Sequel: *** Tramp ›
The Love Child of Hatred and *** Mysteries
And The Horror Begins
I banged on your door with the handle of the kitchen knife. I stood there in the cold with only a t-shirt, pants and latex gloves on. No shoes. On the stone patio of your house, I banged on your door again, until I heard your dog bark.
“Hey, Foofs.” I whispered loudly. Your Dog stopped barking as I switched the knife around so the blade was pointed outward, away from me and toward anyone who opened the door. That person happened to be Him, exactly who I had expected.
“What the fu-“ He began upon seeing it was me at the door. I stepped in and threw my bag on the first step, drawing the chemically treated cloth from my back pocket. I bunched it up and thrust it into His face, immediately His eyes visibly dilated and His arm flailing was less concentrated, He stumbled and was weaker. Once to the stomach. Twice. But the third was different, I didn’t draw out right away, no, with this I stabbed once, then dragged the knife, half immersed in His body, down about half a foot, then drew out.
“That’s payback for what you did to her.” He stumbled backwards and fell, probably dead, but just to be sure I gave Him one to the heart. Now that He was dead your dog began to bark her little head off at Him. I didn’t want to kill your dog too, I had grown to love your dog, so I wrapped my hands around your dog’s body, probably leaving bloody hand prints on her, picked her up and put pressure to that special spot behind her ear. Your dog was out cold.
I then carefully took the blood drenched gloves off and put them in a plastic bag I brought that was sticking out of the messenger beg I threw on your stairs. I picked up my bag and, ever so skillfully, I walked up your stairs, remembering exactly where to step so that they didn’t squeak (years of practice my friend, years) and made my way into your bathroom at the top of your stairs. I raided your medicine cabinet behind the mirror, careless about getting blood anywhere (I know it may seem as if I’m bouncing between careful and careless, but in sweet time you will understand) and found what I was looking for. One and a half containers of Her over the counter sleeping pills.
No, I’m not going to kill myself, thank you, but I was going to finish what I started. I then walked into Her room and took off Her shirt and Her pants that I was wearing and threw them in the corner (remember, the ones I asked you to borrow from Her and give to me earlier today?) I then dropped my bag and took out a tool belt I had filled with necessities to make this work. I then walked over to the bed, on arrival I drew the blue foot cover I had taken from my mother out of the belt and put them on my feet as to not track the blood I had stepped in anywhere else around the house.
From the same belt I drew another pair of latex gloves and put them on. The next part took about ten minutes because I could only put in a few at once, so I’m going to give it to you in a nutshell. Out of the already opened, half empty one, I took out 3 pills and dropped them into Her open mouth. Lucky for me she was already lying on her back on the edge of the bed, so all I had to do was open her mouth. I then trotted over to my bag and took out the spray bottle of water mixed with a bit of hot sauce (that I had forgotten to put in my belt) and walked back over to the bed and sprayed it to the back of her throat. In a few seconds She swallowed and I began the process again.
By the time I had gone through the whole supply the first few had taken effect and I began to strip her. Trust me, Hun, I didn’t want to see Her with no clothes on, but for the plan to work I had to. A shiver of disgust wracked my body as I pulled her pants off and threw them in the laundry basket. Unfortunately that wasn’t all I had to do to Her. I walked over to the corner which housed my bag and from that I drew a large ear dropper and a paper cup. I then walked down stairs to the bloodbath bellow, careful not to step in any of the much needed blood. I then filled the cup 3/4ths of the way and then went back upstairs, paying attention to make sure I didn’t track any blood.
I then retrieved a large paint brush out of my belt and walked back over to Her. I dipped Her hand in the cup and then let her hand hang over the cup to make sure no blood got on the floor. I did the same with the other hand and then got to painting her arms, following the patterns on my arms. At 4 in the morning I was finally done. Thank god. Now it was your turn. No, I’m not gonna kill you, don’t worry, but I was going to surprise you.
I leaned against my shoulder in your doorway and began to kick at the foot of your door to wake you up. After a good minute of kicking at your door you finally throw it open. “What the hell?” You ask sleepily. I smirk as your face begs for an answer. “And why aren’t you wearing anything?” I don’t know why, but you don’t seem to notice the blood adorning my arms. “It’s 3 in the morning, you woke me up, what the fuck do you want?” you whispered.
I smile. “It’s four in the morning, love.” I say it without whispering, for I know that there is no one to wake.
“Shut up, you’ll wake up my parents! Get in here.” You order and go to pull me into your room by my bra but I don’t budge.
“Don’t worry, your parents won’t be waking any time soon.” You glare at me.
“What did you do?” You question without whispering, glancing at my bloodied arms. I smirk and take your hand, dragging you out into the hall way where I can tell the bloody foot prints worry you more. “What’s going on?” You demand. I push open Her door and you stare in horror at your mother as I grin at my lovely work. I look over at you, jaw dropped with a shocked expression on your face. You slowly make your way over to her and put your hand out to touch her now cold body.
“Ah,” I reprimand from across the room, stopping your hand but not the single tear that falls down your face. Your hand trembles as you run, pushing past me to empty your stomach contents into the toilet. I spin on my heals and walk down the hall and stand disappointedly in the doorway. As you finish you look up at me, horrified.
