Chapter Twenty-Five: Rushing to Die:

Blood is beautiful. Die! Die! Die! Die!

In life, I’ve killed many women. They looked beautiful in their blood. Their screams were like music to my ears. When did first it start?

I smiled as I began to remember. Oh, yes. It was that time.

I think I was four. She was pretty. Or maybe it was a he. I couldn’t tell. They were pretty. We got along, that much is true. I lived in a big house back then. I remembered the wooden staircase. It looked so long back then. This friend and I were playing near the stairs one summer day. Everything was going great.

Then for no reason, I pushed down them the stairs. It just happened. They lay dead at the bottom of the stairs. I think they broke their neck. Why did I do that? I don’t know. I t just happened. I didn’t hate the kid. I kind of liked them in fact. I just pushed them and they died. Funny thing was, I didn’t feel sad. I just sat at the top of the stairs and waited. I don’t remember what happened after that. But I remember my pretty friend lying dead at the bottom of the stairs. Body mangled and broken. Empty eyes stared at me. It felt… so… I couldn’t describe it at the time. But I had to feel it again.

Why do I kill? Fun? Pleasure? Curiosity? Maybe it was all of the above. Thirty-seven women. All stabbed to death. They looked beautiful in all of that red. It takes so much to stab somebody. Some killers love the chase. I love the end result of my work.

But none of them looked like my dead friend from long ago. I couldn’t recapture that feeling I had when I was a child. Something was missing. But, I never got to learn what it was.

I was arrested six years ago. I was found guilty and sentenced to death. I died last year.

But, my soul escaped. I wasn’t going to be judged until I had the feeling when I killed my friend. I could kill more woman than when I was alive. But, it just felt boring. The murders were too easy for me. The police assumed they were copycat killings. Still, I had to chase that feeling down again. My kill count increased to seventy-one.

But then, I got caught again. I was about to be judged. By then, I about gave up on chasing down that feeling again.

But, I got free again.


A woman lay on the floor of the abandoned warehouse. She had been bound and gagged. A pair of red eyes glared down at her. The potential victim’s eyes welled up with tears.

“Say good night!” her captors said. He held the knife above his head.

“Stop right there!” someone yelled.