I See You Not
I Hear You Not
He envisioned their eyes. Recollected them as they themselves remembered him. Colored irises shadowed brown, green, or blue. Evoked memories of dilated pupils concealing those hues in the pale light of the mid-night moon, but revealing to him their adulterated truths. How maddening those receptors made him. How their nature would prompt him rumination until he established an elucidation.
He recalled their screams. Some: his name. Others: merely the horrid wail that accompanied fear and subsided with the loving caress of death. Even in his waking hours, he could hear them. When their tearful pleadings turned to accusations, and their howls developed into raging roars, he listened to every word. He was unable to reminisce a time where their voices had not touched his ears and reverberated with his own thoughts. But he knew of times where they had been settled and softened at his own demand.
But he discovered, to quiet the madness of his own mind, he was only to add to it.
An icy wind blew from the North, and carried with it: dead leaves back to their summer hosts. The concrete steps beneath his feet stood frozen under a thin, transparent layer of frost. But yet, in the November month, snow had yet to descend and kiss the Earth.
It was in this cold that he waited. Humming to strip the screams only he heard of their depth, he waited. Waited for her. He knew not of who she resembled. But when she arrived, he understood, he would know.
For hours, he stood upon his front door stoop, observing and scrutinizing the faces of those who passed. And finally, with numb fingers and a hypothermic concentration, his gaze located what he searched.
She was of modern beauty. Lush chestnut hair spun down her shoulders in an elaborate style. From what he could see of her skin, it shimmered light peach in the heavy, late evening sun. The winter clothes which concealed her were of fine quality and hugged her slim form tightly against the elements. Her long-legged strides stirred his arousal when she strolled across his vision. And though her face remained tilted, he found it stunning; her lips had paled from the chill, her cheeks flushed pink, and her eyes—
His fingers brushed the burdened holster of his belt as he stepped down to follow.
They were absolute in his decision.
The stiff leather caught his flesh; and the image of the loaded .44 Magnum he carried sent an electrified judder up his spine, and hardened his resolve.
Fading rays of lights flooded throughout the dimming sky as the last glimpses of sun could be seen just slivered on the west horizon. And he noted, with the sun, went the multitudes of throngs. Within minutes, day vanished, and the streets emptied to become barren. Lit windows fell dank to match the gloom. Dull lamps struggled to brighten the world as their sensors awoke. Silence reigned under an apparent howl of wind. When the night arrived, the temperature plummeted increasingly.
The body he had pressed against his writhed sharply. His grasp tightened as the feminine form twisted in his arms.
“Let me go!”
Noted the perfect setting, he pitched her to the hard tarmac below. While she knelt, overwhelmed, on the slick black asphalt, he withdrew his Magnum. The grip had been warmed from his body’s heat, and as he held it, it seemed to radiate.
The woman’s head rose; and he knew from the ever-augmenting dilation of her pupils, she spied the profile of his pistol. She shuddered as the gray-tinged metal met her forehead. It disturbed the hair from her face as he forced its barrel firmer against the skin of her scalp.
“Please.” She whimpered.
He squeezed the trigger.
He stared into the endless darkness that stretched down from the circular caverns of her eye sockets. There, he watched the universe begin. Watched it end. Watched her as she was when she was alive. And now, removing his gaze from hers, he watched her as she was dead. Unmoving. Decaying. Disgusting. Beautiful. All at once.
A siren sounded beyond the layers of buildings, cutting through the slight quiet of city life. But he needn’t worry, he understood, hearing its high-pithed voice carrying farther and farther from his position. No one had ever caught him in the number of compromising positions he’d fallen in, and
he wouldn’t be caught now, he knew.
Drawing himself to his feet, he beckoned the lovely corpse a farewell, gazing first, again at the empty pools of shadows that stared at his blood-polished shoes, then to the third eye circled red on her forehead. Giving to her a slight smile, he left her to be discovered, as he had dozens of times before.
“…Terror in the streets…”
He held his visual attention from the hoary television set on the chipping sill to his left. But with perked ears, he continued sharpening the cheap-bladed instruments on the table before him.
“…the bodies are piling up, Steve.”
Shing! Shing!
“…Police had reported…”
Shing!
“…Wait! Are we…”
His face lifted in a grin when he heard—through the feminine rumble: their panic.
“…About a serial killer, here?”
He was known as the “Eye Socket Serial Killer” and his victim could tell you why, with their empty, hollow cavities staring up without sight. It was he who terrorized the night, stalking young woman and ending their lives before the next dawn had risen. With only a .44 caliber firearm as his company, he traveled the city streets with a glint in his eyes and a sinister purpose in his heart. The women that fell into his grasp never had a chance before that gun’s barrel touched their heads and their minds emptied through the hole it created.
