She left me, I couldn't deal with it. I sat there with the barrel of the gun in my mouth for a long time before I pulled the trigger.
(Graphic Warning: Not for delicate eyes)
Every motherfucker in this city has a story, most of them fucking suck, and most of them are the same. Mine starts like the rest of those sorry bastards. I was born, I learned how to not shit myself and how to raise my hand in school when I had to take a piss. I learned that the pretty girls only like guys with good bodies, or daddy's credit card. I learned that a Mustang can't make the the turn on 42nd and Telephone road at 55mph. I learned that women lie, and that nothing good happens when you brag. The same old shit that a thousand people do every day. But then the woman I loved left me. Robbed me blind, destroyed my name. Ruined me more than any of you sorry sacks of blood and shit can imagine.
So after I smoked all the cigarettes I had, and drank all the booze in the house, and ran up a few thousand dollars in credit card debt I got out my gun. It tasted like hell, when I put it in my mouth. I cried a few times, I chickened out more than once. Curry can get rid of the taste of gun oil, by the way. Then, one night, listening to my neighbors fucking like stray dogs while the old lady in the apartment above me turned Wheel of Fortune up as loud as it would go, I did it. I sat there, three puzzles, sweating like a Mexican mowing the lawn at the INS office. The headboard banged against the wall while the bottle blonde screamed for more and deeper. My hands were shaking and I could taste bile and hatred. 'Don't be such a pussy,' I said. I must have chipped a tooth when I rammed the barrel in my mouth again and pulled the trigger.
One shot fired, apartment 213, Lakefront Complex on Lakefront road.
Victim identified as Romero Garland Coulter, age 27. Male caucasian 180 pounds, six foot tall. Gunshot wound to the mouth. No suicide note found, but all evidence points to suicide and that the gunshot was self inflicted. Time of death approximately 7:25PM.
Officers on the scene recovered weapon, 1 Colt Double-Eagle .45
I woke up, expecting to be in Hell or the hospital. Imagine my surprise to wake up in a human sized sandwich bag. The morgue is a damn creepy place in the light. Its worse in the dark. It took a while before I figured out how to get the zipper down, and longer to get the sliding drawer to open. I sat up and had a hysterical breakdown. The back of my head was blown open, I feel inside the hole. I had a goddamned hole in my head. I would have puked, but it seems the doctors or coroners, or whoever had already done an autopsy and I didn't have a stomach anymore. I still had my dick, so there was that, but inside I was hollow. I lost my shit then, and it wasn't long before the orderly who watched the place came and investigated. Poor kid, he should have stayed at the desk and played his game, or watched whatever he was watching.
I killed him, barehanded. Poor bastard. I enjoyed it too.
Then I ate him.
I enjoyed that more.
Murders in the County Morgue
In a scene worthy of a horror movie, unknown assailants broke into the county morgue where they commited vandalism and destruction of property, stole a cadaver of a suicide victim, and killed and mutilated the attendee on duty. Joseph McCormick was 22 and funeral services will be on Wednesday. Donations for the family can be sent to the Greenwood Avenue Funeral Home, or at the Police department on 15th Street. Police are offering a reward for any information as to the identities or location of the persons responsible for these heinous crimes.
I went looking for Elin, for her pretty long hair and those legs... Jesus Christ she has nice legs.
Her apartment was no go. Looked like she had moved out some time ago. No big deal, I could smell her, I could track her. I walked the streets, my nose twitching with the scent of her hot little tail, her Cosmo delux perfume. She wouldn't get away from me again. She wouldn't leave me again. A few thugs tried to mug me. A few brutal thrusts of a knife, the bark of a snub nosed .38. They tried to run, but I was faster. I didn't get tired like they did. And I have to admit the smell of their fear was intoxicating. One of the them got away, but I will be honest, I let him. Three was enough for me. Two I killed quickly, they were petty and small men. The third, I kept her alive for a while.
She broke inside, long before she died. It seems I was looking pretty rough by that point, full of bullet holes and that big autopsy scar, that was a turn off. She screamed, and then I saw it snap inside her. Her eyes got glassy and she stopped screaming. Breaking her neck was pointless, she was dead inside... just like me.
I'll get around to finding her friend soon enough. It will be more fun if he gets to think he escaped for a day or two.
Did you hear about the murders?
They found this girl alive, wont talk. Doctors said she had been raped and bitten like a dog was after her
Thats sick, I hope the police find that asshole and kill him, I mean boom headshot kill him
T-Bone is all freaked out, he's barricaded himself in his apartment with some shotguns and a bunch of spaghetti-os and mountain dew.
They deserved it, bunch of human scum, the lot of them...
My perspective is all fucked up... I can't tell hours from days, weeks from minutes. After the fight with the last would be mugger I was in a bad way. The shotgun blasts knocked me down a few times but I still got back up. Some O.G. he turned out to be, screamed like a little girl and shit himself when I took the gun from him and broke it. I felt hollow and had a little time, I ate as much of him as I could, the thick red bloody bits. My rational mind identified the organs as I ripped them out and devoured them. Liver, kidneys, spleen, pancreas... and then I had to make my escape. I found a place to hide and I slept. It was almost four months later when I woke up again. I thought I had taken a nap.
