When I heard that a new family had moved in across the street, I wasn't that surprised. "Jane the Killer" and this is how I met Jeff, the reason I look the way I do, and why I want to kill him. Listen, the only reason I'm going out of my way to tell any of you this is because the story "Jane the Killer" is starting to piss me off. “I’m afraid you’re in no position to give orders, son.” He said, reveling a very subtle southern draw that Jeff had not noticed a moment ago.For the original Jane the Killer story, please see Jane's Letter (AKA Jane the Killer) by AngryDogDesigns “Go to sleep!” Jeff demand, in his own grainy and intimidating voice the voice that stuck helpless terror into the hearts of victims all over town, but this man just chuckled casually. It spook in a soft but level tone, without a hint of fear. Jeff was feeling hopeful about this next venture though and he raised the knife high above his head, taking a moment to savor the murder he was about to commit as he liked to treat every slaying like a Thanksgiving dinner, but as he was about to plunge the knife into his helpless victim, revel in the sensation of his hands submerging themselves in a freshly opened stomach and giggle at the pitiful gasps of shock and pain that usually followed, he heard a voice that made him stop in his tracks, “Hi there, Smiley,” the voice said, “It sure took you long enough to get here.” After all, his father had always told him to finish what he had started then again, ol’ dad gotten himself carved into coleslaw, so how smart could he have been?
“I’ll get them latter.” He muttered to himself shortly after the escape. He applied a few extra drops this time as the last struggle, followed by the long hard run that it took to flee the scene had dried up his eyes significantly, to the point where he had almost gone blind. Luckily, he had remembered to bring a spare with him this night and, hiding behind a bush, he applied his hourly eye-drops, which were the only way for him to keep his eyes moist since that night when he had removed the lids with a craving knife (it seemed like a good idea at the time).
Just one of life’s little ironies Jeff thought, chuckling to himself. His last encounter hadn’t gone so well the kid’s father had intervened and Jeff had lost one of his favorite knives when he threw it at the old man whom had startled Jeff when he brandished his shotgun at him (so it was his fault, really).The knife had missed its intended target and embedded itself into the David Bowie poster that hung on the boy’s bedroom wall. Jeff crawled silently through the bedroom window of his latest victim and gradually crept over the the foot of his bed.
0 kommentar(er)
