She's a mom. A wife. And a serial killer.
I gazed at the large, brown saucers looking back at me. Smiling, I tenderly patted the top of its head.
The Yorkshire Terrier started to growl softly, revealing her teeth to me. My hand drifted from the top of its furry, round skull down to its neck. "Do you know how many times you've woken me up at night" I asked, my hands wrapping around the neck of the little dog. Her growl grew louder, almost as if she knew what was about to happen.
"You are just so bothersome...so, so bothersome," I muttered smoothly to it while tightening my grip around her neck. My hands began to squeeze softly at first...then harder. Clenching ever more firmly around its thin neck. The terrier started to squirm, thrashing wildly in my arms. I squeezed even tighter, clamping my other hand around her mouth as her teeth begun digging into my skin. She tried barking, but my hand was so tightly around her neck that only some wheezing came out. Her teeth sunk into my hand, but I ignored the pain. In fact, to tell you the truth, it felt good. I enjoyed pain.
"This is for barking all those times I tried sneaking out...you little bitch." With that said, I calmly snapped its neck. The little dog's body flopped limply in my hands. I threw it down to the garage floor, discarding the little dog as if she was just a piece a gum.
"Damn bitch." I spotted some blood on my hands from the bite and started to suck on it. The salty taste relaxed me, as the thrill of my first kill in months flowed through my body. Oh sure, it was just a dog, but the feeling...that feeling of ending life...
A tiny wail interrupted my relaxation. "Great," I muttered. Rotating my figure, I gazed at the stroller, where my child had evidently awaken from their nap.
Do not judge me.
I had the common courtesy to turn the stroller away from what I was doing.
"I suppose you want something to eat now." Walking over, I hunched next to my baby. Bright blue eyes glanced up to me. She giggled, flapping her tiny arms at me.
I felt nothing toward her. No motherly instincts gnawing at me to protect her. No feelings of love or affection to my daughter. Gazing at her, a long and empty vastness overcame me.
I was no ordinary mother.
Grabbing the handles of the stroller, I spun it and made my way outside the garage. I was not too worried about anyone finding the dog. My husband would not be home until late in the evening. I had plenty of time to dispose of that little mutt. Walking on a path that led to the front yard, I spotted my neighbor, Ms. Graham.
Her plump arms were wildly waving at me, as if I would somehow miss the overweight woman standing only a few yards away from me.
Smiling sweetly, I continued pushing the stroller ahead. "Hello, Dorothy, how are you?"
"Not good! I can't find my dog Dixie!"
"Oh no, that's just horrible," I stated, a frown forming on my face.
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
Ms. Graham nodded. "Anyway, you can help look around our houses? She can't be too far from here."
I smiled again. "Of course. Let me put the stroller away, and then I will help you look for sweet little Dixie."
My neighbor beamed. "Thank you, Amelia. You are truly a good person."
"Oh, nonsense. Just trying to be a good neighbor."
Ms. Graham nodded and swung her head around. "DIXIE, come here...DIXIE!" she cried out, lumbering down the yard.
"I'll be right there," I called out cheerfully. Beaming at the sight of Ms. Graham limbering around in her yard, I headed for my house.
My name is Amelia Hartmann.
I am a mother.
And a serial killer.
You just scoffed. I heard it. A woman living in suburbia America, married to a successful man, with a newborn baby is stone cold killer It is true. While other mothers are shopping for cute little outfits for their kids, I am shopping for my next potential victim. Ironically, it is easier now to stalk out victims with a child. They never suspect you are following them. And if they do notice, I just make an excuse, if I even have to go that far. Usually, when they spot my baby, they forget I was even following them and gush over the little brat.
It is the perfect decoy.
However, I must admit, having the baby was not my idea.
My husband's idea, that pathetic little weasel of a man.
Again, however, he is a successful business man. That is the sole reason I married him. He is so successful that I did not have to find work.
Legitimate work that is.
Stalking someone, picking and choosing the right time to kill them. Finally killing them, then disposing of the bodies. Making sure no one catches you or that you are caught on some grainy security footage.
Now that is work.
Tireless and endless work.
Stalking my victims after working a ten or twelve hour shift at a call center or restaurant diminished my abilities as a serial killer.
