Whistle While You Work

Whistle While You Work

Everything is going according to plan, Bob thought as he strode up the walk. She should be out for another hour or so, and then the real fun will begin. In spite of himself, he couldn’t help but whistle a happy little tune as he inserted the key into the first of the four locks on his front door.

Robert Wendell Walker had developed his plans over time, the quadruple locks on his front door, the first of many refinements. With an IQ well above the normal range he could no doubt, have been anything he set his mind to, but Bob’s real passion, his 'true calling', he liked telling himself, was to be the most prolific serial killer known to history.

Growing up, he exhibited the typical signs, according to all of the studies brought forth from the annals of the F.B.I.’s behavioral investigation handbook. Unfortunately, no one recognized those signs in his oft neglected up bringing.

His parents, typical middle class over achievers, didn’t have the time, nor the inclination, to supervise his activities. As long as his school grades and behavior didn’t bring undue attention and divert them from their quest for ever better possessions and social class status, they were quite happy to ignore him unless they needed to trot him out to impress friends or business acquaintances at parties, he was very good at number puzzles and spelling exhibitions and could quote most of Shakespeare from memory at an extremely early age.

Once the tyke was shown around, his performance, drawing ooohs and ahhhs from one and all, he was quickly shuffled back to his room and ignored. Once he got old enough to not require a babysitter, his parents often took overnight trips, sometimes longer, all for the hopefully, rapid transit up the corporate ladder. Those started about the age of eleven, Bob killed his first small animal around the same time.

Though he took great delight and sexual release from that first killing, Bob instinctively knew that he had to be careful to never garner attention from these kinds of activities. He was careful that none of the small pets he delighted in torturing and eviscerating came from his own neighborhood. Nor were they ever discarded in any way that would be discovered, once the fun was over, he carefully cleaned up, both himself and the area he played in.

A careful boy that grew to be a very clever, careful man. Tonight, twenty-three year old Bob would take that next big step.

Bob's choice of victim for tonight's fun was a beautiful blonde woman. She told him her name was Lorena. Obviously she was a prostitute, though she did look better than most of the street walkers of the darker streets of the city. Once she had succumbed to the effects of the drugs he had placed into her drink, Bob had stripped her clothing and tied her securely to the worktable in his carefully soundproofed basement workshop.

Knowing that he had exactly two hours before she awoke, Bob took the time to reconnoiter the surrounding area and discard her belongings safely far away. He didn’t want her to be unconscious when the fun began either, by his calculations she should awake soon.

Safely inside, Bob locked the doors behind himself. A small smile crossing his face, he descended the stairs, his erection beginning to stir in anticipation. After opening the four locks that safely secured his prey inside the workshop, he quietly swung the door wide. Through the dim light, his eyes grew wide when he saw the frayed rope dangling from the table.

“Surprise!” Lorena whispered as she drove the razor sharp knife into the back of his neck. Her years of medical studies, strenuous physical conditioning and her own sick fantasies involving death and torture, an education Lorena had long pursued, coming into practice yet again.

Once her victim was safely paralyzed, but taking time to be sure he had regained consciousness, Lorena took her time dismembering the live body on the table. The tune she whistled as she worked; a Disney favorite.