I pulled Lydia up onto the bed and sat her at the foot of it. I stood in front of her, sweat trickling down my spine, and asked her what she was talking about, asked her if it was true. She started to cry again, hands reaching out for me, but I grabbed them and pulled them to her sides. I asked her again, trying to block out the scraping sound against the wall.
She nodded and said that it was. She told me that for the past six months, if she was home, the knocking would start around three AM. At first, she thought it was an intruder and called the police. But when they didn’t find any traces of anyone after four separate visits, they stopped taking her seriously. Eventually, about two weeks in, she said she remembered the deal she had made when she was a little girl. She remembered whom she had made it with.
“I didn’t know it would be this soon,” she croaked, looking up at me, her face stained with tears.
I shot a nervous glance at the door as the scraping sound was followed by more pounding. I forced myself to breathe. If what she was saying was true, why doesn’t…it…just come in? What’s stopping it from kicking the door in and snatching my girlfriend? I couldn’t make sense of it and turned these questions on Lydia.
Still sobbing, she said she didn’t know, either. She said that whenever the knocking started, she would just wait until it stopped. Sometimes it would be a few minutes; other times it would last until morning. She said that she felt that…it…was powerless unless she opened the door and let it in. Something about the doors, the separation of victim and prey, stopped it.
I didn’t know if it was some supernatural reason or maybe spiritual, but either way, I was thankful for it.
But now we were trapped with no way out. We were on the top floor, in the bedroom, with only one window looking out onto the street below. Our cell phones were out there with the thing and we had no way of communicating with anyone from in here.
Again, I didn’t know what to do. My mouth was dry and hot, my breath sour on my tongue. Shooting another glance at the door, I went to the window and looked out. Despite being in town, the streets were empty and the sky dark. I tried to open the window but couldn’t. My muscles strained as I put all my might into it, but it was no use.
Lydia saw what I was trying to do and came over to help, mumbling that it should open, it always opened. Even with the two of us, we couldn’t get it to budge.
Frustrated, I slammed my fist into the pane as the bedroom door shook, accompanied by more scraping across the walls.
It was useless. We were trapped in here.
Lydia collapsed to the floor, backing herself against the wall, covering her ears against the barrage against the door. Exhausted and terrified, I slumped down next to her.
We would have to wait it out.
* * *
It’s still knocking. Lydia is crying in my lap. We haven’t moved. It has to leave us alone; she said it always does eventually. The sun will be up soon. The clock says it’s five AM. Almost there. Please let it stop.
***
Why hasn’t the sun come up yet? Something is wrong with my clock; it says it’s 3 AM again. That can’t be right. There’s no one outside. There should be cars on the road, but I haven’t seen a soul. God, it’s knocking again.
***
I’m so tired. Screaming and pounding on the floor hasn’t done any good. No one seems to hear us up here. I still haven’t seen anyone outside. I tried breaking the window, but I can’t even get it to crack. Something is going on. None of this is making sense. It’s still dark outside. Where is the sun? I haven’t heard anything from the door in a little while…I’m praying it’s over.
***
I’m getting hungry. I don’t know how long we’ve been in here. Lydia is asleep on the bed, cried herself to sleep. The knocking is back. Louder than ever. I can feel it just beyond the door. I’m so goddamn scared. I don’t know what to do. Where is everyone? Why hasn’t someone come to see what’s going on?
***
I CAN’T TAKE THIS FUCKING KNOCKING ANYMORE.
***
Lydia is crying. She said she’s thirsty. I am, too. I feel like we’ve been in here for days. I feel like I haven’t seen the sun in ages. I’m starting to wonder if anyone is going to come for us. Whatever is outside the door, I think it has bent reality around us. I think we might be stuck here. There has to be a way out, though.
***
I fell asleep. When I woke up, Lydia had her hand on the doorknob. I yanked her away, screaming at her. I can’t lose her. We are going to get out of this. When I pulled Lydia away…the thing behind the door…the demon or the Devil or whatever it is…screamed at me. I have never heard such terrifying fury in all my life. God…please help us, please…
***
Lydia is getting sick.
***
We’re never getting out of this room unless I do something. We’re both dehydrated and Lydia isn’t going to make it much longer without some water. It’s knocking, each blow crunching into my skull like a drill. Where is everyone?…the clock still says 3 AM.
***
If there is a God, he can’t see us in here.
***
Fuck this. We’re dying. I need to do something. Lydia has been lying on the bed for hours. I don’t remember the last time I saw her move. Should check on her, but I’m so tired. The knocking is constant now. It hasn’t stopped in hours. I think I’m going insane.
***
This is it. Lydia needs medical attention or she’s going to die within the day. It’s still dark out, the clock still says three AM. I feel like I’m going deaf, the constant thundering against the door a relentless assault on my senses.
I’m going to open the door. I have to, or we’re going to die. Whatever awaits us on the other side of it can’t be much worse than this. I have to try something. I can’t just let her die. I can’t.
I’m going to open the door.
I can hear it screaming again.
It sounds…excited.
God, if you’re out there, I really could use some help.
Please…save us.