Christ. I wonder if she is still in the city. How did the police not find me while I was sleeping?
The Raggedy Man
The description matches, some freak in a zombie costume. Since no dead body has shown up, we are guessing that the perpetrator is wearing some sort of body armor. Thats the only way I can think of that a man can take three shotgun blasts to the torso and not leave a blood trail. It is pretty easy to connect the dots. Whoever killed McCormick back in August is probably the same guy who killed the two black men on Tellan street, and who sent the hooker up to the mental hospital at Autumn Creek. He has been quiet for half a year now, and then out of the blue we find two homeless men dead and gutted just like T-Bone Jenkins in his barricaded apartment. We need to find this sick fuck and take him down.
What I am about to say doesn't leave this room. You find this guy, you put two bullets in his head. Two. Double-tap his ass. No trial, no lawyers, no jurisdiction, no appeals, no 35 years sitting on death row getting dirty letters from some sick women who have serial killer fantasies. In this world, bang bang, out of it. If anyone has a problem with this, I can have dispatch move you to airport security duty.
Male, causasian, average build and moderately tall. Apparently unarmed, so we are guessing he has some sort of martial arts training, could be military, could be some asshole who jacked off to kung-fu movies. Either way, we shoot him in the head.
Cops don't look at homeless people. Jail is better than living on the street, there is a bed and food, and shit yeah television and a pot to piss in. Homeless guys will confess to made up crimes to get an overnighter in lock up. The cops know this, so they ignore them. I knew something was up when they started haunting around my old apartment. Assholes. They saw me, a few talked to me, but none of them knew. I was just another shitpile homeless piece of human waste. After a few weeks, you can't smell the difference between a walking cadaver and a homeless bastard. The cops found two bodies I left. I was slipping, I left the corpses out by mistake. Oh well, they only found two.
I sit like to sit in my old apartment, and look at the pictures on the walls. Hard to imagine why the place is still empty. Drafty, leaky pipes, the constant roar and rattle of the above ground section of the subway line, oh yeah and the endless parade of blank faces through the building. There are the old people who move in and live there until they fall and break something and are carted off to the Old Fuck Farm, where the tired nurses can sneer at them. Then there are the young couples who can't afford cable so the only entertainment they have is fucking. Then comes the baby and everything goes downhill because between the two of them they cant pay the rent and the note on a five year old Fiesta.
thud thud thud
thud thud thud
thud thud thud
I sometimes watch them, their hollow pursuit of satisfaction in sweaty grinding and a few spurts of nihilism. I used to be like that. Elin and me against the world, with a piece of shit Toyota Camry, and an apartment we could barely afford. We didn't have cable, and we ate ramen noodles and made soylent green jokes. And then, while Pat Sajak and Vanna White spun the wheel, and the A-train made its evening run we would screw like rabbits. We were never satisfied, I wanted more from her, she wanted something that she didn't even know what it was.
I cry, or I would it I could make tears leak from dead eyes.
It's been hard but I have started to come to terms with it. I'm dead. I blew my own brains out. I can still feel the hole in the back of my head. A hat covers it pretty well. Not one of those douchebag trucker hats, but a proper man's hat. The sort that went out of fashion about the time the mohawk entered the American scene. The rags are gone, I have a suit now. Its quite dapper, black. That is the only color I have any affinity for. It's slimming according to Cosmo/vacant cunt magazine.
The Hunt is Over
Local Police officers have discovered the body of the person believed to be the Cannibal Killer. The suspect resisted arrest and attacked police officers on the scene only to be gunned down. PCP, also known as angel dust is believed to be involved as the suspect was not stopped until being shot in the head a second time. The City can rest easier now knowing that one of the most terrifying individuals in recent memory is now dead.
I can see the headlines. I was sloppy again. They caught me. Damned bullets hurt.
The morgue again, but I wait. The ride to the state crematorium is dull and long. It doesnt matter though. When they pull me out to toss me in the fire things go badly for them. The man I kill quickly, he is still twitching and pissing his dead self when I throw him into the incenerator in my place. The woman dies just as fast, but her, her I eat. I am so hungry, so hollow. She is the first woman I have consumed.
When I find Elin, I'm going to eat her. But I will make her live as long as possible while I do it. For a long time I've thought it was love that drove me. But it isn't. I hate that bitch, the way she made me love her, the way she ruined and consumed my life, the way she dominated everything I did. The way she made me into a compass that only pointed to her. I alienated my friends for her, I devoted myself to her, and for nothing. She left me, ripped my heart out and emptied my bank account, left me with a case of some damned STD and a fuckton of credit card and cellphone bills, and a piece of shit Camry that she had wanted more than the car I wanted.
Guess the cops killed the wrong person, or we have a copycat killer.
The body is missing again, but then again there is nothing to say that the corpse of the killer wasn't incenerated before the crematorium workers were killed.
Jesus man, this is real life, not some horror movie. We have a copycat killer who probably got his jollies off over the Cannibal Killer. We find him, take him down hard and discourage any more sickos from wanting to play. What the hell is wrong with people?
