Chicky, horror, thriller

Murder and Flowers-flash fiction-thriller

I am quite exhausted of hearing the fact that men are serial killers. I mean, how often do we hear of a woman serial killer? Sure it has taken place in the past; however, names of serial killers that come to mind are Jack the Ripper — I love him, by the way — and Jeffrey Dahmer, the man who never let his murders go to waste. Ate them up, yummy. But, never does a woman’s name come to mind when one thinks of serial killers. There is, of course a reason for that. See, the old saying holds true. “Anything a man can do…a woman can do better.” Of course there are plenty of women serial killers out there! We just don’t get caught!

“My dear, I am so pleased you could make it to my home this afternoon. How did you find your way?” I ask the seventeen-year-old darling who sits uncomfortably upright in my kitchen chair. Her long blond hair is thick and reminds me of the yarn-haired dolls I mutilated as a child.

“Do you mean did I find my way here okay?” She adjusts herself in the chair. “Sorry, I didn’t quite understand the question.”

I lean forward in my chair, placing my face within two feet of hers. I breathe her in, filling my lungs to capacity. Flowers. She smells like fresh cut wild flowers, and my body begins to tingle with excitement. But I must control myself. “Yes, Dear, how did you find your way?”

“It was okay. I didn’t use GPS, if that’s what you mean. I did as you requested and picked up a map from the store and found my way here from that.” She smiles. “That’s the first time I’ve ever used a map. I won’t have any problems driving your child around while you are at work.”

“Oh good, good. And did you also leave your phone at home so you would not be tempted to use that GPS?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And where does your family believe you are right now?”

“At,” she pauses, her eyes slightly squint and her head tilts a little to the side, “a…a job interview.”

“Splendid, Dear, splendid, as right you are!”

She looks around the room a little more closely now. She even leans to her left to get a view of the family room. It, as is the kitchen, is spotless and filled with expensive furniture and beautiful, breakable artifacts. Dare I say, she looks a little…uneasy. Delicious.

“Where…” she starts. “Is the child I will be a nanny to here? I don’t… I don’t see any toys.”

My heart is beginning to race, and I feel slightly lightheaded from the rush that is beginning to flow through my body. Her pupils are growing larger, and her skin… Is it a shade lighter? Yes. “Oh, I keep everything in Jacob’s room. He’s sleeping in his crib right now. Through those doors.” I point to the double-entry door behind her. “Go see him, but shhhh, try not to wake him,” I say with my head tilting down in admiration of my “baby Jacob”. She looks uneasy, but stands and does as she is told. I follow with soft footsteps behind her.

The doors are silent as she opens them. A blue, boat-themed room is displayed before her. And in the middle, there is a white crib with a bundle of joy inside. Joy is in the heart of the beholder, after all.

An odor fills the room that was not there earlier. It is an odor that I am quite familiar with, yet not at all fond of. I am certain she must smell it too. She, however, will not be familiar with what the smell is. And, of course, she will be her most polite and not even mention it. Wonderful girl.

She looks back at me before approaching “Jacob” as if to get final consent to approach my love.

“Yes, Dear, go on. Go on!”

She quietly places her face over the crib, looking at the bundle below her. She can’t see his face, of course. Well, I know why she cannot see the face. There simply is not one. But she does not know that yet.

“I…I don’t see him. Is he in the blanket? I’m afraid he may be suffocating. I can’t see his face.”

“Oh, Dear, he is fine.” I give a slight chuckle. “But, please, feel better and remove the blanket from his face.”

“Oh no. If you think this is okay, I’m sure it is.”

“You had better move the blanket…just in case. I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to little Jacob.”

She reaches into the crib and begins to tug at the wrapped bundle of blue and white striped cloth. And that is my cue to pull the blade from under the rocking chair cushion. I stand closely behind her. She is God awfully slow. She is a careful one, isn’t she? Then she stops. She does not move. I listen. I lean in closer and listen. She does not breathe. Yes, she sees what is in the cotton cover. The blood-stained, cotton cover. And there. There it is. Oh yes! Her scream. It makes me feel… And there it is again. Another scream. …so alive. I feel so alive. She turns and tries to run, but how can she with my knife in her chest? She tries to gasp, but she can’t breathe at the moment.  Her eyes fill with fear. Tantalizing. I soak that in before pulling the blade from her. Hunched and trying to hold her blood in, she moves toward the door. I skewer her back, the knife sliding easily between her ribs, but grazing the bone just enough to feel the dull grind as I pull it back out. She screams.  There, now she is breathing again.  Good for her!  She continues to hobble to the door. And I quickly slice through her soft flesh, anywhere–doesn’t really matter where–until she falls to the ground. Blood is everywhere, as though an artist has splash-painted red acrylic into a pattern only he understands. She has fallen and is nothing but a whimpering pile of blood-drenched flesh. She watches as I move toward her, her body no longer allowing her to do much else than stare up at me. I slice her wrist and watch the blood flow.

