Jerimiah Ackleson

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
I wrote this trying to make a really crappy person as a villain. I might follow up with a longer story from a different perspective than from Will.

Submitted: April 02, 2017

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Submitted: April 02, 2017

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The sun would shine as light crept through the blinds and sifted through the smoke only to find it had the displeasure of having to shine on one of the ugliest sons of bitches around: Jeremiah Ackleson. Mind you, it wasn't he was born with a face that looked like it had been tilled with glass shards. However, if you ended up on his bad side, you'll be the one with that predicament, and that's him being generous. Mercy wasn't a name he was familiar with; not even one of his twenty something hookers bore the name.  A rule of thumb around here was that Jeremiah was the law, and even the police respected his authority. There wasn't a point in running if he had you marked. Hell, killing yourself would save you both trouble; him not having to pay hitmen and you not having to endure whatever torture he set for you to live out. It was almost as if Jeremiah had a personal vendetta against Satan over who could cause the worst suffering to any human. To say the least, the Devil had his work cut out for him. 


Now you might be asking, "What the hell did this man do to be crowned worst man alive?" Jeremiah didn't run a cartel, so it wasn't that he was a crazy drugged up madman. Or I think so at least. He never looked to be higher than bat shit when he murdered a half dozen men just standing too close to him. The truly terrifying feature he possesed was he always seemed to be calm and collected, cunning in his so called art. Thinking back, I can't really tell what's rumor and what's truth. One story tells about how Jerimiah had gotten angry about the Sheriff arresting one of his hookers on the corner. The next day the Sheriff woke up to a burlap sack filled with chunked meat and bones on his front porch with his son's head placed on top. Later I heard the same story but with the son's head on a pike and the bag on fire, so i guess the one thing straight was the brutality commited to the poor kid. He was nine when it happened. 


If you're curious as to why I'm telling you this, It's because I had crossed him once before. He had "seduced" my daughter into working for him according to the letter left in her room on that day. It had her confessing her love for Jerimiah and how she wanted to be at his side, "the only safe place left in this town." Her writing never shook like that. It wasn't her choice. The only thing i can figure was one day driving around he saw her and wanted her for himself or for money by whoring her out. He never wanted ransom. I went to the police for help but the only thing that fell out of their mouth was that they were powerless when it came to Jerimiah. I drove around at night asking any lady working the streets to tell him i would pay anything to get my daughter back. There lied my mistake.


I want to kill him. I want to rid this stain of a human from this town. My wife didn't . . . she wasn't involved. Two days after asking the poor souls he slaved out on the corner I woke up to find myself tied to a chair and my wife hogtied, gagged, and naked. He was waiting for me. He sodomized my wife while I was powerless. Proceeded to shoot her in the head as he finished. While i was sobbing he asked me if i missed my daughter and had the god damn cruelty to pull her severed head out of a nearby box. I watched him skullfuck the head of my dead daughter. I wanted to scream. I wanted death. Jerimiah wasn't that generous. He just walked out and left me in the room still tied up with my only family dead. There lied Jerimiah's mistake. 


I have my old 30-30 rifle that i stashed away under the boards. Still has a good scope on it. I will personally ensure Jerimiah Ackleson will not cheat death. No one is more deserving. I want him to feel my pain but I don't have the means to do so nor do i want to stoop to his level. Plus, I'm not sure the shithead can even feel emotion so whatever I could do it wouldn't be enough. Making sure no one else can suffer at his hands is the best i can do for now. Once the deed is done I'll be going home one last time. Barbara, Amy, I'll be home soon. I love you both.


- Will


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