31 Dec 2013

Inside:Out

Inner_Demon_3_by_jdotjam.jpg


The sun was up and as such, so was I.

62 years 10 months 1 week and 3 days of training and I was about to graduate. I had thought about this day for a long time.

My trainer had been quiet and unpredictable as a child and I had adopted a similar nature.
I recall the many times we spent out in the woods, catching small creatures and toying with them, toying until it was no longer toying, teasing until it was no longer teasing, tormenting until it was no longer tormenting, torturing until it was death.

Once we peaked at death we would begin again, carefully selecting which creature would be next as we worked our way up the food chain. It was a slow process. The first guest we had was a frog; whose demise was brought about by a boot thwacked down on his head.

What followed were many more frogs; sliced, diced, boiled and burnt, until we found a method that compelled us to try it on something just a little bigger. Hours were spent hunting and preying from dusk till dawn.

My trainers name was Ernest, and everywhere that Ernest went, I was sure to follow.

I needed to observe him, to watch, to listen, and to learn all I could. I would need these skills one day. Only I had bigger plans, I would not be satisfied as easily as Ernest.  Ernest was a scientist, organised, thorough, precise and hypothetic but bound by guidelines and rules.  He demonstrated restraint when we had begun to consider more intelligent creatures, cats, dogs, and even pigs but I dreamed of bigger and better guests. I enjoyed the games, the tease, the torture and deep down, I knew he did too.

I was blessed by good fortune when Ernest was in his twenties. He met and fell in love with a woman, a woman called Clara, who was so petite as to cast the smallest shadow. Ernest no longer experimented, preferring to spend time with Clara, so much time was spent indoors that I was left wanting.

I thought this might have been the end for us, but then after several months, Clara betrayed Ernest’s trust and broke his heart. This was a turning point for him, he had played by the rules, followed all the guidelines and yet he had been toyed with, teased and left in turmoil. His unpredictable nature had caught Clara by surprise. He hadn’t really wanted to talk. He hadn’t really wanted to return her stuff. He hadn’t really wanted to stay friends. He wanted her heart anyway he could get it.

62 days 10 hours 1 minute and 3 seconds was how long it took before he held her heart in his hands.
He tied her up in her own house and toyed and teased her for several weeks; each day she would plead forgiveness, each day she would make promises, but it was too late for her, he could only hear the blood as it pulsated around his body and throbbed in his ears. A heavy beat of white noise that drowned out all reason, all compassion and all control.

He tormented and tortured her, making sure to inflict as much emotional pain first. Exploiting her weakness, threatening her family and then telling her lies about their demise, he wanted to make the body supple and receptive to the physical torture that would follow.

It reminded me of those early days with that first frog; the slicing especially.  He experimented with many methods, those which made her eyes widen, her body writhe, and her soul shake in horror were to become his favourite.

For the last thirty years or so Ernest had been perfecting this new passion of his. Even I had lost count of how many guests we had entertained.

Being a trainee hadn’t been so bad for me, and on the rare occasion that my existence would overlap with other trainees, I was confident that the length of my apprenticeship would make me a better graduate. I had heard of others who had graduated long ago and had already trained the next generation and on some level I wanted that to be me but Ernest was a perfectionist and would not make a mistake.Ernest was a fan of the long game, be it a month or a year or even more, he needed to know with absolute certainty that his meticulously planned pursuits would run smoothly.  It’s why he had been able to continue, why he had never been caught.

Like I said, I am about to graduate, how do I know? How do you think? I can’t wait any longer. I have finished lurking; I have seen enough, it’s my time to step out of the shadow that binds me and to take my place amongst the living.

Ernest must be able to sense my determination, he has started changing his routine, and I know he is trying to avoid me, but if I have any hope of graduating and getting out of here, then I can’t let that happen. Only yesterday he wrote in his journal,

 I know you are in there and I know you want to be free. I won’t let that happen. I control you. I am in control. You do not control me.

