In The Darkness

In the dark, a shadow sat up on the bed and stared into the emptiness. His mind roamed somewhere around dead bodies, wounded and bleeding. Tortured and chained victims, who moaned and begged for mercy. Thoughts that manifested into a sneer, filled with pleasure and longing.

He never understood why those images made him feel happy. And it wasn’t really important. Tonight, he was going to have fun. After all, he had put so much effort into finding the ideal prey.

He let out a deep grunt and got up. His hands, covered with blood—sticky and warm—grabbed the hammer that lay next to him. He walked with confidence in the dark. A few steps, and the sounds of heavy breath and moans filled the air. He took two steps to the left and found the switch on the wall. In a moment, the dark room was lit up by a single small and very weak bulb.

Now he could see her. She was lying down in a puddle of blood, her hands chained above her head, her legs tied up tightly.

The sound of his footsteps made her turn her head uncontrollably in a vain attempt to figure out where it was coming from. He had made sure the blindfold over her eyes was thick enough for her to never see him. Her weak moans were like a melody to his ears.

He had missed it too much.

“Now tell me, why do you want to live, Olivia?”

He squatted in front of her and ran the side of the hammer over her cheek.

“Think carefully.”

She made no sound.

“I can’t hear you. Why do you want to live?”

Her mouth opened; he held his breath to hear what she was going to say. But the only sound was a weak moan of pain.

He stood up sharply and kicked her in the stomach. She grasped for air and rolled on the floor. His boots soaked in her blood. He looked at them, thinking he needed a new pair; those looked old and dirty.

Leaning down, he stroked her hair gently.

Then he glanced at his watch. It was nearly midnight.

“Don’t you dare ignore me.”

Her tiny body, covered with bruises and cuts, lay still on the floor. She didn’t move. He reached to check her pulse.

“Still alive, good girl. I think it is time I make you even prettier.”

He walked back to his bed, grabbed the knife from under his pillow, and walked back to Olivia.

“Ah, look at that beautiful hand. The only thing it is missing is a big nice cut. I am about to fix that for you.” He pushed the knife hard into the soft flesh; the blood flew instantly. Olivia’s body jolted and trembled weakly.

“Just like that. Let's make it deep and nice so it stays with you forever.”

The blood oozed from the wound and made the puddle under her even bigger. He felt its warmth on his knees, where he placed her hand.

“Let’s not rush. We do it nice and slow, ahh, just like that. You will feel it when you wake up.”

His alarm went off at 4 a.m. As soon as his eyes opened, he felt the nagging pain in his body; he had slept on the floor. Every single bone in his body was protesting and complaining. He was too old for this, but the fun he had last night was worth the pain he felt today. He tried to move and just then realized he was lying in the big puddle of blood next to Olivia’s stiff body.

He checked her. She was cold, blue.

“Ah, she is dead. And I hoped to relax today.”

Getting up was the biggest challenge, but he did it. The image of a dead woman lying in a pond of blood, tied up, covered in bruises and cuts, made his morning.

“This view deserves to be in my album.”

He smiled as he grabbed his camera, brought it to his eye, and started taking pictures, noticing every detail, especially that deep cut on her left arm.

It was lunchtime, and he had just finished the cleaning. Loud music made him more energetic; the growling stomach was the only thing that made him remember the time. As he looked at his room, it was nothing like it had been last night. It took him nearly seven hours, but now it was clean and light, just like any normal person’s room. The dead woman lying in a black plastic bag made him especially proud of himself.

“Don’t worry. I made you so pretty now. Look at you. When they find you, they will be amazed by the new beautiful mark on your arm. Your son must be missing you so much. I know exactly how he feels. I wish you could meet my mother. You two have so much in common.”

He dreaded the backache that would come soon enough. That night, he was planning to carry a dead body all the way to the car and then into a forest. But that would have to wait until he was done with his night shift at work.

At work, checking on all the patients was his favorite thing to do. He was finally alone with them, and his target that night was Sylvia. He knew she wasn’t asleep when he sat at her bed, hearing her quick breath.

“Sylvia, I waited the whole day to finally tell you about my new toy!” Her breath, now even faster, hinted at her terror. He continued, his voice down to a whisper.

“I found her in the same park I found you. I kept her with me for two weeks just like you. But you know, Sylvia, she wasn’t a good mother; she never gave me the right answer.”

He paused and stroked Sylvia's hair gently.

“Even when I gave her that beautiful cut, just like yours on your arm, she still didn’t tell me why she wanted to live. I thought she was different. She looked so nice, but she also didn’t love her child enough to go back to him alive.”

He looked out of the window. As if drifting into a warm nostalgia, he whispered:

“Remember how I punished you, Sylvia. I was younger and stronger back then, but no worries, she got what she deserved as well. She died a bit too soon. I had more plans with her. Well, maybe next time I find someone more resilient, huh? What do you think?”

He looked at Sylvia again. Her eyes were closed, her breath fast and short.

Did she hear him? Did she understand anything? He didn’t know. Yet he kept on wondering how much fun it would be if she actually did.

“Tomorrow is Saturday; your gorgeous daughter will come visit you again, Sylvia. I will tell her what a nice and calm patient you are. Remember, Sylvia, you must be a good mother.”