I was extremely tired, and as a result, got lazy and was almost caught more than once. But those stories are for later. In order to become the best serial killer I could be and fully utilize my unique skill set, I actively sought out a rich husband. Met him at a local gym and less than a year later, we were married. But that story can also wait until later.
I snapped my head to the shouting outside. Ms. Graham strolled past my kitchen window.
That bitch was in my yard. The fucking nerve of her. Sighing deeply, I calmed myself down.
Housewife mode, I reminded myself.
Could not lose my shit in front of Ms. Graham, of all people. She was my perfect alibi and, seriously, someone who would always have my back. Grabbing my baby, I started making my way to the door to help look for the dog.
After all, I was a good neighbor.
Darren Scott, Victim 18:
Let me tell you about one of my most recent kills, in order to introduce myself to you. I am pretty sure you will not snort at me, a woman, being a serial killer after I tell you about this kill. In fact, just happened the other week.
That was his name. He was an insurance agent, happily married with two kids. A decent human being. The weeks that I stalked him, I never saw him do anything evil or malicious. He always went into the office and came home to his wife and kids. Although, he sometimes would go to the gym and play some pickup basketball at the local YMCA. Otherwise, in the time I watched and studied, he was an otherwise boring man to me.
Now I sat in his dark kitchen, waiting for him to come downstairs. As a result of me observing him over the past month or so, I knew his morning routine. Every weekday, he would come down into the kitchen around 5am in the morning to make some coffee.
I looked to the digital clock on the oven.
Any minute now. Groaning of stairs signaled that someone was making their way down them. I sat up a little more upright in the chair. Just like all the other mornings I was watching...observing him in the backyard. As footstep pounded to the bottom of the stairs, a slow rush of adrenaline begin to flow throughout my body. Just like I planned, my next victim was doing exactly what I had observed them doing at the allotted time slot I had chosen for them. I knew his focus would be on starting up the Keurig and grabbing some cream from the fridge.
Since it was still dark out and he never turned on the lights, he would more than likely not even notice me sitting in the darkened room. The table I was sitting at was located in the back of the house. The stairs were to my left, blocked off by a wall, with the kitchen straight in front of me. I sat with my back to a wall, knowing there was no way anyone could spot me unless they looked directly into the room.
My silhouette figure hunched over, ready to pounce. I tightly grasped the hunting knife in my hands. My heart pounded rapidly against my chest.
The anticipation was killing me.
Killing me...I was a pretty funny person.
Good sense of humor. Of course, being charming was a great trait to have if you were a serial killer.
Just ask Ted Bundy.
Darren came stumbling into the kitchen, heading straight for the coffee maker. I smiled, rising from my chair. He flipped on the Keurig. Opening it, he reached in and took out the old pod. Spinning around, he tossed it into a trash bin and turned his back to me as he opened a shelve door. I quietly stalked over, knowing he would have trouble finding his pods of coffee initially.
An hour earlier, I moved the box they were in farther to the back. As a result, he was on his tippy toes, reaching up on the shelf. I leaned against the side of the fridge, ready to wait until he opened the fridge. He would get his coffee cream, put it on the kitchen counter, and that is when I would strike.
Why was I about to kill an insurance agent? A man who had not displayed any sense of evil?
He became a mark of mine when he hit my car.
That is the one and only reason.
A few months ago, I stopped suddenly because of a red light. I do not believe it was my fault. He had ample time to apply his brakes and besides, I believe he was not giving himself enough space between our two vehicles. As a result, he rear ended me. Nothing too serious really. He apologized profusely, asking if I was okay and that his insurance would pay for the damages.
I nodded, smiled, and told him that I was fine and that everything would work its self out between our insurance companies. We exchanged information and that is where I got his address.
I begun stalking him two weeks after we first made contact. First I would be parked across from his house. I noted who lived at the house, what times people would leave and then arrive back at the residence. Darren would leave the house around 6am every morning. The first few times, I did not follow him to his work, instead observing his two kids waiting for the school bus and then watch as his wife finally drove off to her occupation. After three or four times of no one else coming to house, I decided to check out the surroundings. Being it was in the middle of the day, I knew I could not just be seen sneaking around.
