Scarecrow the Third: Downpour

Rainfall is a necessity in the ecologies that we as a species thrive in. It sustains flora and fauna (as few animals outside the human species have easy access to underground aquifers) and revitalizes arid areas through regular monsoon activity. By and large, the distribution of life on this planet can be traced to regions with frequent dissemination of collected atmospheric moisture via precipitation. Furthermore, many human beings see rainfall as nature's purifier. This, however, is not a factual conclusion. Rain's contributions to "cleaning" our planet are merely superficial. Precipitation dilutes the refuse and ruin of mankind and transports it into subterranean states; nothing more. Thus, the violent storm rampaging in the Baltimore skyline tonight is a farce to me. It cannot undo what I have wrought. These droplets are the embodiment of the wasted anguish of angels plummeting to the earth to mourn my actions. As it stands, they are far too inept to impact directly. I have usurped their glory on this globe... I am a new-world nephilim.

Dispatching the child was not a difficulty for me. I lament it only in that it did not allow me the proper time to simply enjoy siphoning the soul out of her mother. There are many who feel that the death of a child is the greatest tragedy known to mankind. This is sentimental horseshit. In actuality, I've done this innocent a favor. I have deprived her of her life, yes; however, I've also prevented her from experiencing the breadth and depth of man's depravity over time. She will never know true heartbreak or sorrow. She will never have to suffer through a loved one's bout with cancer. She will never be raped at a Friday night frat mixer by some drunken reprobate... and some sick sodomite will never get her addicted to barbiturates and whore her out to his friends for his own amusement. It was bad enough that she was being subjected to the noisy fornication of those gangly adolescents that were presumably charged with her care for the evening. She died a pristine spirit. Snapping her neck was the greatest gift I was capable of giving her. It's the best I can give to anyone. I am a liberator of souls.

Popping a third piece of gum into my mouth, I take a deep cleansing breath and try to envision what I'd done to incur this kind of karmic clusterfuck on only my second night in town. Surely, it was bad enough that a child was present in this home... My little blonde succubus, Deborah Novotony according to her identification, certainly did not appear to be old enough to have sired offspring. I suppose it's a tribute to the decline of the supposed moral fabric of this queer country. Or, perhaps I should say, cunt-ry.

This is the price I pay for living on instincts. One cannot exist sating every synaptic urge without occasionally encountering unexpected snags. This scenario, however, was a total calamity from the word go. Naturally, Deborah objected to my killing her daughter. Thus, the moment I sprung from her chest she was scrambling across the floor after me. A well-placed thrust to her throat had prevented any anguished cry from escaping her, but she was still capable of scratching and clawing like a rabid wolverine while I tackled her child to the ground. The girl attempted to scream, but I drove my forearm into her trachea as I fell on-top of her, effectively collapsing her wind-pipe and settling the matter quickly.

At this point, her mother was on my back and driving her furious phalanges towards my eye-sockets... another product of weekend self-defense courses at a community college. I grabbed two handfuls of her hair and jerked her over my shoulders and onto the squirming form of her daughter in front of me. Fighting to maintain balance, I snatched an odd leaden object from a bookshelf to my right and bludgeoned the woman until she was twitching like a jonesing dope-fiend. The object, I found upon later inspection, was a bust of some elderly fellow with atrocious sideburns and what appeared to be a lifetime of torment trapped behind his eyes. Of course, the thick trickle of blood from the object may have lent to my interpretation of his glum expression.

It was then that I heard the bucking of a headboard against the plaster of the wall to my right, coupled with a gentle moan of erotic delight. So the child wasn't completely unattended, after all. Looking for a bit of entertainment to compensate for the evening's lost opportunities, I crept through the bedroom door to see two acne ridden tweens writhing in a sad approximation of human coital entanglement. The girl had barely any shape to her: certainly not enough to conjure any libidinal liftoff for me personally. They were arranged, as so many ridiculous children tend to be, in a position affectionately referred to as a "69." She was bouncing her head so fervently against the boy's pelvis that I was sure he had to be hung like a fucking raccoon to avoid impaling her. The boy's complexion resembled chicken-skin drawn over a barbed-wire fence, and he was so thin that I momentarily believed the girl was molesting herself with a broomstick.