I may be his trainee but that doesn’t mean much. It means that I am here learning about life and how others live, and until his life is taken I shall remain here. I never expected that I would be an angel when I died, I fully expected to party hard in hell, but this is the in-between; the place you go when the other two run out of space. So yes, I am here due to overcrowding, and I have taken it upon myself to reduce the numbers. No-one rejects me. No-one.

You all have an inner demon, a trainee; some know we are here, some are completely unaware, some try to hide us, some embrace us, and a select few need us to make them who they are. Ernest has always been weak minded and needed guidance, and I was more than happy to provide that for him.

When he flinched at the sight of blood, I made him look again as it pooled around the guest.

When his hand shook as bones cracked under the impact of the hammer, I tightened his grip.

When the touch of his blade was light and tender, I forced it deep into the flesh until only the handle remained.

When doubt flooded his mind at the sound of the guests’ blood curdling scream, I pushed it aside.
When he grimaced in sympathy with the guest, I added the frenzied laugh. When he locked himself away, too scared of what he might do again and overwhelmed with remorse, I told him they were all conspiring against him, that they wouldn’t stop until he was dead, that he had to beat them to it.
62 animals 10 women 1 man and 3 children is all he has managed to destroy so far in his life. It is not enough. It is a mockery. Ernest is holding me back. If I can’t leave then I want to remove all that remains of him in here even if it means cutting him out piece by piece.
 ***************************************************************
 The sun was up and as such, so was I.

62 years 10 months 1 week and 3 days and the day of reckoning had finally arrived. I had thought about this day for a long time.

I had been quiet and unpredictable as a child or so they said. I kept quiet because I heard a voice in my head, it scared me; the voice a muffled echo, and I knew if I shared it with them I would scare them too.

I recall the many hours I would spend out in the woods. Like most boys I knew, I liked catching small creatures to keep as pets, I would keep them in a box in the cellar and I liked to play with them, but that wasn’t enough for him. He always pushed me to go further, threatening me with the bogeyman, monsters, ghosts and anything that he knew a young boy would fear. I didn’t like teasing the creatures, I didn’t like the look they had in their eyes, the terror, and I didn’t like that I must have looked back at them with those same eyes. But he would make me go back until I was no longer teasing them, I was tormenting them, no longer tormenting them but torturing them, and the only way I could stop their pain was by their death.

I’d hoped we had peaked after that first death, that it would be over and he would be satiated. There was little let up and it would begin again, he would carefully select which creature would be next as we worked our way up the food chain. I knew I was too weak to defy him, so I made sure to take my time. It was a slow process. The first was a frog I had found and adopted; he was easy to talk to and I carried him around in the pocket of my dungarees.  He was the only friend the 6 year old me had and as sad as it is, I loved him. A part of me believed that he was a magic frog who would rescue me from the voice in my head, but he didn’t, he was just a normal frog. I knew that he would make me torture him and I knew I couldn’t so as an act of mercy I took my boot and thwacked it down on his head. I felt completely alone.

There were more frogs; and I sliced, and I diced, and I boiled and I burnt in the hope that it would be enough. I discovered that if I made them release a piercing wail of such a pitch as to make your bones ripple, then he would let me kill them and end their misery. I made it my purpose to find a method that would guarantee this and greatly reduce the length of torture. I wanted it to end. Enforced hours were spent hunting and preying from dusk till dawn.

His name is Sam, and everywhere that I went, Sam was sure to follow.

I could sense him there always, watching me, listening, lurking in the shadows of my mind. Even when I closed my eyes he was there, every waking hour, every dream and every nightmare. I felt his presence and I knew he wanted more from me, that he had bigger plans; he would not be satisfied with the small animals for long. I studied Science at school in an attempt to slow him down; examining each animal for several weeks after the kill meant that I would need to kill less. I tried to be as organised, thorough, precise and hypothetic as I could and scoured the guidelines and rules of animal dissection for something that could prevent it.  I bucked against his suggestion that we consider more intelligent creatures, cats, dogs, and even pigs. He enjoyed the games, the tease, the torture and deep down, he thought I did too.

