The Perferct Prey...

{Based on true events...}

‘Johns’ make the perfect prey. They’re so easy to detect and follow, yet so easy to make disappear. You wait for them to drop off their latest victim of disgust. Then you follow, pouncing like a nocturnal predator; while their craven minds are still spinning from unleashing their evil-tainted seed. They are such predictable, cowardly creatures. So many cry like drowning kittens, and boy do I make them cry. So willing to rape the souls of the lost, yet weep like a child when I demand theirs in return. Such self-cantering maggots, feeding off the decaying souls of humanity. I demand all their souls in return for the loss of but one. I demand them to pay, and each life sucking leech is going to pay until I find him…

Such beautiful prey these mockeries of mankind. They are all weak men, much weaker than I. They disappear so easily because they never tell a soul they frequent my hunting grounds. If they were not where I fond them, they would not suffer the justice I bestow. If only someone knew where they were before I got to them. You never hear in the headlines, Last known whereabouts: getting serviced by a woman of the night. And too bad for that, maybe they would have caught me by now. Nothing is ever found, I dispose of them methodically. I am systematic with my planning and have only become better with experience. I do not take pleasure in my actions, even though they are just. I am just a tool of propriety, healing the scabs of society…

Many sulphuric tears have been shed for these deserters of decency. These masters of mendacities, their wives and families so fooled by their masks of morality cast from hidden sins. But who sheds tears for Karen? Only I. And that’s why I keep going, why I search for answers. It is why I do what I do. She is the only constant of my mind, and her name, always on my lips. I do this for her, so she will be remembered. So no one will forget, and they will remember…like the way I remember… the first day we met…

I grew up on a farm outside the small town of Gipisy, a few hours north of T.O. I always had a connection with the animals and thought I could advance it. I moved to Toronto at 19 to go to university in hopes of becoming a Vet. It was in my second year that I met Karen. I was outside on a bench, under one of the willow trees that shade the campus; slightly studying while enjoying the birds sing and eating a Snickers bar. It had just finished raining and the place was rather deserted. I was somewhat startled when I heard this tiny voice talking delicately. I looked up from Kierkegaard to see “Karen,” softly talking into her palm. Mildly intrigued I watched as she veered from the concrete path with her hand held cautiously beside her heart. Whispering motherly words of encouragement to her cupped fingers she bent down alongside a flower garden. The gentle frame ever so gently released what she’d been protecting. A small snail that had come out for a stroll in the sogginess of the afternoon…

Karen would later tell me that she had nearly crushed the poor thing and felt it was her duty to protect it. That was the outlook she brought to everything, always so caring and crucial. I liked her from the very beginning…

We became friends. Within a few weeks she moved in with me when my roommate fled back to Saskatchewan in the silence of the night, leaving me high and dry for two months’ rent. That’s when we began to get close, when she started to open up. Under that beautiful vibrant exterior, she hid many deep scars…

Through nights filled with emptying bottles of wine, we shared stories of our past. My happy childhood memories were dwarfed by her dark recollections. Starting with her being given up for adoption at the age of five, being shipped from one foster home to another, never feeling like she truly belonged. The abuse along the way was unforgivable… I was told of how she had a baby at eighteen. A boy she named Mathew, he was the product of being raped by her foster father. Having to run away when he demanded an abortion, something she never believed in…

Karen was able to keep Mathew for eight months before painfully having to give him up to the same arms that scarred her so deeply as a child. She believed he had a good chance at being adopted, as couples want babies, not awkward five year olds…
She told me stories of the following years of prostitution and drug use; years that were her darkest, and scariest. As the school year passed we became closer and closer. I became her confidant, and she was mine. I loved her like no other. She also wanted to be a veterinarian and had made the Dean’s list that year. It was a wonder she could turn her troubled life so abruptly around. Never giving a glimpse to another soul of the pain she suffered within. Such a strong yet fragile bird…

