It was a dark and stormy night. Thunder shook apartment forty-nine.
The smart yet sporty type, Vincent felt reading and exercise were both part of a rewarding life. A dedicated bachelor, he didn’t have the heart for an adoring wife.
Before bed, after doing deadlifts, he’d read his favorite novel of all time. He did both like some savored a bottle of mulled wine. Or others observed the quavering startle of occult crime…
​
The man in the hockey mask got the door to eventually hitch and click. But it was a bitch to pick. He slipped in, the apartment was caliginous.
Amidst the storm, the wind howled against the glass. As it shook, he wondered when he’d be sensed at last…
​
Waking with a hand tight around his throat, Vincent tensed up fast. He didn’t have a chance to gasp. He flailed with glanced attacks. But soon, as the intruder expected, came Vincent’s collapse.
After he secured the final restraint, he remained patiently idle, in wait. Finally, from the gag something muffled but primal escaped.
Vincent thrashed in the chair which only tightened the ropes. But the seat across from him is what made him frightened the most.
"Follow this pendulum with your eyes or I will eviscerate you. No matter what, death is your fate, true,” he paused, “but you choose—either way, I’m euphoric: fast or slow? You don’t want to be eaten by your own hydrochloric acid, no?”
Vincent swallowed hard then looked up and nodded. Then with eyes shut he fought it, but soon his gut knotted. That’s better than it being cut, rotting.
“Let your eyes show how you feel, entirely. You may speak quietly as long as you don’t lie to me. Nod or say, ‘I agree.’”
He nodded then became less hostile, relaxing into the chair, hypnotized. It felt so wrong to be docile while he held such terror in his eyes.
Vincent tried to scream but it caught in his throat. Somehow once again he thought he was choked. Silently, he promised himself this would not dim his hope. He managed to say was “How…?” in a barely audible croak.
“Your building wasn't difficult to breach,” the man chastised. He then removed his hockey mask and was met with evermore aghast eyes. Whoever sees a man like this without a mask dies. Act calm…yes, I think I remember reading that’s wise.
“I guess this isn’t a robbery...what is this?” as casually as possible, Vincent wondered.
“Pretending you’re calm is a blunder. And who’s to say life isn’t plundered?” Lightning flashed, then in an instant thundered. “Even as an optimist, you have to admit these are unbearable times. In the right situation, we are all capable of the most terrible crimes.”
“You mean to tell me you weren’t a monster before? As if that's something the current state of the world is responsible for?”
“Knock it off. I understand your animosity, I certainly do, but don't dehumanize."
“If there’s a different way to think of you it’s lost on me. And how else can I be true to lies?”
“Good question…I don’t know. For instance, is it always an atrocity to be brutalized? I vote no. Nevermind, you can’t possibly see through my eyes.”
Still sanguine, Vincent thought that perhaps he could be afforded time. Maybe somehow his murder could be a thwarted crime.
The man continued, “I transcend to a higher plane, and I am made more divine.”
“Life is something I’ve always regarded as sacred, but I get the feeling you regard it with hatred.”
“See this part is my favorite–you act like they must be mutually exclusive.”
“I’ve read that serial killer backgrounds are usually abusive. Let me guess, to cope you had dark fantasies that grew to be more gruesome?”
“And that pattern made the highs I chased habitually elusive.”
“Until you decided to become a god.” He saw the man had begun to nod. “Is it literally holy to you or merely spiritually allusive?”
“Though, I feel powerful getting my victims to capitulate to my uses. It’s through the sanctity of taking life I am becoming ritually more lucid.” He gave a ghastly smile then continued. “See, this need not be adversarial. Is there any question you have you’re not supposed to know?
Can I get a proper burial? “When my body no longer holds my soul, do you bury me to help me decompose at all?”
“I saw through you, too,” he added, “Makes you more readily disposable.” Looking at Vincent with empathy-lacking eyes, the man produced a knife, “I must thank you for your sacrifice. Far too many lack a useful life.”
The man stabbed him then watched until his heart no longer pumped out red. As lightning lit the dark room, Vincent slumped down, dead.
