gently through the screen. “You put up some shelves last week in the kitchen. A fine job you made of them too.”
“Yes, yes I did. You think I should go round and offer to do some handyman jobs for her?” George asked.
“Oh certainly not, not at all. But you left your claw hammer on the kitchen counter I believe.” The newscaster replied.
“I did, yes.” George said.
“That will slip neatly into your overcoat pocket George. A perfect weapon. Nobody is going to question an elderly gent carrying a hammer to fix his kitchen shelves. Guns are so messy and complicated George. Go and get the hammer. See how it feels.” The newscaster said.
George went into the kitchen and took the hammer from the counter top. He’d only bought it a couple of weeks ago to bang in a few nails. They would hold his new shelf to the wall and give him a bit more room for his pots and pans. He was no handyman by any stretch of the imagination and he knew it. The shelf still stood empty. George wasn’t brave enough to actually test it with anything of any weight. He shifted the claw hammer in his hand and flexed his grip around it. He tested a swing at an imaginary head in front of him. A few more swings from each side and he felt he had his death swing down to perfection. Yes he could easily take out some old lady with this. He was actually something of an expert it seemed. He made his way back into the living room and sat back in front of the television.
“Try it in your jacket pocket George. See how it feels.” The newscaster said.
George stood up and walked over to the sofa where his long overcoat lay. It was old, like most things George owned, and baggy. He slid it on and lowered the hammer into the right pocket. The pocket was deep and the hammer disappeared.
“Perfect. The Lady Mayoress will be home on her own at nine o clock. All you have to do is ring the bell and smack her in the head when she answers. No small talk. No introductions. Just whack her on the head and walk away. Simple really. Maybe too simple for someone of your skills, but I’m sure you’ll be happy with the results.” The newscaster said.
“Nine o clock tonight? You want me to do it tonight? But I’m not ready. I’m not prepared. I thought we might have a plan of some sort.” George gasped.
“George relax. You do have a plan. You ring the bell and hit her in the head when she answers the door. That sounds like a fine plan to me. Don't you agree? Then all that money will be going back where it belongs. To people that deserve it.” The newscaster replied.
“But I’m not ready. It’s already half past eight and I haven’t had supper.” George stammered.
The newscasters face turned stern and he glared at George. “Don’t be a coward George. This isn’t what we agreed is it? You have half an hour to get there and do the job. Then you can come home and fix yourself a pleasant supper in front of the television and relax. You’ll feel wonderful once the job is done I can assure you. Now get going, let’s not lose the moment.”
George stood and stared at the television. He felt almost in a trance as he slid the hammer back into the coat pocket and turned to walk out of his small flat.
He arrived in a leafy suburb less than twenty minutes later. He’d pick
ed up his flat cap as he left the house and now he was tugging the brim down almost over his face as he made his way to the home of the Lady Mayoress. The house stood in its own grounds down a long gravel drive. A car had just left some minutes before George got to the driveway. The newscaster had some good information, George thought. She must certainly be on her own.
He shuffled down the driveway attempting not to make too much noise as he stepped on the crunching gravel. In a few minutes he was stood at the front door. He saw the bell-push on the fine oak paneled and stained glass door. He pressed the bell and heard it chime some distance inside the house. Through the stained glass panels he saw someone approaching. He had never actually seen the Lady Mayoress in real life, only pictures in the newspapers, but as the door opened and he saw the woman before him, he knew instantly it was her.
“May I help you?” the woman asked as she watched George reaching into his coat pocket. She followed his hand as he drew out the claw hammer and gasped. George lifted the hammer high above his own head ready to smash it down on the Lady Mayoress. Their eyes were locked and her mouth slowly began to open. Not to shout but just to gasp. A large gulping, panicked gasp as she clutched her hands to her chest.
George stood with the hammer above his head as the Lady Mayoress fell to his feet desperately trying to press some life into her own heart.
George looked down at the woman as she now lay before him, eyes wide open in shock, but dead. Totally and utterly dead. George slowly lowered the hammer and slid it back into his pocket stepping back from the lifeless body. He smiled. That was without a doubt the easiest murder he’d ever committed. The only murder he’d ever committed, he had to admit, but certainly easy.
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