The Matchmaker (a resurrected project)

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

I wrote this story many years ago, back when I was still finding my voice as a writer. In all honesty, I don't know how I feel about it. It screams "edge lord" to me.

At the time this was written I was still finding my voice as a writer and refining my style.


A man slowly spirals into madness during a confession.

I'm interested to see what you guys think.

The article in the New Haven Express left little to the imagination; so graphic were its descriptions, in fact, that many readers wrote to the office in disgust.
The editing chief responded with placatory promises and offered his sincerest apologies; for what they were worth.
The article responsible for the uproar was, as I've previously stated, a particularly nasty peice of work.

Due to the severity with which the victims' bodies were beaten, they are yet to be identified. You know, I sit here sometimes, in my study, where tall French windows spoil me with a view of the open countryside, and I wonder "how?".
How could such a heinous, brutal crime happen in a place where everyone knows their neighbour, and their neighbour's neighbour; where the elderly come to live out the last of their golden years and the youth migrate like geese to the city as soon as they leave school.
How could the police not catch a serial killer like that in such a small town?
How? How? How? How?
These questions aren't so much mine as they are my neighbours; the people I brush shoulders with on the bus as it snakes along the winding roads; the people I trade stories from my past experiences with. On occasion, I even attend social gatherings in the local pubs or restaurants.
It adds to the thrill, you know?
Hiding in plain sight.

I don't much care for the nickname the media have littered the tabloids with. The Matchmaker -- it sounds so Network TV.
They can't even begin to comprehend the complexity of my duty. Do they really think I do this simply of my own vivisection? That I'm just a bogeyman? Far from it.
I do what I do because They require it of me.
Don't you look at me like I'm just another raging lunatic! How many of you reading this still blindly bend your knees to a God who has yet to reveal itself to you? I bet you beg, and grovel, and plea for your prayers to be answered, don't you? Sobbing on your knees at the foot of your bed, hands clasped in a white-knuckle embrace, like a pathetic child.
When I was lying on the side of the road with my ribs broken, and a collapsed lung, I made so many promises to your God that to fulfil them all I'd have to be reincarnated a thousand times.
My prayers didn't fall upon deaf ears, however. For They had heard.
It was Their influence that had lead the cyclist to me, lead to him discovering me as I lay bloodied and broken among the weeds on the roadside. They are responsible for saving my life that day. They gave me a second chance, and I've heard Their melodic, ageless voices ever since.

I must state for the record that it wasn't as simple as all that that I would become subservient to them, and fulfil Their prophecies; that is to say I was reluctant to kill.

The couple found in the second-floor bedroom in the now abandoned Hillman Hotel were my latest...offerings. the young couple were hopelessly devoted to eachother; they had not a spot on their clean marriage. The media don't know these two were married, so I imagine they'll feel rather stupid as soon it comes out. Wonder what title they'll pull out of the hat for me next time. Not that there will be a next time.

I had left no stone unturned. Absolutely no part of the invocational ritual had been left unobserved or misinterpreted. I had removed their hearts, stuffed them into their lovers' mouth and sewn the bodies together with a needle and thread, and fishing hooks. The genitalia on both victims had been mutilated as per the text: the penis split from the frenulum to the testicles in one clean, precise cut -- the blood and semen harvested in a bowel. For her, I had gone in through the urethra and caused heavy bleeding with each corkscrew turn of the knife.
Lastly, the eyes, which were useless to Them, were scooped from their sockets and discarded.
The ritual had been completed within three hours. With the coming of the blood moon, the womb of Their empress will bring forth twins, and usher mankind into a new age.

I have fulfilled my duty and now there is but one thing left to do...

Submitted: November 09, 2021

© Copyright 2021 cloud1408. All rights reserved.

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