I met a woman in my twenties, she made me feel alive and I couldn’t have been more in love. Her name was Clara, she was so petite she casted the smallest of shadows. I wanted to protect her. Sam stayed away when she was around, when I was happy, and I felt free of him. I would spend all my time with Clara.

I thought this might have been the end of Sam that he would finally be gone. Clara it turned out was just like the frog, she couldn’t help me and she wasn’t magic. I had doted on her for several months only to discover that Clara had betrayed my trust and she truly broke my heart. I was distraught, the happiness had gone, the clouds had returned and Sam’s voice became louder. He was relentless, pushing my buttons, feeding my doubts, reminding me of her treachery. He would only let me sleep for an hour here and there, he would only let me eat small meals every 12 hours, and he wouldn’t let me leave my house, use my phone or talk to anyone. I wish I had known what he was planning. Why didn’t I know? Clara was worried about me and had left messages on the phone and email, let’s talk, I need my stuff, and can we be friends?  Her worry deepened when I hadn’t answered any of them.
Clara came over and her fate was sealed. He pushed me, pressed my buttons, distorted my memories and besieged me mercilessly until I succumbed. There was no way out or around and so I could only go through.

62 days 10 hours 1 minute and 3 seconds was how long it took before he let me stop. I held her heart in my hands. He held my life in his.

I tied her up in her house and robotically obeyed his requests; toy with her, tease her, make her beg for mercy.  Each day she would plead forgiveness, each day she would make me promises, but it was too late, he would never let me stop. I could hear my blood as it pulsated around my body and throbbed in my ears; a heavy beat of white noise that drowned out all reason, all compassion and all control, and his voice reverberating over it.

I tormented and tortured her, I wanted to inflict as much emotional pain in order to delay the physical. Exploiting her weakness, threatening her family and then telling her lies about their demise, I thought that would make her scream out but she was stronger than she looked, she was a fighter. I doped her water with painkillers and muscle relaxants to make the body supple and receptive to the physical torture that would follow.

I couldn’t help but be reminded of those early days with the frog.  She never stopped fighting and everything I tried didn’t seem to work and then her eyes widened, her body writhed, and her soul shook in horror. The relief was impalpable.

For the last thirty years or so I gave up fighting Sam, instead I focussed on perfecting the torture that would lead to a quicker death. I wanted to lose count of how many there were after Clara, but their faces were forever burnt in my memory, I would never be able to escape from them.

I heard a story once about how a man had heard voices in his head that had driven him to kill his family and then himself, he was 21. If only I had been as brave. I went to a help group and met with some others who said they heard voices. Sam told me they were lying and that they just wanted to trick me. I didn’t know who to believe. Sam knows me better than anyone else. He is all the family and friends I have. It was getting out of control and I knew things had to change, to slow down, and so I became a fan of the long game; be it a month or a year or even more.I told Sam that I needed to know with absolute certainty that my meticulous planning would help things run smoothly.  It’s why I had been able to continue, why I had never been caught.

Like I said, it’s the day of reckoning, how do I know? How do you think? I can’t live like this any longer. I have finished being a puppet; I have done enough, it’s time to clear out my mind and all that binds me to this life, if I can’t be free of him, then I can’t live.

Sam must be able to sense my determination, he has started urging me on more for a new victim, and I have started trying to avoid him, but if I have any hope of succeeding and getting out of here, then I can’t let him get to me. Only yesterday I sent him a message in my journal,

 I know you are in there and I know you want to be free. I won’t let that happen. I control you. I am in control. You do not control me.

Sam may think he controls me but that isn’t the case, not anymore. I tried to ignore him, to tell myself he wasn’t real, to survive, but I’m lost here, drowned out. I shall take my life if he won’t leave. I don’t expect to be an angel when I die, I expect to end up in hell, and I feel like I am stuck somewhere in-between.