Instead, I grabbed a fake petition about recalling some judge for corruption and proceeded to knock on the houses all around the neighborhood. I was friendly, and readily explained how this particular judge needed to be recalled. Some people saw me, recognized me as the petition lady and then proceeded to ignore me. That is what I have learned over the years about stalking people and where they lived. Neighbors will notice you if you're attempting to hide from them. Look away from their stares, try to avoid them questioning you is the quickest way to get some patrolman called and finding yourself being questioned.
Instead, you must hide in plain sight.
Out in the open.
You must blend in, wherever you are at. I have found that being a petitioner really does work. People will answer the door, talk to you, but not really remember you. In other words, I am invisible out in the open. Those people that look like they are up to no good are more than likely up to no good. They get caught, rather easily and foolishly.
Instead, I marched right up to the Scott's home and knocked on the door. From afar, it appeared that I was waiting to see if anyone was home. Rather, I was looking to see of there were any animals, specifically dogs or a security system.
I knocked again, allowing myself to catch a quick glimpse of inside a second time. No barking dog.
No security system signs or stickers in the window.
I spun around and slowly walked down the porch. I spotted a little path going to the back of the house on the left.
Going up to the next house, I was able to scan the Scott's backyard quickly. A small shed occupied the back, with a fence dotting the boundaries of the yard. As I explained the fake petition to the neighbor, I would keep glancing into the Scott's backyard. With the fence wrapping around their backyard, I spotted a gate.
Smiling, I knew that is where I would make my entrance.
Two nights later, I was back. Dressed in all black, I darted into the backyard and hunched into a corner. The thing about fences, is that they keep neighbors from noticing me hiding in your yard. I love fences. Keeps my vision focused on my target and not worrying about snoopy neighbors spotting me.
For almost a whole month, whenever I would find the time, I would go and watch.
Scrutinize his and his families every movement. It was harder now to sneak out at night with a husband, and now a baby.
How did I do it, you ask?
My husband and I were able to afford a nanny full-time.
A recent college graduate, she slept in the room next to our baby's room. On days and nights that she was scheduled to watch the baby, that enabled me to stalk around. Of course it was still difficult.
Avoiding my husband and a nanny.
So I made up excuses as to why I was not at the house in the middle of night. Went for a run. Overnight trip for my charity. So far, it had worked. Yet, I found myself only being able to get out of the house, at most, two times a week the past few months. That made it even more important that my time spent observing and stalking my victims was as efficient as possible.
Darren Scott was an easy kill.
His routine was the same, everyday all day.
No animals or security systems to worry about.
The day of the kill I broke open the side door and put a small rock into the panel of it. As a result, it did not close all the way. Because no one used it, Darren or his wife would most likely not even bother checking it during the weekdays to see if it was locked. Still, on this particular morning, I did not even know if I was going to be able to kill Darren Scott until I slide the patio door open. Smiling, I then stepped inside.
I heard Darren groan as he opened the fridge.
This was it.
The door slammed shut.
I popped out from the side of the refrigerator. His back was to me, twisting open the cap on the bottle of his creamer. Dressed in blue surgical scrubs, with gloves covering my hands and a mask around mouth, I was prepared for a kill. Plastic was tightly wrapped around my shoes, with a Bouffant surgical cap on my head. It was my Halloween costume, if anyone even bothered digging. Ordered from Amazon specifically right around the beginning of October for that purpose.
Of course, I also had this in mind as well.
A costume that I would burn at home in my fireplace after I was finished.
Stepping up, I waited for him to turn around. He did after a few seconds, a stunned look on his face. He dropped the bottle of cream before I struck. Bringing the knife up, I violently slashed his throat.
My earlier kills, I would not have been as confident to strike like this.
Yet, after practicing a few times on previous victims, I knew my Puma Skinner Stag Handle Blade would cut his flesh quite easily. You see, the key to actually performing a kill is not to hesitate right in the middle of performing the act. Also, not panicking, and keeping a cool and level head.
My hand did, indeed, prove to be very steady.
Blood sprayed everywhere. It reminded me of a fountain. Unlike in the movies, cutting someone's throat was messy. Very, very messy. Darren tried to grab me, reaching his hands out in a desperate, but futile attempt. He stumbled forward, hate in his eyes.
