the dark descent

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

an old man who has a hobby of murder

Chapter 1 (v.1) - the dark descent

Submitted: February 18, 2013

Reads: 120

Comments: 2

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Submitted: February 18, 2013




chapter 1


another day, another body. he couldn't break the routine, 68, grey hair and bags under the eyes, getting old and not understanding the change, people with ear stretched, coloured hair, in his days it would be outcasted, but now its fashion. he didn't understand this new world. getting old, knee problems and arthritus. he puts the lifeless head in a bag, another, I'm getting to old for this, he mumbled to himself. the legs put into a black garbage bag, he can fit one limb in each bag, puts it in to a freezer, big white, he keeps them there for a few days. he still remembers his first kill, he met her at a bar, she was easy enough, 21 and free, so he got her drunk. took her home she laid down on the plastic covered couch, she wondered why but didn't take too much notice, but this was intended to stop the blood getting everywhere, one blow to the crown of the head he felt alive, 22 and free, this was a first in a long line of murders.


he's getting sloppy now, finding each new kill harder and harder. he was charismatic, his words flowed like a river, thats why it was easy to get girls to go home with him, that and alcohol of course. he never taken drugs, just wasn't his thing, he lived to kill, he has three dogs, two german shepherds and one doberman, he loved his dogs more than anything, and in trade they gave him something to live for. he was an animal lover gave a lot to organizations. 

getttng old, bad hearing and dry hands.


a few days pass after a kill he would incinerate the body, destroy all evidence, the trick is to cover your tracks, burn all the clothes you wore on the night, even shoes. too look like everyone else at the clubs and choose a girl with not many friends. never be introduced to friends ever. he would pick up people from everywhere he wasn't judgmental just doesn't like people. hitch hikers are an easy target. as he got older the older the targets were, 

feeling old, forgetfulness and laziness.

as he grew old the harder it is, you can't be 60 and go to a club, it just attracts interest, not good interest either. he enjoys his loneliness, never married once loved but never again, bad memories replaced with new murders, he's getting sloppy, leaving witnesses. 

looking old, bad back and early dinners.


he use to work in a factory, welding to be exact, his house was small, on the outskirts of town, this town was big enough for the disappearance's  to slide under the radar, sometimes people just go missing. he mildly enjoyed work, and is bored with retirement. its sort of like smoking, you hate yourself for it but you can't help but take a drag, he justified his murders as doing his bit for human kind, believed there was too many people. loves driving at night, especially looking for hitchers, tonight he was lucky a young man in his twenties was walking along with his arm out at 90 degrees with the thumb pointing upwards. he pulled over just past the man in his 1990 holden commodore still kept in very good condition he looked after it well, the young man jumped in the front seat put out his hand and said "hi I'm nick nice to meet ya mate" there hands interlocked in a handshake, so what are you doing walking so late at night, hitching a ride is dangerous didn't your parents tell you that?said the old man. nick laughed, replied i will take my chances, what are you driving so late then? the old man kept quiet. with a slight smile in anticipation. the old man pulled out a gun and said keep calm my friend and nothing will happen, lying through his teeth. they were about 10 minutes out of town 15 to his house. as he pulled in the drive way past the fence to keep privacy as he likes. his dogs oats chace and pepper were barking in happiness, all he said was quiet and they shut there large mouths. 

© Copyright 2017 jarrod thomas. All rights reserved.


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