I don’t know if they are coherent at this point. Certainly in shock. But coherent? I’m not so sure, but I talk to her anyway.

“Got ya. Didn’t I? Everyone feels so safe when interacting with a woman. There is never a second thought about safety. Ever. You didn’t think about safety, did you? You silly, silly girl. You even left your phone behind. Something I’m quite certain you would not have done had I been a man. No one will ever trace you here now.” I pause. “How did you like the bundle in the crib, by the way?” I walk over and grab the decaying arm from the crib. “Do you recognize it? This arm?” Not that I expect her to answer. She just stares as I waive it “Hello” in front of her face. “It is your mother’s arm. Her interview was earlier this morning.” Her eyes glaze over. She is gone. Exquisite. That moment of departure is what I live for. I wonder if her mummy just pulled her to heaven. Who knows.

I guess the sexist fact that men have the stigma of being serial killers is a good thing. People trust me because I am a woman. Therefore, I am permitted do much more killing than they ever could. And because I am a woman, and so very clever, I will never get caught.
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Written by Sheryl Marasi
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horror, thriller

Flushed – flash fiction-thriller (explicit)

I knew what I did. I knew it while I shoved the knife deep into his flesh. There was no room for insanity, delusions, self-defense, or any other lie people use to get out of it. It was murder.  Planned, pre-meditated murder.

I inhaled my cigarette before looking down at his heavy lifeless body. Smoke filled my lungs and circled the bathroom, leaving behind a smell that he would have disapproved of. How the hell was I going to move him? His eyes stared up at me as if to laugh one last time. Now what are you going to do, Cunt?

“Fuck you, Anthony. I got the last word here.” I threw the cigarette into the toilet. It made one last sizzle noise before drowning to death, much like Anthony’s last gurgle of blood before half his body fell into the tub. I flushed the cigarette and watched it swirl until it disappeared. The evidence of my disgusting habit swirled to nonexistence. The toilet was a disposal of everything…if everything was small enough.

I stared at Anthony as I removed my necklace, kissing the cross. “Forgive me, Father.” I set the necklace down gently. “Eye for an eye.” I was truly sorry to God. But I would never be sorry to Anthony; he could rott in hell.

To make him fit piece by piece, it would be a long night. Everything but the bones. They ccould be hammered down and thrown in the trash tomorrow. I sat down and started with his hands. The same hands that had taken my sister’s life the night she tried to stand up for me.

Rest in peace, Baby-Sis. I got this.

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Written by Sheryl Marasi (pen name)

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YouTube AUDIO Version read by Sheryl Marasi

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photo by markusspiske

horror, thriller

Hungry – flash fiction-horror

Daniel was five that year. He was finally old enough to appreciate the festival that consumed Woodhaven for four days every summer for the past seven years. And as every summer before, the moment Daniel walked into the park with his parents, he ran past all of the stands of flowing dresses, the tables of sunglasses for sale: Buy 1, Get 1, past the spinning rides and past the overwhelming smells of grease from funnel cakes and pizza stands. He would run past everything, directly to the funhouse. And his mom, like every summer before, had a slight tinge of uneasiness.

This year he was old enough to run there by himself while his mom and dad stopped at the ticket booth to buy Daniel’s wristband. A wristband that, for Daniel, just appeared…no money involved…no asking involved…it just was.

His parents watched him run there, Dad keeping his eyes on him the entire way while Mom purchased the bands.

“Do you want one, Honey?” she asked.

“You know I can’t handle those rides, Sarah,” he said.

“I know, just thought maybe you’d go into the funhouse with him this year.”

You can. You go on all the other rides with him.”