I found my grave today. It's empty, a plain marker for cremations interred by the state. Mom and dad are dead, so they aren't footing the bill for a plot of land. Certainly not a plot for their eternal failure of a son. I was curious, but curiosity killed the cat. There was another stone next to mine. Elin Coultier...
I didn't... I didn't do it...
One shot fired, apartment 213, Lakefront Complex on Lakefront road.
First Victim identified as Romero Garland Coulter, age 27. Male caucasian 180 pounds, six foot tall. Gunshot wound to the mouth. No suicide note found, but all evidence points to suicide and that the gunshot was self inflicted. Time of death approximately 7:25PM.
Officers on the scene recovered weapon, 1 Colt Double-Eagle .45
Second Victim identified as Elin Marie Dobson-Coultier, age 23, female caucasian 125 pounds, five foot four inches. Gunshot wounds to the chest and abdomen. Wounds indicate a point blank shot. Time of death approximately 7:05PM
I can't cry, so I tear at my face until something wet drips from it. Elin? Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck, Elin...
I did kill her, I killed her before I killed myself. Fuck, why can I only remember that now? The fight, we fought. I was mad, the gun. I pulled the trigger, I had fantisized about it, but I really did it. She looked surprised, I shot her again, and that was it. Oh god, Elin I love you! Oh god what have I done. I remember pacing, waiting for sirens, for the neighbors to kick open the door. She was so beautiful, her hair like an angel. I puked, I put the gun to my head, but I couldn't do it.
Then I put it in my mouth and by god I did it, I pulled the trigger...
The gun fires, I can taste the powder, smell the powder and burned flesh. I can see my blood and brains plastered across the wall. I fall backwards and hit the ground.
I lose track of time again.
Is it months this time? Years? Why does no one find me when this time is lost? I wonder where Elin is. Its her fault I'm a walking talking corpse. I'm going to find her and make her pay for what she did to me. Things are different now, I am a new man. I'm still dead, by all means, but a new man. Every girl is crazy about a sharp dressed man, and I look the part. Silk suit, all black, shirt white as pristine snow, and silver cufflinks. No one appreciates the small touches these days. There is one thing that I do rather like about being dead, about being hollowed out and not having the messy affair of a stomach and intestines and all of the human shit factory.
I am a very
? Golden (5 voters / 6 votes)
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? Responses (17)
Update: This submission was spawned after reading about the internet phenomenon known as Slenderman. This is my take on the Slender Man, conceived and written entirely under the influence of a strong bottle of bourbon. For a very specific breakdown, Romero Coultier is initially risen as a zombie like abomination, call him a revenant or whatever you wish. He eventually breaks down physically and becomes a potent and evil ghost. Each manifestation is a cycle. He awakens, commits a series of gruesome murders in pursuit of his lost love. Eventually he discovers/recovers the truth that he himself killed her before killing himself. This revelation sends the ghost into a slumbering state that can last months, years or even decades before repeating itself.
What is the use of such a creature? The Slender Man can be used in a paranormal game as an antagonist for ghost hunters, or as a boogeyman to hunt down a group of people. This can be especially effective if Coultier's ghost decides that one of the characters is a good match for Elin. Alternately, Coultier's ghost and the local urban legend of the Slender Man can serve as background material in gritty settings, with him just being a serial killer.
Exceptional Scrasamax, marvelous. This would make a chilling hand-out to players indeed.
Exceptional indeed. The format, his personality and thought processes, the visceral descriptors. Awesome npc and modern-day boogey-man! Kudos. He should be part of some novel.
Wow! WOW! I LOVE IT!
Why do you waste your talent by not getting published? This was extraordinary.
Scras, get published will ya?
Very nice, this is soo making an appearance in my next Supernatural session, especially given one of the heronies is a part time undertaker. Thanks for the inspiration! :D
Far better then the typical zombie.
You know, I have more to say.
I miss reading pulpy fiction. For years, me and this old beaten crew of teens wrote absolutely terrible pulp- but I miss the style and the raw, visceral aspects of it. This really brought me back to aliens getting blown apart, undead scrambling around, and my own writing antics.
Tarrentino- this reminds me of some of his work. Perhaps not his dialogue shenanigans, but perhaps a bit of that substance that makes pulp so great.
I second AG. This is excellent. Damned creepy, but excellent.
Holy hell. I don't do horror - my experience is that it's difficult to make the players feel it viscerally - but this chilled me down to my bones. So far every voter's given this a perfect score, and deservedly so. I'm voting this HoH as soon as it's eligible.
You all know how I am a short post kinda guy but I was wrapped up in this to the end.
I want more!
I agree with the first two words of RS's statement. Freaky.
A very chilling read. A true masterpiece.
I congratulate you to your new Golden.
5/5 + HoH
This is better than some of the short horror stories sitting on my bookshelf. Extremely engaging, with twists that set it apart.
Wow. Great voice. Syntax and diction. That stuff.
I still read this every so often because I enjoy it so much. Now that I can vote, 5/5.
I swear I read more then I vote, which bothers me. This is excellent and I echo AG here - get yerself published! You have the energy and the creativity - you post both with great quantity and quality.