After nearly two minutes of quiet observation I felt nauseous enough that I nearly vomited on them before they'd even noticed the door was open. At this point I stepped forward and drove the girl's head far enough onto the boy's member to choke her, causing her to bite down violently after three wretches. The boy squealed in agony, but I managed to quickly adjust a pillow over his face to stifle the cry. I had never had the opportunity to choke a woman to death on another man's pelvis... In case you're keen on attempting this at home, be warned: it's exceedingly messy. First, there will be blood from the bitten penis. This will flow free and fast, as this is an area being heavily supplied given the circumstances. You're also confronted with the typical dilemma of asphyxia, wherein the body will expel stomach contents to try and dislodge the esophageal blockage. The young man also voided his bowels in reaction to the wounds being inflicted on his testicles as I drove her further and further down... and I have a vague suspicion he was near climax when I initially introduced myself to them, as there was a semen-esque substance trickling with the vomit from the girl's mouth. After nearly ten minutes of depriving these two of oxygen, they finally surrendered themselves to the hereafter.

Now that I had turned this quaint urban apartment into an orgiastic abattoir, I began to shuffle the bodies into the kitchen to facilitate my cleaning process. Firstly, I had to scrub beneath Deborah's fingernails to remove any possible skin she'd managed to claw free during our exchange. I then sprayed her clean with a sink attachment and removed a portion of her labia to fry up once I'd returned to my hotel room.

I hit a snag with the daughter as I was dragging her into the kitchen... literally. She caught on the corner of a counter as I was attempting to maneuver her past her mother's prone body, and I had managed to bore a rather sizable hole in her stomach before I'd realized that she had bent around the structure. While I was attempting to shift her away from the island, her leg became entangled with her mother's. I still happened to be holding an emery board that I'd been utilizing in paring Deborah, and unfortunately drove the board into the child's stomach whilst trying to separate their limbs. Due to the hole I'd already managed to wear, I had plunged the better portion of my hand into the wound along with the board... which meant I was extricating portions of viscera when I managed to pull free. In fact, I'd pulled so much out that it was making it difficult to maneuver around this bloody heap of humanity I'd created. After falling atop the bodies twice I began to twine the intestines around the child's neck as one would wind a cable around the plastic posts on a vacuum cleaner. This task completed, I shifted both women near the sink and went into the bedroom to retrieve my young lovers.

After nearly four hours of constant exertion (including but not limited to: tracking a woman for an hour, killing four individuals, shifting their bodies and cleaning any perceivable evidence from said bodies and various items around the apartment) I was sapped of all energy. Having managed to arrange the bodily remnants in a supine pancake stack, I exhaustedly fell atop the heap and attempted to enjoy a moment of respite from activity.

I'm unaware of how long I had rested there... I don't believe that I nodded off, but before I was fully cognisant of my surroundings I heard someone exclaim, "What the fuck?" directly outside the front door of the apartment. Realizing that I did not have nearly enough time to wrest myself away from this dog-pile, I simply continued to lay prone across the bodies in the hopes that I would be counted amongst the carnage when the individual entered. As luck had it, I was.

I presume that his exclamation was due to the fact that the front door was standing somewhat ajar. The door must have recoiled rather than lock into place when I had kicked it earlier. The man entering was not large, the presumed Mr. Novotony, but he was certainly fit. Like his lover, he was firmly toned and appeared to take great care in maintaining his physique. He was sporting a sandy-blonde wavy coiffer, parted in the middle and somewhat wind-tussed from the gail he'd likely endured getting into the building. A gray woolen trench-coat hung loosely around him, and he carried the ever-so-cliche brown leather briefcase in his right hand. The lights were still off in the apartment, as I had been operating by the candlelight the amorous couple had been using for ambiance. Thus, as Mr. Novotony (Nathaniel, I later discovered) entered his abode he was not instantly confronted with the grizzly horror that was the product of my evening's reverie. Closing the door behind him, he was no doubt aware that something was amiss given the amount of blood on the carpeting and the plethora of overturned furniture. He entered cautiously, peering into the gloom of the apartment and jumping at the vague shadows projected in the candlelight flickers. Upon surveying the room and seeing no immediate danger, I presume, he reached to the wall and turned on the apartment lights.

Once the lights were on, as there were limbs ostensibly extending from behind the island in the kitchen, he gasped very pronouncedly and leapt toward the bodies to ascertain their identities. As he rounded the corner, I continued to lay prone until the shock of seeing his loved ones in such a state had registered in his mind. He froze in place; mouth agape, absolutely terrified. At that exact moment, I sprung from the body heap with all the reserved energy I could muster-- hurling myself with a complete disregard for my own well-being in the hopes that I could use this momentary advantage to overwhelm him completely.