“You don’t like your birthday present?” I ask, slightly hurt. You said you wanted this for so long.
“This? This is my birthday present?” You’re outraged. This is defiantly not the reaction I wanted.
“Hey, Foofs.” I whispered loudly. Your Dog stopped barking as I switched the knife around so the blade was pointed outward, away from me and toward anyone who opened the door. That person happened to be Him, exactly who I had expected.
“What the fu-“ He began upon seeing it was me at the door. I stepped in and threw my bag on the first step, drawing the chemically treated cloth from my back pocket. I bunched it up and thrust it into His face, immediately His eyes visibly dilated and His arm flailing was less concentrated, He stumbled and was weaker. Once to the stomach. Twice. But the third was different, I didn’t draw out right away, no, with this I stabbed once, then dragged the knife, half immersed in His body, down about half a foot, then drew out.
“That’s payback for what you did to her.” He stumbled backwards and fell, probably dead, but just to be sure I gave Him one to the heart. Now that He was dead your dog began to bark her little head off at Him. I didn’t want to kill your dog too, I had grown to love your dog, so I wrapped my hands around your dog’s body, probably leaving bloody hand prints on her, picked her up and put pressure to that special spot behind her ear. Your dog was out cold.
I then carefully took the blood drenched gloves off and put them in a plastic bag I brought that was sticking out of the messenger beg I threw on your stairs. I picked up my bag and, ever so skillfully, I walked up your stairs, remembering exactly where to step so that they didn’t squeak (years of practice my friend, years) and made my way into your bathroom at the top of your stairs. I raided your medicine cabinet behind the mirror, careless about getting blood anywhere (I know it may seem as if I’m bouncing between careful and careless, but in sweet time you will understand) and found what I was looking for. One and a half containers of Her over the counter sleeping pills.
No, I’m not going to kill myself, thank you, but I was going to finish what I started. I then walked into Her room and took off Her shirt and Her pants that I was wearing and threw them in the corner (remember, the ones I asked you to borrow from Her and give to me earlier today?) I then dropped my bag and took out a tool belt I had filled with necessities to make this work. I then walked over to the bed, on arrival I drew the blue foot cover I had taken from my mother out of the belt and put them on my feet as to not track the blood I had stepped in anywhere else around the house.
From the same belt I drew another pair of latex gloves and put them on. The next part took about ten minutes because I could only put in a few at once, so I’m going to give it to you in a nutshell. Out of the already opened, half empty one, I took out 3 pills and dropped them into Her open mouth. Lucky for me she was already lying on her back on the edge of the bed, so all I had to do was open her mouth. I then trotted over to my bag and took out the spray bottle of water mixed with a bit of hot sauce (that I had forgotten to put in my belt) and walked back over to the bed and sprayed it to the back of her throat. In a few seconds She swallowed and I began the process again.
By the time I had gone through the whole supply the first few had taken effect and I began to strip her. Trust me, Hun, I didn’t want to see Her with no clothes on, but for the plan to work I had to. A shiver of disgust wracked my body as I pulled her pants off and threw them in the laundry basket. Unfortunately that wasn’t all I had to do to Her. I walked over to the corner which housed my bag and from that I drew a large ear dropper and a paper cup. I then walked down stairs to the bloodbath bellow, careful not to step in any of the much needed blood. I then filled the cup 3/4ths of the way and then went back upstairs, paying attention to make sure I didn’t track any blood.
I then retrieved a large paint brush out of my belt and walked back over to Her. I dipped Her hand in the cup and then let her hand hang over the cup to make sure no blood got on the floor. I did the same with the other hand and then got to painting her arms, following the patterns on my arms. At 4 in the morning I was finally done. Thank god. Now it was your turn. No, I’m not gonna kill you, don’t worry, but I was going to surprise you.
I leaned against my shoulder in your doorway and began to kick at the foot of your door to wake you up. After a good minute of kicking at your door you finally throw it open. “What the hell?” You ask sleepily. I smirk as your face begs for an answer. “And why aren’t you wearing anything?” I don’t know why, but you don’t seem to notice the blood adorning my arms. “It’s 3 in the morning, you woke me up, what the fuck do you want?” you whispered.
I smile. “It’s four in the morning, love.” I say it without whispering, for I know that there is no one to wake.
“Shut up, you’ll wake up my parents! Get in here.” You order and go to pull me into your room by my bra but I don’t budge.
“Don’t worry, your parents won’t be waking any time soon.” You glare at me.
“What did you do?” You question without whispering, glancing at my bloodied arms. I smirk and take your hand, dragging you out into the hall way where I can tell the bloody foot prints worry you more. “What’s going on?” You demand. I push open Her door and you stare in horror at your mother as I grin at my lovely work. I look over at you, jaw dropped with a shocked expression on your face. You slowly make your way over to her and put your hand out to touch her now cold body.
“Ah,” I reprimand from across the room, stopping your hand but not the single tear that falls down your face. Your hand trembles as you run, pushing past me to empty your stomach contents into the toilet. I spin on my heals and walk down the hall and stand disappointedly in the doorway. As you finish you look up at me, horrified.
“You don’t like your birthday present?” I ask, slightly hurt. You said you wanted this for so long.
“This? This is my birthday present?” You’re outraged. This is defiantly not the reaction I wanted.