I’m going to open the door now.
19
The Worst Kind Of Monsters
I am a murderer. I’ve killed nine people and I liked it. I don’t get any satisfaction from suffering, but I take pleasure in ending the life of another human being. I don’t get off on it, but I enjoy it. I like standing over someone and being the reason they don’t get to live anymore.
It started with animals, like most people who do what I do. When I was younger I killed insects, watching them pop as I pressed my thumb down over their little bodies. Then I wanted more. I started killing birds and squirrels. I eventually got bored of that and killed cats and dogs. I even killed a cow once. I slit its throat and watched it teeter over, its massive body collapsing in a pool of blood. It was then that I realized I needed to kill a person. I didn’t know how, though; I was too afraid of being hunted down, caught, called a freak.
You see, I don’t feel like psycho. In fact, I think I’m a pretty normal person. I derive pleasure from all the trinkets and magic that life holds, same as you. I’m not a malicious person. I just like to kill people sometimes.
My passion would not have blossomed into the killing of humans, though, if I had not met Daniel. I met Daniel in college, both of us bonding quickly over a mutual appreciation for the darker side of life. It started with movies, then books, then strange Internet sites. We cautiously skirted around the subject of murder for some time, both of us prodding the other with questions that approached the subject. We would talk long into the night, sitting in his car, drinking beer, smoking, and eventually he began to start making jokes about killing. Those jokes became more frequent and, with my encouraging reactions, he finally admitted to me that he wanted to kill people.
My enthusiasm sparked a fire in him. Now we spent our nights pouring our hearts out to each other, so grateful that another human being understood us. We excitedly discussed what it
would be like, made up fake scenarios, and even role-played. It was so freeing.
Then we abducted our first victim. I’m not going to go into the details, but that night I discovered that Daniel was…well…incredibly sadistic. He loved torture. And when I say he loved it…I mean he loved it. He was brutal, unforgiving, and cruel.
I mentioned earlier that I don’t get any satisfaction from suffering. This is true. But that doesn’t mean I can’t tolerate it. We had a deal between us that Daniel would torture the person we captured and I would get to kill them. It was a match made in hell.
It was sloppy and to this day I can’t believe we weren’t caught. But somehow we got away with it. After Daniel spent an hour with our unfortunate victim, some poor homeless guy, I stabbed him in the chest and killed him. The rush of what we had just done fueled a starving need in us. From that night on, we formed a bond that could not be broken.
What I’m about to tell you is horrific. The story of Daniel and myself, what we did and what has led me to write it all down with trembling hands, is monstrous. I need you to know that I am so sorry. I know what we did was wrong, and I knew it back then. I don’t ask you for forgiveness because over the next few pages you will grow to hate me. Just please…know that I am so goddamned sorry.
* * *
I took a sip of my coffee, enjoying the cool fall breeze on my face. It complimented the hot beverage my sister had bought me and I felt its heat slide down into my chest.
“Good, huh?” Kate said, sitting across from me. The wind blew her dark brown hair across her face and I realized what a pretty lady she had grown up to be. Being only a year older than me, she and I had always been close. After mom and dad died a couple years ago in a car accident, we clung to each other closer than ever.
“You were right,” I said, smiling. “This is delicious.”
“Glad you were finally able to come hang out for a while,” Kate said, taking a cautious sip of her own drink.
I scanned the scattering of tables we were sitting at, outside of the coffee shop. “Yeah, pretty exciting stuff,” I joked.
She kicked me under the table. “Shut up, it’s good to see you.”
I grinned. “You, too. How’s the new place?”
“It’s great. It’s only a few miles from where you live so we better start hanging out more, Bub.”
I laughed. “Yeah, right, miss social butterfly over here. You’re going to be too busy throwing housewarming parties with all your professional work friends! You can’t be seen with the likes of me! Your loser brother who works at the grocery store…oh, how they’ll talk!”
Kate rolled her eyes. “Oh stop, you know I’m not like that. And neither are my friends. Don’t worry, I’ll make time for you between all my hot parties.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
We were silent for a little while, watching the people around us move about the downtown area. It really was a nice day. Everyone looked so happy. I found myself smiling, realizing how good it was to see Kate again. After college we didn’t spend that much time together, both of us trying to find our places in life—she with her business degree and me with my hunger for murder. Those two passions didn’t cross paths as much as one might think.
“How are you doing?” Kate asked, breaking the silence.
I shrugged. “I’m fine. You know me, it doesn’t take much to put a smile on my face.”
She reached out and squeezed my hand. “I’m glad to hear it. I worry about you sometimes.”
I shrugged awkwardly. “Ah, I’m OK.”
Suddenly my cell phone began to ring. I threw an apologetic look at Kate and pulled it out of my pocket.
“Yo.”
“Hey man…I got one.”
Daniel.
I glanced at Kate and cleared my throat. “Oh, yeah? Cool, man.”
A pause. “Are you with someone?”
“Yeah dude, I’m hanging out with Kate right now,” I said. Kate mouthed at me, Is that Daniel? I nodded.