Her eyes grew large. “Absolutely not!” She was terrified of funhouses. When she was a child, she got lost in one and swore that she saw a man with bulging, bloody eyes watching her try to find her way out. Of course, now as an adult, she knew that was ridiculous, but it was still terrifying none the less.

Both their hearts warmed to watch Daniel’s excitement as he ran into the funhouse. Every once in a while his cute little body would follow the trail out onto the deck to play little games that were attached to the wall. Each time he came out, he was sure to waive to them.

They had only been there for fifteen minutes and they were both beginning to sweat. Sarah pulled her hair away from her neck while Tom pulled his shirt back and forth from his chest. While Sarah continued to watch for Daniel to reach the exit of the funhouse, Tom was taking note of the number of children that had gone in after Daniel and have already exited.

“You should go in there and check on him,” he said to Sarah who was terrified at the thought, but knew it had to be done.

She went in through the exit which was a giant rolling bin that reminded her of a mouse wheel and held her breath as she entered the inside of the funhouse. To her relief, Daniel was right there, in front of the body mirrors. As she walked up, she could see him having a conversation with himself in the mirror.

“Yeah, sometimes I get hungry too.” There was a pause as she watched him continue to stare into the mirror. “Ew!” Then he laughed. “I don’t eat people! I eat things like hot dogs. You’re funny!” Her heart started pumping. Who was he talking to? She tried to reassure herself by remembering that kids talk to themselves often. Daniel talks to himself often. “Why are your eyes so big? Is that blood on your face?” She pushed through the immediate numbing of her body and charged over to Daniel, grabbing him and rushing him out of the funhouse. Daniel started screaming, he obviously wasn’t ready to leave yet.
It took a while, but Tom had finally calmed Sarah down, convincing her that Daniel had a pretty good imagination.

Their night ended once the KISS cover band took stage. It was time to get Daniel home and time to let the adults of Woodhaven have some fun.

***

The next day, Daniel pleaded to go back and asked if his neighbor Laura could come as well. This was odd as Laura was only three-years-old and Daniel never wanted to play with her. In fact, every time she would wander over to the house when he was playing with his friends, they would flatly tell her to go away because they didn’t like her. Sarah thought this would be a great opportunity for Daniel to finely learn to like the little neighbor, so gave into his begging. Tom was at work for the day; it would just be the three of them.

As always, their first stop was the funhouse. Although Sarah’s body had a constant feeling of electricity going through it, a constant jolt of warning, she reminded herself of her husband’s words the day before…just his imagination.

“Keep an eye on her while you’re in there,” she told Daniel as him and Laura entered the house.

“Okay, Mom!”

Minutes accumulated to fifteen again. Everything inside Sarah was sounding on high alert. Once again she traveled through what she felt was a spinning wheel of death because on the other side…

WHY did I listen to Tom? Why did I let them go in there?
Once again, Daniel was in front of the body mirrors.

“What’s an ap-pit-eye-sir?” he asked the mirror.

Sarah glanced around the funhouse room. Laura was nowhere to be seen. Two other children laughed and ran past her. “Laura?” she yelled. “Laura?” She walked closer to Daniel who continued chatting with the mirror.

“I only eat one time,” he said. “You must really be hungry!”

“Daniel, where’s Laura?”

Daniel looked at his mom then pointed back to the mirror, continuing his conversation with it. “That’s my mom,” he said.

“Daniel, get away from the mirror! Where’s Laura?” she started reaching for Daniel.

“Mommy, he wants to talk to you.”

Her arm still extended to Daniel. “Who?” her voice was a mere squeak.

“The funny man.”

Her arm was suddenly grabbed by a hand with long fingers that reached out from inside the mirror.

“Daniel, run!”

But he didn’t, Daniel laughed while his mom was pulled into the mirror.

“He’s so hungry!”

As she was being pulled in, she could hear Daniel saying how the funny man wanted to meet Daddy later that night and he couldn’t wait to come back! “Daniel, No!” she yelled.

Her yells turned to screams as she was sucked further into the mirror.  Her screams were soon silenced as her flesh was devoured piece by piece until there was nothing left.

“Okay,” Daniel said to the mirror. “I can come back with someone the next two days. Sometimes I get hungry too.”

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Written by Sheryl Marasi (pen name)

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See the link below if you’re interested in watching the writing process of this story.