He recalled their screams. Some: his name. Others: merely the horrid wail that accompanied fear and subsided with the loving caress of death. Even in his waking hours, he could hear them. When their tearful pleadings turned to accusations, and their howls developed into raging roars, he listened to every word. He was unable to reminisce a time where their voices had not touched his ears and reverberated with his own thoughts. But he knew of times where they had been settled and softened at his own demand.
But he discovered, to quiet the madness of his own mind, he was only to add to it.
An icy wind blew from the North, and carried with it: dead leaves back to their summer hosts. The concrete steps beneath his feet stood frozen under a thin, transparent layer of frost. But yet, in the November month, snow had yet to descend and kiss the Earth.
It was in this cold that he waited. Humming to strip the screams only he heard of their depth, he waited. Waited for her. He knew not of who she resembled. But when she arrived, he understood, he would know.
For hours, he stood upon his front door stoop, observing and scrutinizing the faces of those who passed. And finally, with numb fingers and a hypothermic concentration, his gaze located what he searched.
She was of modern beauty. Lush chestnut hair spun down her shoulders in an elaborate style. From what he could see of her skin, it shimmered light peach in the heavy, late evening sun. The winter clothes which concealed her were of fine quality and hugged her slim form tightly against the elements. Her long-legged strides stirred his arousal when she strolled across his vision. And though her face remained tilted, he found it stunning; her lips had paled from the chill, her cheeks flushed pink, and her eyes—
His fingers brushed the burdened holster of his belt as he stepped down to follow.
They were absolute in his decision.
The stiff leather caught his flesh; and the image of the loaded .44 Magnum he carried sent an electrified judder up his spine, and hardened his resolve.
Fading rays of lights flooded throughout the dimming sky as the last glimpses of sun could be seen just slivered on the west horizon. And he noted, with the sun, went the multitudes of throngs. Within minutes, day vanished, and the streets emptied to become barren. Lit windows fell dank to match the gloom. Dull lamps struggled to brighten the world as their sensors awoke. Silence reigned under an apparent howl of wind. When the night arrived, the temperature plummeted increasingly.
The body he had pressed against his writhed sharply. His grasp tightened as the feminine form twisted in his arms.
“Let me go!”
Noted the perfect setting, he pitched her to the hard tarmac below. While she knelt, overwhelmed, on the slick black asphalt, he withdrew his Magnum. The grip had been warmed from his body’s heat, and as he held it, it seemed to radiate.
The woman’s head rose; and he knew from the ever-augmenting dilation of her pupils, she spied the profile of his pistol. She shuddered as the gray-tinged metal met her forehead. It disturbed the hair from her face as he forced its barrel firmer against the skin of her scalp.
“Please.” She whimpered.
He squeezed the trigger.
He stared into the endless darkness that stretched down from the circular caverns of her eye sockets. There, he watched the universe begin. Watched it end. Watched her as she was when she was alive. And now, removing his gaze from hers, he watched her as she was dead. Unmoving. Decaying. Disgusting. Beautiful. All at once.
A siren sounded beyond the layers of buildings, cutting through the slight quiet of city life. But he needn’t worry, he understood, hearing its high-pithed voice carrying farther and farther from his position. No one had ever caught him in the number of compromising positions he’d fallen in, and
he wouldn’t be caught now, he knew.
Drawing himself to his feet, he beckoned the lovely corpse a farewell, gazing first, again at the empty pools of shadows that stared at his blood-polished shoes, then to the third eye circled red on her forehead. Giving to her a slight smile, he left her to be discovered, as he had dozens of times before.
“…Terror in the streets…”
He held his visual attention from the hoary television set on the chipping sill to his left. But with perked ears, he continued sharpening the cheap-bladed instruments on the table before him.
“…the bodies are piling up, Steve.”
Shing! Shing!
“…Police had reported…”
Shing!
“…Wait! Are we…”
His face lifted in a grin when he heard—through the feminine rumble: their panic.
“…About a serial killer, here?”
He was known as the “Eye Socket Serial Killer” and his victim could tell you why, with their empty, hollow cavities staring up without sight. It was he who terrorized the night, stalking young woman and ending their lives before the next dawn had risen. With only a .44 caliber firearm as his company, he traveled the city streets with a glint in his eyes and a sinister purpose in his heart. The women that fell into his grasp never had a chance before that gun’s barrel touched their heads and their minds emptied through the hole it created.