“Ask her when she’s going to go out with me,” Daniel said, chuckling.
“Keep beating that dead horse,” I said, shaking my head, “but it’s never going to get up and walk.”
Daniel’s tone suddenly shifted. “OK man, back to what I was really calling you about. You free to get away?”
I felt the stirring inside my chest, the hot anticipation. “Yeah, man. I’m assuming you wanna go to Chester’s first?” Chester’s was a pub we sometimes went to before a kill, enjoying the buildup of excitement over a cold beer.
“Of course. See you there in an hour?”
“Sounds good.”
I hung up the phone and sighed, looking across the table at Kate.
“Let me guess, that was my future husband, Daniel?” she asked.
“Don’t make me throw up this expensive coffee,” I pleaded.
“You guys meeting up?”
“Yeah.”
She stretched and stood up, with me following her lead.
“Well, I got to go anyway,” she said, grabbing her purse from the back of the chair. “It was really good to see you.” We hugged and she pulled back and smiled at me.
“What?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow.
She pinched my cheek, just like she had her whole life. “You need a haircut.”
“OK byyyye,” I said, turning to leave and throwing a wave back over my shoulder.
“Talk to you soon!” she called back after me.
I took a sip of my beer, watching the sun set through the pub’s dirty windows. Daniel sat on the barstool next to me, spinning his phone on the bar top.
“It’s a college kid,” he whispered, his dark eyes lighting up. “Nabbed him this morning. No one saw me, no one followed me to the warehouse. I made sure.”
I smiled. “Good work. You’re really getting good at this.”
He slapped me on the back, grinning from ear to ear. “Thanks, pal. I couldn’t be more excited. I have plans for this one, let me tell you.”
I sighed, “Just don’t make me wait too long, OK? Last time I almost fell asleep before you’d let me finish him off.”
Daniel chuckled into his beer. “Well, maybe if you’d join in the fun you wouldn’t have to wait your turn.”
I shook my head. “You know that’s not my thing. No matter how much you wish it was.”
He nodded, his dark hair bobbing against his shoulders. “I know, I know. But it’s about the journey, not the destination, my friend.”
I scanned the empty bar, looking down the counter to the bartender at the far end. “Well, my journey is the three seconds it takes them to die as I slip a knife between their ribs.”
Daniel snorted and threw back half his beer in one gulp. He was anxious to get to it.
“Is it a guy?” I asked quietly.
Daniel nodded. I smiled. Good. I liked killing males better. Girls were just so…pretty. I had killed a girl, my third murder, and found myself not enjoying the experience. It was like the difference between killing a cow and killing a sweet baby puppy. One of them was kinda cute and made pathetic noises, while the other just mooed and died.
“What’s his name?” I asked quietly.
Daniel glanced at me. “Edward. Rich boy name, isn’t it? I’m sure his parents will be sobbing for weeks when the police can’t find him. I’ve followed him for a while. He’s a real prick. Fairly popular, good-looking, goes to one of those expensive private schools up north. I’m afraid this will be his last fall break. I almost feel bad for the bastard, the night I have planned for him.”
“You’re not going to go overboard again, are you?” I asked, draining my beer.
Daniel looked at me, slightly irritated. “What are you talking about? I do my thing, you do yours. That’s the way we’ve always done it.”
I shrugged. “Makes no difference to me. I’ve just noticed you’re developing a real nasty streak when it comes to your victims.”
“Gotta keep it interesting. Fresh. I lik
e to hear the new sounds that come out of their throat as I work them over.”
I winked at Daniel. “You sick bastard.”
He threw an arm around my shoulder and slammed a twenty down on the bar. “Shall we go, my darling?”
I threw my own arm around his shoulder, mimicking two drunks. “Oi! Let’s be off then, eh!?”
Laughing, we left the bar and got into our cars. After lighting a cigarette, I started my old beater and began the long drive out of town and into the mountains where the warehouse was. It was going to be a good night.
1. EDWARD
The moon hung full and fat in the sky, its cold white light illuminating the abandoned warehouse I was parked in front of. The trees pressed in around it, dark and clawing at its rusted walls. Dust swirled in my headlights, kicked up from the dirt road.
I flicked the butt of another cigarette out my open window and turned off the car. I got out and walked to Daniel, who was getting out of his own car. He shot me an excited look as he pulled on his leather jacket and gloves.
“What’s that for?” I asked, pointing to a small plastic bag he was holding.
Daniel jostled the bag at me. “Poor guy hasn’t eaten all day. Figured I’d bring him some grub.”
I put a hand over my heart. “What an angel you are.”
He snorted and jerked his head toward the quiet warehouse. “Shall we?”
We crunched over the gravel toward the rusted-out, windowless construction.
We had made every kill in this building. It was an old bastard, indifferent to the screams that echoed through its iron gut. It was also isolated, miles and miles of forest in every direction. No one heard the howls, the clawing, the begging.
Our kill room was in the dank underbelly of the old bastard, down in the basement. It offered plenty of room for experimentation, and the lower ceilings and cement walls helped mute the screams. Not that anyone would hear; it just gets annoying after a while.
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