That summer we had been working mercifully on opposite shifts to pay off our mounting student debt. We hadn’t shared more than a few minutes together in over a month. I knew she hadn’t been feeling well lately, and saw doctor appointments scheduled on the calendar. Something was troubling her, but she still fought her battles alone, and without allies. After two glasses of wine had loosened her tongue one night, she began to tell me what was on her mind…

Cancer. She had brain Cancer. The doctors told her she had a favourable chance to survive if treatment began right away. Son of a bitch. But it only got worse. She was also pregnant. Mother Fucker, and there was even a lesser chance she would survive to carry it full term without treatment. A choice had to be made, have an abortion, get treatment and survive; or not get treatment and try to live through the pregnancy. There is no God...

What does one say? What advice does one give? What words does one quote? I had none… Karen just stared at me with tear- swimming eyes, as I told her she had to get the abortion. Her soft tears became mourning wails as she discerned this to be the answer as well…
As the tears subsided Karen confided in me that she was working again, the father was one of her regular customers. Scanning groceries wasn’t paying off the mountain of debt, and she assured me she worked for a high-end, safe escort service. One that paid her thousands a day… An escort service that denied they employed her when she went missing two weeks later…

I searched for her endlessly, until her body was found in a ditch on concession 6 outside of Brock County. An angel clipped of her wings; left to die naked, beaten and raped in two inches of stagnate water. An Angel that had only me and God at her funeral… an Angel whose wings I must recover, an Angel whose ashes I still carry…

For 6 months I called daily about her case, and grew steadily annoyed. After six months I called twice a day. Months turned to a year as they claimed that the case was still open, and were waiting on forensic evidence. Fucking liars. I couldn’t hold a thought that wasn’t about Karen, and couldn’t find the will to attend classes. I suffered from extreme insomnia, depression, anxiety and panic attacks. I was constantly haunted by what, ‘could have been?’ What, ‘should have been?’ What, ‘more could I have done?’ What, ‘more can I do?’ I thought only of the days leading up to her disappearance. Was there something I missed, something that could find her killer, something staring me right in the face???

After I flunked out and lost my job I had to move back to the farm where I now take care of my father who is bedridden with M.S. Two years passed with no new evidence in the case. I was pumped full of mind dulling medications. Different appointments with psychiatrists and endless pages of prescriptions. I still couldn’t sleep, still couldn’t focus. I had lost all hope in the competence of the police. Something had to give; I needed my own escape, my own therapy. I had to ask my own questions, get my own answers. I had to make sure that this beautiful creature was not forgotten… And I had to feed the pigs…

That was three years ago now. I have stopped calling the police and my pigs are always well fed. I’m not sure how many it’s been since the first one. It’s not a numbers game, it’s a game of chance. I will tell you though; my animals get a special treat every few weeks for the past three years. I must remove the teeth from the meat, and shave their heads. These being the only thing a pig’s body can’t process. Hungry pigs can devour human bone in minutes. My jar of teeth has grown full over the years and the barn always reeks of burnt hair. Like I told you before, I don’t enjoy what I do. It is a job appointed to me, it just so happens that I am also very proficient at it. I’m not crazy… like I said, I’m very methodical. I do my research, and these maggots had it coming. And now I sleep every night…

I take my time with them; make sure they feel every agonizing second. I speak them through it the whole time. I never lie to them, never raise my voice. I explain exactly what I’m going to do to them, the pain they will suffer, and the begging that will come. I start by inflicting shallow cuts, first using a scalpel. This usually causes them to cry for mercy, but I’ve only begun to tell them the story of Karen. As my story continues, the cuts get deeper, and the knives get duller. I bring them to the brink of unconsciousness, and then snap them back so they don’t miss a line of my story, or a second of my pain...

