mr craig

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
over his time on this planet, mr craig had developed a bitter hatred towards all humans and living creatures. to the extent where he felt the need to filter them out of his life completely. by killing them.

Submitted: December 16, 2016

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Submitted: December 16, 2016

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Blood.

Death.

Murder.

All these hideously grotesque things, enthralled Mr Craig throughout his monumental life. I say enthralled but what I really mean is obsessed. He was obsessed with them. Utterly obsessed.

He was obsessed with a lot of other concepts as well, to the extent where he didn’t really show an interest in anything else in life. For example, he didn’t care much for his clothing. They were nowhere near as important as blood, death and murder.

Although his clothes were originally formal, over time they had not been cared for and consequently had become tattered. Tattered because they were old and ripped and covered in blood. Literally, the once jet black waistcoats had turned crimson from the immeasurable amount of  gore they were covered in. But, as I said he couldn’t care less, they had no true significance to him.

In addition to the manner in which he dressed, he looked strange in actual physical appearance. Although it wasn’t his face appeared deformed, especially his nose which was extremely misshapen.  

However, just like his clothes, he didn’t care. All he cared about were the things he was obsessed with. The victimising things. The repulsive things. The grotesque things.

These things had brought him comfort since childhood.

His first encounter with death was when he was eight and staring down at  a black raven. A deceased black raven. A mutilated black raven.

Most likely killed by a cat, he thought to himself.

The face had been clawed until it was nothing more than a bloody mess. One of the wings had been torn into multiple pieces of blood covered flesh. The stomach area had been ravaged and the throat had been cut wide open. The part that appeared really sadistic and cruel was how a part of the ravens insides had been (probably unintentionally, considering it was a cat) flung around its neck like a sick and twisted version of a scarf.

Disgusting to the ordinary child, but Master Craig was compelled by the evidence of torture  upon his eager eyes.

He genuinely loved it.

But he had one problem that annoyed him immensely. Seeing a dead animal of any sort was extremely rare and that ate him up inside. Thus, began a killing spree, a brutal stretch of slaughters and the launch of something deranged.

The only thing he had on his mind was seeing a mangled carcasses. Animal carcasses at first but in time he would need it to be a  human carcasses.

He decided that the only way was to kill an animal himself so he started with his neighbours overwhelmingly large collection of pets. This left his neighbour distraught and he was pleased about that. His neighbour had also been unfathomably unintelligent, never considering the boy next door was killing all her beloved pets.  He would have carried on with her animals, but she was so crestfallen by the constant losses that she swore off ever having pets again. He killed a lot of animals in those first years but eventually killing animals didn’t satisfy his cravings any more.

 When he grew tired of killing animals he moved onto humans and his first victims were fellow – supposedly innocent – school children. He hated them. Every day he’d see the idiots and eventually he grew so sick of them he was retching at the sight of seeing them alive and happy. So he killed them and picked them apart piece by piece once they were dead.  

After a while to avoid being caught he stopped killing people he knew and choose random victims. Like a man walking his dog, or the post man or just anyone. Before killing them, they would be tortured further by the unforgiving tip of his blade.

I suppose a burning question you have eagerly been waiting to be asked is: how could a child get away with such a conniving monstrosity like this one?

Answer: Master Craig was very lucky. The main reason for why he got away with so much during childhood was coincidence.

Not skill.

He was lucky that he grew up in the very height of a World War, where virtually all the men had left to join in the conflict. This meant hardly any officers were left to handle business at home. Plus, the ones that were around were unbelievably inexperienced and panicked about the war itself. This weakened the force to the extent where a murderous youth was able to kill many and get away with it, whilst building his craft as a cold blooded killer.

These randomized killings went on for years and by the time the war had ended and the police force were strong again, it was simply too late. He was too developed. And he found it easy to outsmart those who were hunting him down.

When he reached adulthood, he got himself a job so he could fend for himself. Unsurprisingly, it was as a mortician. He loved seeing the dead bodies cut up.

As a result of getting himself into work, he decided to kill off his family. He simply didn’t need them anymore. When killing them, they weren’t given any special treatment. They were simply just more victims. Simply just more humans he had slain. He made their deaths look like accidents, a house fire and he played the grieving son very well.

If anything, he felt happy to have gotten rid of the rotten bunch of cretins.

His hatred towards humans was what kept him going. Many people would have stopped as their job ate away at their free time. But Mr Craig kept going, kept killing, kept terrorising. All his job really did was make his murders less frequent. He would only kill about one a month, but he would examine each body in depth. He’d remove the organs and place them into jars, like an Egyptian preparing a mummified body for the afterlife.  Then he’d store the jars away in a cupboard and leave the body behind in an abandoned field or similar place for someone to find sooner or later. Or perhaps for the crows to have a nibble at. And the great thing was he often had to perform an autopsy on the body of his dead victim at work. What cruel irony.

The job really was terrific. He loved it like a mother would love her child.

The best part was how he got paid for chopping up bodies and removing various parts of the anatomy. His life’s work. And each year he’d get paid a bit more. The only problem was his ignorant hag of his boss. What a vile witch!

He hated her more than all the people he had hated before. She treated him with contempt and partially ruined his dream job.

However, stopping the occurrence of that problem was easy enough. Kill her! And so he did, and it was the most satisfying of all the kills. He had stabbed her around 20 times and then left her to bleed to death.

Delightful.

After the deed had been done he quaffed down some wine in celebration of his most prized kill.

He was 35 at the time.

As he became a more experienced worker he got paid more and more and got promoted higher and higher until he became the boss. And he became a bit of hypocrite as he treated  his staff, just like his boss had done to him. But he didn’t care. It was fun. He became a dictator of the work place, whilst chopping up bodies and getting paid a fortune. The job and occasional killings kept him entertained until he was 74. When old age rendered him unfit to work.

However, becoming an older didn’t render him unfit to kill. He kept going in his 70s, but struggled more to ‘take care of business. Sometimes himself and his victims would have about a 20 minute battle that involved a mammoth amount of weaponry. After the bloody battles he would often be left in immense physical discomfort and exhausted. He’d struggle to move afterwards. Consequently, it damaged his health.

But he simply couldn’t stop. It was a craving. An addiction. A drug. So he didn’t stop until the day he was forced to stop.

So what stopped him?

Alzheimer’s.

In his final years Mr Craig was bewildered but still murderous. He often found himself randomly swinging his knife around, hoping he would stab someone.

He died when he was 95. Heart attack.

And when he died they performed an autopsy on him.

THE END.

By Matthew Haines


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