ANDR01Dwrites t1_itf0ayb wrote
Reply to [CW] Smash 'Em Up Sunday: Invasion by Cody_Fox23
The Halloween Hypnotist
It was a dark and stormy night. Thunder shook apartment forty-nine.
The smart yet sporty type, Vincent felt reading and exercise were both part of a rewarding life. A dedicated bachelor, he didn’t have the heart for an adoring wife.
Before bed, after doing deadlifts, he’d read his favorite novel of all time. He did both like some savored a bottle of mulled wine. Or others observed the quavering startle of occult crime…
​
The man in the hockey mask got the door to eventually hitch and click. But it was a bitch to pick. He slipped in, the apartment was caliginous.
Amidst the storm, the wind howled against the glass. As it shook, he wondered when he’d be sensed at last…
​
Waking with a hand tight around his throat, Vincent tensed up fast. He didn’t have a chance to gasp. He flailed with glanced attacks. But soon, as the intruder expected, came Vincent’s collapse.
After he secured the final restraint, he remained patiently idle, in wait. Finally, from the gag something muffled but primal escaped.
Vincent thrashed in the chair which only tightened the ropes. But the seat across from him is what made him frightened the most.
"Follow this pendulum with your eyes or I will eviscerate you. No matter what, death is your fate, true,” he paused, “but you choose—either way, I’m euphoric: fast or slow? You don’t want to be eaten by your own hydrochloric acid, no?”
Vincent swallowed hard then looked up and nodded. Then with eyes shut he fought it, but soon his gut knotted. That’s better than it being cut, rotting.
“Let your eyes show how you feel, entirely. You may speak quietly as long as you don’t lie to me. Nod or say, ‘I agree.’”
He nodded then became less hostile, relaxing into the chair, hypnotized. It felt so wrong to be docile while he held such terror in his eyes.
Vincent tried to scream but it caught in his throat. Somehow once again he thought he was choked. Silently, he promised himself this would not dim his hope. He managed to say was “How…?” in a barely audible croak.
“Your building wasn't difficult to breach,” the man chastised. He then removed his hockey mask and was met with evermore aghast eyes. Whoever sees a man like this without a mask dies. Act calm…yes, I think I remember reading that’s wise.
“I guess this isn’t a robbery...what is this?” as casually as possible, Vincent wondered.
“Pretending you’re calm is a blunder. And who’s to say life isn’t plundered?” Lightning flashed, then in an instant thundered. “Even as an optimist, you have to admit these are unbearable times. In the right situation, we are all capable of the most terrible crimes.”
“You mean to tell me you weren’t a monster before? As if that's something the current state of the world is responsible for?”
“Knock it off. I understand your animosity, I certainly do, but don't dehumanize."
“If there’s a different way to think of you it’s lost on me. And how else can I be true to lies?”
“Good question…I don’t know. For instance, is it always an atrocity to be brutalized? I vote no. Nevermind, you can’t possibly see through my eyes.”
Still sanguine, Vincent thought that perhaps he could be afforded time. Maybe somehow his murder could be a thwarted crime.
The man continued, “I transcend to a higher plane, and I am made more divine.”
“Life is something I’ve always regarded as sacred, but I get the feeling you regard it with hatred.”
“See this part is my favorite–you act like they must be mutually exclusive.”
“I’ve read that serial killer backgrounds are usually abusive. Let me guess, to cope you had dark fantasies that grew to be more gruesome?”
“And that pattern made the highs I chased habitually elusive.”
“Until you decided to become a god.” He saw the man had begun to nod. “Is it literally holy to you or merely spiritually allusive?”
“Though, I feel powerful getting my victims to capitulate to my uses. It’s through the sanctity of taking life I am becoming ritually more lucid.” He gave a ghastly smile then continued. “See, this need not be adversarial. Is there any question you have you’re not supposed to know?
Can I get a proper burial? “When my body no longer holds my soul, do you bury me to help me decompose at all?”
“I saw through you, too,” he added, “Makes you more readily disposable.” Looking at Vincent with empathy-lacking eyes, the man produced a knife, “I must thank you for your sacrifice. Far too many lack a useful life.”
The man stabbed him then watched until his heart no longer pumped out red. As lightning lit the dark room, Vincent slumped down, dead.