I usually bleed them, stupendously slow. After they have felt my blade long enough, I begin to empty there body of such useless things as their stomach and intestines. Then I move on to the organs. Starting with the appendix, spleen, and gallbladder; moving my way up the vital organ ladder. You should see their faces when I show them these things. The look of udder hopelessness and disgust when I toss them to my pigs , always saving the heart and liver for Ol’ Major...

This takes days sometimes as I recount the way Karen laughed, as their endless cries fill the emptiness of their guts. You wouldn’t believe how many try to convince me “You don’t know who I am!” I just smile and tell them, I know exactly who you are, and what you have done…
I never just pick random Johns. Not the college kid, too embarrass to tell his friends he’s a virgin and tired of lying. Not the drunk lonely man who seeks some compassion since his wife died. No, I usually watch them for some time; I’m a great judge of character. The police never have anything to go on because the one thing that ties them all together; is the thing they share with no one… Pretty sweet right? Such perfect prey… The Priest was my first...

I laugh now when I think of the Priest… How could I do this, “To a Man of God,” or so he proclaimed, before I cut deeply into his belly and began removing his intestines. If he was a man of god, I asked, then who is the devil? How many had he lied to? How many had he scarred? How many sins had he falsely forgiven as he played the riotous master? This fuckery of a human was worse than any other. Not only did he have an abusive taste for women. He had a stronger urge for the flesh of young boys...
I carry no evil in my heart, and felt the Christian thing to do would be to let him make peace with his false god before I removed his tongue. Such a venomous thing that tongue, the pigs even refused to eat it… I never cut out another maggot’s tongue until tonight…

Tonight I began my usual routine. Waiting for the sedative to wear off, and my prey to come to the realization they are strapped to a cold, blood stained table. Then they see me, I love seeing the panic in their eyes, the disbelief when they realize they are now at the mercy of another. Oh I bask at that, how the rolls have suddenly and drastically switched. That’s when I calmly tell them what I am going to do to them…

I ask them if they know of my friend Karen? If it was their hand that took her life? They plead, and plead. I don’t have to do this, they don’t know her, they had nothing to do with her death. I tell them they have everything to do with her murder, and there is no mercy to show for them. That’s when I begin my story, with the first incision into their face. I begin with the first day we met; I explain every moment, every feeling, and every sound. I tell them things I swore never to tell a living soul. And I reassure them they are already dead, and just don’t know it…

I make sure they feel what life is really about, (PAIN, so much PAIN) before I send them on their way. I am Christian however, and let them tell me there sins. Before they go I tell them their god will not forgive them. Forgiveness is for those who have ‘time’ to repent…
Tonight however… was so strange, so surreal. As I was calmly asking about Karen, something in my prey’s eyes changed. I was caught off guard, it was recollection…

“How do you know of my friend?” I asked, before cutting an inch deep crevice along the side of his face. He cried out in agony as tears filled his eyes, and blood filled his mouth. Maybe I chipped his tooth… I told him there was much more pain to come.
Crying like a baby he managed to muster the words, “I’m a Cop!--I remember the case…”
But I could see there was more, a lot more. Eyes don’t lie like these evil men do. I told him the cops didn’t care to find her killer. That nothing had been accomplished. Why was this? I asked, as I dug my scalpel into the opposite cheek. It must be difficult to pronunciate while gurgling blood, and losing vowels through gaping holes in one’s mouth… I must say, he did his best:
“Because there’s no evidence,” he slurred.
“Well that’s peculiar? There’s always some evidence isn’t there? Wasn’t there evidence left at the scene? The tire marks? The DNA? The foot prints? What happened to that evidence?” I knew all the facts.
He didn’t answer my question, just begged me to stop. I asked again about the evidence, nothing but pathetic-self-pitying tears. Maybe he couldn’t hear me. So I cut off his left ear. After that he ‘opened up a little.’ In more ways than one:
“It’s lost... the evidence got lost…”
“How?” I knew how.
“I-I lost it...” He was beginning to get woozy.
“Well why would you do such a thing?” I knew why.
“Because… because… I killed her…”