I saw it in his pupils. Blood continued squirting from his neck. It splattered on the counter, fridge, and floor. I had taken a few steps back, admiring my latest work. Darren weakly tried taking another step, but was rapidly losing consciousness. By slashing his throat, I accomplished a few things. One, I severed his wind pipe. No shouting or yelling for help. Instead, only massive amounts of blood were gurgling from his open mouth. Secondly, if done correctly, cutting both the carotid artery and jugular vein in one fell swoop would prevent any oxygen or blood flow from reaching the brain.
I had done it correctly.
He fell to his knees, clasping one hand on his throat. That was not going to do anything. The hate in his eyes had been replaced with fear and confusion.
Confusion to why I had cut his throat.
Fear in dying.
The unknown of what waited beyond this world – or the fear that nothing did.
I glanced down on my scrubs, now covered in his blood. Darren tumbled over, his body spilling onto the hardwood kitchen floor. Gurgling sounds came from his mouth, spurts of blood bubbling out. It spilled all over his t-shirt and the floor, staining it a darkish red color.
I sighed gleefully, enjoying the kill.
Four weeks of stalking had boiled down to less than a minute.
My heart pounded excitedly, as I admired Darren Scott thrashing around. Blood still spurted from his throat. Like a geyser, almost. Yet, it too was fading. Violent, jerking motions of life leaving a body.
The feeling of seeing that...was better than sex.
The feeling that you controlled someone's life. Nothing could compare to it.
Darren Scott gulped his last blood-filled breath before the lack of oxygen and blood loss overtook him. He slumped over, his lifeless, dull pupils staring straight up at the ceiling. Walking over, I checked his body one last time.
Satisfied he was dead, I kneeled over and admired my masterpiece.
It was such a shame my work could not be admired by the rest of the world.
Humans have long flocked and admired men who kill and conquer.
Those were great men who were still studied and talked about all throughout the world. Someday, I hoped to be admired as well. In a different light, of course.
I stood up. It was time to leave.I did not take anything. It was foolish to take anything of my victims that could directly lead back to me. That is how killers got caught.
Instead, I pulled out an old Kodak disposable camera and snapped a picture.
I never developed the pictures. Only kept them in an old shoe box in my closet.
I purposely left my phone at home. That way, if I ever did become a suspect, my phone would be an asset, not a liability. No one was going to use technology to catch me. I slipped out the patio door, dashed across the yard, and blasted through the back gate. Running a full sprint, I began stripping out of my scrubs. After all, seeing someone in blood soaked clothing would certainly rise alarm and suspicion. Yet, I kept my mask on my face. In this day and age, someone could have a security camera pointing in my direction.
Better safe than sorry.
I removed my head scrub, but for a different reason. Long, blond, flowing locks flew out, covering my back.
Jokes on you, I am brunette.
And my hair stops right around my shoulders. Wrapping those under my arm as I made a beeline dash to where I parked my vehicle.I opened my door and hopped inside. Breathing deeply from the excitement, I glanced in the rear view mirror to see if anyone had followed me.
I had parked less than a block over, near an abandoned lot. Nevertheless, if anyone bothered reporting it to the police or remembering the license plate, it would not matter. The car was stolen, another one of my traits I learned when I was younger. Do not worry, I will happily share you that story later on.
I started the car and begin driving away. It took me an hour and half to get to the parking lot where I would ditch the car. A public area used by people when parking their vehicles for car pools and to catch the bus. I blended in quite easily, among the early morning mass of commuters. No one paid any attention to anyone, as long as you did not give them a reason to pay attention to you. And especially in the early morning, no one was going to be on the lookout for anything too unusual. A ton of coffee and yawning was the extent of my experience there. I had avoided the main streets with camera lights and business areas that would potentially have security cameras.
If the police did not come and pick up this car, I would come back in a few weeks, and then dispose of it. But I would wait for the area to settle down.I removed the plastic wrapping around my shoes, my mask, and changed into a t-shirt, shorts, and sandals. Sighing, I drove away.
I took the regular route back to my house.
Pulling into the driveway, I took a peek around the neighborhood. Seeing no movement, I stuffed the bloody scrubs into a gym bag. I would burn those as soon as I stepped inside.
Confident that no one was watching, I stepped out of my car. Taking a deep breath of fresh air, I gazed upon the morning sunrise.
Another day rising.
Another kill made.
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