The man was strong, that's for sure. Perhaps once the survival instinct kicks in, one is imbued with a strength that transcends normal human ability. In any event, he was able to absorb a good deal of my momentum without falling completely off-balance. However, I flew into him with a rather uncoordinated cross-body which sent him reeling into the kitchen cabinets and counters whilst I slid downward onto the floor. Unfortunately, he recoiled off of the cabinets and fell directly on top of me. This was not an advantageous situation for me to find myself in, but I managed to find decent footing as his weight was adjusting on top of me. I kicked against the cabinets beneath the sink, effectively turning the both of us onto our backs like invalid turtles. While he was attempting to find purchase with a stranglehold, I wildly flailed my hands around to try and locate some weapon to utilize in my desperation. When I happened upon a pair of ice tongs that had fallen to the floor in the midst of the struggle I felt as though salvation had come at last. I drove the prongs, pinched together to resemble a spearhead, directly into his groin several times. This certainly took a good deal of fight out of him, and he began to roll away from me while holding his testicles and retching.

At this point I'd managed to recover a modicum of composure, and saw an opening to put the proverbial fork in the fucker following the literal one. He had begun to crawl towards the front door mewling like a wet cat, still pitiably clutching his manhood and wriggling like a silk worm across the carpet. I waited for him to get near the door, and just as he was about to reach up for the handle I leaned over him and jerked the door open. The door itself slammed against the left side of his head as I pulled it, and brushing past that also collided with his right hand which had been outstretched towards the nob. He groaned noisily, and as his head fell to the floor I grabbed the collar on his trench-coat and dragged him a few more inches forward toward the hallway and into the entryway.

Poised as a coiled snake, I hurled the door towards the jamb repeatedly as I'd seen done so frequently in popular cinema... and the effect was quite entertaining. The skull itself did not collapse from the impacts, but it was certainly enough to concuss the man severely... Hair and flesh tore away from his scalp and temples as I pried the door back time and again. Not exactly sure that this would sufficiently dispatch the gentleman I nudged him further forward and, turning him onto his right side (thereby facing his jugular towards the doorjamb), closed the door repeatedly against the back of his neck. When I felt that his trachea had been sufficiently collapsed, I dragged him back into the apartment and placed him atop the concentration camp dog-pile I'd manufactured over the course of the evening.

Given the amount of energy I'd expended over the last few hours, I again felt an overwhelming need for rest and recuperation. However, prudence prevailed at this juncture and I quickly set about gathering whatever valuables I could to aid in sustaining myself. That task done, I found myself still feeling rather unfulfilled by the evening's activities. I certainly wasn't satisfied with the experience at all, regardless of the outcome. As such, I decided to do a little redecorating with the bodies and scenery.

I placed the daughter back in her own room, nestled safely in the confines of her bed. However, to avoid being seen as soft by my growing fan-base of law enforcement officers and journalists, I splayed open her wounds using a practice similar to high-school anatomy dissection utilizing the same tongs that I employed to dispatch her father. I then arranged two couches directly facing one another in the living room. On one I configured Mr. and Mrs. Novotany in a near Ozzie and Harriet fashion, his right arm draped around her shoulder (his head drooping sickly over the back of the couch following the neck trauma) and his legs crossed with his left hand on his genitals. I fashioned a rather sick look of glee on Deb's face (as she had started to stiffen by the time I got around to tinkering with her), and left her arms looking as though she was meekly holding her hands in her lap... then inserted both hands into the gaping wound I'd left there. I arranged the young nude teens, who were still locked together by their rigor in their chosen sexual arrangement, as the focus of the Novotany's attention... It was eerily reminiscent of a Monty Python sexual education class, with the two youths acting as the instructors in this instance.

With this work came a spiritual levity, and I left the apartment feeling as though I'd dodged a bullet as opposed to having made a colossal error in judgement. Even fate, it seems, cannot thwart me in spite of it's most earnest attempts. The rain buffeted the Baltimore streets in some strange synchronicity with my footfalls, as though I was still being chided for my conduct by beings on high. Awash in the chaos, I railed against my better judgment hoping that the rain could corrode the calamity of this evening... or at least transport it into the subterranean states of my subconscious.

As it stands, I learned that what doesn't kill me makes me harmful...