Wow… all that and I hadn’t even started getting serious. Most usually wait till I start spilling their guts, before they start spilling theirs.
I wanted him to tell me .I needed him to tell me; and he told me, he told me everything. One finds all the answers they seek at the end of a good book. I found them at the end of my blade. He begged his forgiveness to his god and to me. I told him I had a change of heart, and he would live. That I would only take the arms that took Karen’s life. Take only the tongue that spat falsehoods about her, and of course I wanted his testicles…

I told him about his balls last, but I took them first. This is when I felt the pleasure of my work for the first time; as I carved the dull serrated edge of my blade through his scrotum ever so slowly. His curdling screams were such a comfort that I decided to take most of his pecker as well. He lost consciousness after this, but the adrenalin I gave him brought him back in time to watch his balls get devoured by my pig Napoleon. The walls of the barn swayed from the power of his pleas…

I listened to him for a while, swearing, praying, but mostly sniveling. When I grew tired of this in a few hours, I cut out his lying tongue. After that his screams were no longer mixed with words of agony and hate. Removing his arms was also very pleasurable, as I took my delicate time. Calmly I reminded him of the importance of a smooth, clean cut. I even apologized for using my, dull, rusty saw. (I’m too considerate sometimes). I made sure the tourniquets, (I so graciously supplied) were tight enough to slow the flow of blood to a steady trickle. And I even stopped twice to inject him with more adrenalin, as he kept falling asleep…

When it was all over I told him it would be okay. I was going to take him to a nice quiet place that I’m sure he could remember. It’s a beautiful place to die, I told him, especially in a ditch. Not so many people around though, it might take a couple of weeks before someone came across him. But who knows, it could be his lucky day.
Only after I took the fifteen pound sledge hammer to his legs, I folded him up into his own trunk, and drove the four counties over to Brock. Giving him one last shot of adrenaline, I pulled him from the trunk, and suggested he might want to tighten up those tourniquets, maybe get a doctor to look at that groin injury… His eyes… I’ll never forget those eyes as I tossed him down the embankment. Armless and dick-less he fluttered like a dying fish, flailing legs held together only be spent flesh; as he rolled to the bottom. It was beautiful seeing him lying in the bed he had made.
I could tell he was trying to reach for his balls with arms that were being digested by my pigs. It was priceless…Slowly dying in the very spot where he left the reasons for his repercussions…

My father passed away a few days ago, and I buried him under the apple tree in the back yard. He was the last of my family and now there is only me. I have no reason to stay, and feel relief for the first time in years. My head is clearer and my thoughts are fluent. I feel a sense of calm that I have never felt before, and cannot remove this smile from my face. Karen always talked of South America, and I feel a warmer climate is in my future. Maybe I’ll finish school, maybe I’ll just travel…maybe… I am taunted by the pleasure I felt tonight, and it frightens me…

I have slaughtered my pigs and left them for you. I recommend them as dog food only. The pickle jar of teeth is in the barn so you asinine, underdeveloped Pigs can determine who I have dealt with. You know the ditch you can find your friend, and maybe, just maybe, he is still alive… Part of me hopes so. So you can suffer a life as a miserable, dick-less, mute…
I hope you do live without a tongue to talk, without arms to gesture, no legs to carry you where you want to go… no prick to piss from… unable to end your own worthless suffering. I really do hope you survive, yet I did my best to prevent it…
I did this for Karen, so she will not be forgotten, and now she never will be. Now I do something for myself before I go…

… I put on Karen’s favourite dress. We were the same size but it always looked better on her. I did my hair and make-up for the first time in years. I actually remember what it’s like to be a woman… I miss my friend more than my father… is that wrong???

I must live my own life now... I’ve always loved animals… Maybe I’ll get some more pigs?…



{Inspired by Jaymi Deubelbeiss, who is still searching…}