We all have an inner demon; some remain silent, some occasionally act, some try to befriend us, some hold us back, and a select few need to control us, to make us into them. I was never strong enough to fight back, I mistook Sam for a friend, I let myself torture and be tortured.

I never liked the sight of blood, but Sam bullied me, said it made me weak, tricked me into watching as it pooled around each carcass.

The sound as bones snapped and cracked and shattered under the weight of the hammer, sent shivers through my body, but Sam said a better grip would reduce the noise.

The blade against the skin made a promise of blood and I would never get used to it, but Sam said to stab deep and leave the knife embedded in the wound and then blood would be less.

I always faltered when they let out a blood curdling scream, partly surprise and mostly relief washing over me, but Sam would always be silent as if doubting me.

I had a permanent grimace on my face as I waited for that scream, and when they did I couldn’t help but emit a frenzied laugh knowing they would find peace at last. On occasion I would lock myself away, I was too scared of what he might make me do again and overwhelmed with remorse, but Sam wouldn’t leave me be, telling me they were all conspiring against me, that they wouldn’t stop until I was dead, that I had to beat them to it.

62 animals 10 women 1 man and 3 children is my body count to date. It’s too much. Sam is pushing me forward. I want to remove all that remains of him in here even if it means cutting him out piece by piece.
***************************************************************
 The music playing on the radio faded and the news report began…

Police today have released an official statement in relation to the capture and imprisonment of the serial killer known simply as ‘Slicer Sam’. He is believed to be responsible for the stalking, kidnapping, torturing and murder of at least 10 women, 1 man and 3 children across the county. It is not known how many more victims there may have been.

Officers were called to 62 St Barbara’s Boulevard at 10am on the 13thJune by a woman reporting that she heard screams coming from inside her neighbour’s property. She claimed that witches lived in the house and believed that the residents regularly held séances and exorcisms.

On arrival, the officers secured the perimeter before attempting to enter. Officer Benson who was first on the scene reported that he could hear an agonising shrill coming from inside and believed that someone was in danger.

Although there were sounds coming from inside, none of the known residents were allowing the officers entry, and they forced their way in.

What they found when they reached the rear of the property was a disturbing scene of blood and butchery. A naked man lay lifeless in the centre of a what appeared to be a pentagram, etched on the wooden floor; he had sustained multiple injuries to his legs, arms and torso, his hands and feet were nailed to the floor mimicking a crucifixion, his eyes had been gauged out and were lying beside him.
The homeowner and his wife, Bob and Sue Jones, were standing nearby dressed in what once must have been white robes but which were now coated in blood. Neither has spoken since the incident and are both currently being held on remand in separate psychiatric hospitals.

The officers searched the house and during this time they came across ‘Slicer Sam’ huddled under some laundry in the utility room. He was naked and his body smeared in blood (it was later identified as pigs blood). When Officer Benson attempted to arrest him he was attacked, Slicer Sam jumped on the officer, wailing and mumbling in alternate extremes, biting a chunk of flesh from the face of Officer Benson and swallowing it in one gulp. The officer was only saved from certain death by the quick thinking of a fellow officer who sprayed disinfectant into the perpetrators eyes, disorientating him enough for the officer to escape.

Slicer Sam was eventually captured and sedated and taken to a maximum security prison where he will await trial and it is expected he will receive the death penalty.

Officer Benson made a swift recovery from his injuries and is back on duty. The victim who was found in the house was treated for his injuries, but will never regain his sight, and has since been released from hospital.

Ernest drained the dregs of his coffee and stood up, fumbling slightly as he did so, he picked up his white stick, and as he gently clacked it against the cafés table legs, he headed to the door.
Stepping out into the warmth of the midday sun he gave a sigh, free at last, as he stepped out into the road.


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