A View of Parallel Hills

Day 1.
Commotion. Noises. There was a sense of dread in the air.
‘Mr. Night Mare has come to this neighborhood’, someone was fucking screaming at the top of their lungs.
Yes. Night Mare. The most infamous serial killer in recorded history broke out of prison and ran for his freedom. Yes. Mr. Night-fucking-Mare the most dangerous killer in entire history was now upon the upper scale elite neighborhood of Parallel Hills. The picturesque neighborhood was a wonder to behold. State of the art in every inch. It was beyond beautiful. But not tonight. Tonight it was wreaking havoc on the residents. Police was searching the entire neighborhood with all their shining glory-but to no avail. Mrs. Elis and a bunch of them were outside their houses looking at the brightly lit red and blue streets of their precious neighborhood.
“What commotion is this?” said Mr. Ginsroge. He was smartly dressed in fancy evening wear.
“Can’t we just enjoy the evening? Is it too much to ask,” blurted Ms. Quili with her neatly tied blonde fucking hair and that erogenous smile on her face that seemed like from another time.
I was just minding my business as usual. Living in this beautiful neighborhood had its perks and a whole lot of other things too. The people were horrendously one note, like a malignant tumor ready to cling on and never let go of the materialistic pleasantries. Everything in this neighborhood from the air to the lights was strictly monitored and regulated for these artsy fartsy fuckheads. The air-let’s talk about the fucking air- was imported from France. I know what you are thinking-it’s a bit too much. A bit too much is never too much for this forsaken street of quasi-intellectuals. Apparently Ginsroge household was hosting a dinner party for lady Quili and some others whose names you must not be concerned with. I had moved 2 weeks ago, recently divorced as you can see. See? Oh right! Sorry about that. Well there is a ring tan on my finger. I had heard about this place and then read about it eventually. I had enough saved to start afresh and God! This place was captivating.
“So what did you saw Mr. Writhleque?” the gentle police man asked. The gentle police man…you might be wondering if they are really gentle at all.
“There was a man with orange overalls and ‘Mare’ was written on his back, he was running wildly but I could not see his face because it was covered in some type of cloth. I had heard the news earlier and it did mention that this criminal has escaped.”
“In which direction was he running Sir?”
“He ran off in the dark I’m afraid. He must be-I’m telling you he must be hiding in this neighborhood.”
“And what makes you say that?”
“Because it’s Parallel Hills. It’s paradise and who would want to leave paradise?”
“Disgusting little man. It’s like he is the head of marketing for this place,” said Mr. Cojeer, another resident of this abomination.
“It’s not like; he is the head of marketing!” Mrs. Elis said.
“Like this place needs any fucking marketing,” Ginsroge quipped.
Day 2.
Everything was quiet and it was a pleasant morning. I decided to go on a walk but as soon as I was about to leave there was a wild scream, like a horse was neighing while being burned with acid. I ran outside. There was a disfigured dead body tied to the lamp post on the other side of the street. It was horrible. Ms. Quili was on her knees just kneeling on the street and crying rapidly. Everyone came out of their houses. There were a few screams and a lot of fucking talking afterwards. Normally in a situation like this people are going to talk but man o man these fucking people had taps for mouths and once these taps opened there was nothing but bile coming out of them. I decided to stay inside. Then the gentle boys in blue came and knocked a few doors. Apparently the word on the ‘street’ was that somebody was hiding Mr. Night Mare, giving him a warm bed and three square meals a day and in exchange for doing their bidding. The poor sod that was tied to the lamp post was Mr. Ginsroge. I finally came out of my house.
“Oh Mr. Teran Gihm, so lovely of you to join us this morning,” Mr. Writhleque slithered.
Fucking sarcasm even in a time like this. Fuck these people.
I said hello to everyone and co-operated like a good citizen. There was no forced entry and no evidence which didn’t surprise the police. Apparently that was the M.O of Night Mare, no prints no evidence juts a bloody corpse left to amaze others. The police wanted to check the security footage and we all accompanied them.
“He’s going to get caught now for sure,” said Mrs. Elis.
Thanks for stating the obvious you dumb bitch. The police went through the footage and found the time stamp of 3:52 am in which a dark hooded figure was tying Mr. Ginsroge’s body to the lamp post.
“This is remarkable” the policeman said.
I inquired what was so remarkable about it.
“He lifted him single handedly and tied the rope with his other hand! Now granted Mr. Ginsroge was a middle aged gangly fellow but still this is a feat.”
I imagined it might be a feat and a whole lot of other things too. For instances, I wished he would wipe the entire neighborhood.
Day 3.
“You fucking come out wherever you are! We will not tolerate this. This is a nice neighborhood. You have till morning to surrender or else I-we will lynch you!”It was Miurty Writhleque the eldest son of Mr. Writhleque screaming like an idiot in the wee hours of the morning. He was a power player in the world of manufactured Ice Cream. But this was no ice cream, this was the real world and it made Miurty scared shitless. In the terminology of ice cream the flavor for his fear might be brown…as in shit. This is no laughing matter I assure you but I couldn’t help myself.
The next morning Mr. Writhleque and Miurty were both tied to the lamp post. Dead as a door nail. The air turned from French to putrid in a flap of a hummingbird’s wings. The police arrived. I know what you are thinking about the incompetent police but it is what it is.
Day 3.
Ms. Quili was found, but with a slight difference. She was tied upside down which left a rather red tinge on her blonde hair. I turned on the television and it was running a special on Mr. Night Mare. He had killed 319 people. He had a penchant for killing and tying his victims. Fuck me, I thought. I realized, slowly but surely he was doing someone’s bidding. My prime suspect was Mrs. Elis but it was just a theory.
Day 4.
Mrs. Elis.
Day 5.
Mr. Deuriyan from the end of the street.
Day 6.
Mr. Cojeer.
Day 7.
Another one.
Day 8.
Another one.
Day 9.
I was the only one left in the neighborhood. Yes, the new guy. The new guy who was about to get fucked up but I was not scared. I felt excitement for the first time in a really long time in my dull life. The police had practically given up on the case. They had searched all the houses. They had searched every inch but could not find a trace of Mr. Night Mare. I was a suspect but the police wrote me off. The only living resident of this neighborhood had been written off as a suspect. Now this was a laughing matter. It never occurred to the police that I might be Mr. Night Mare and I was the one killing all these poor sods one by one. But how? You might ask that. Well-
“Are you ready?” Asked the guard.
“Yes,” Night Mare said after a pause.
He had stopped writing. The pencil was just resting on the paper as his thoughts were interrupted by the guard’s deep voice. He got up on his feet and slid his hands from the bars of his cell towards the guard. The guard proceeded to put handcuffs on him. The guard then opened the cell and gently pulled Night Mare out. They both strolled down the narrow corridor. Night Mare was a bulky guy. The sound of chains clinging was echoing through the corridor. All the other occupants of cells were chanting in despair. The guard and Night Mare entered the electric chamber. He silently slid into the electric chair.
“Bite on it,” said the guard as he gave him a mouth guard. “May I have this?” the guard asked as he pointed to the magazine that was clenched in Night Mare’s hand.
“Yes you may,” he handed the magazine to the guard.
“Any last words?”
“Fuck you all,” Night Mare said while grinning.
“OK.”
“No wait. Don’t throw the magazine away. Just give it to someone else. It will be a terrible waste don’t you think Murry?”
“Yes, it will be. Yes it will be,” Murry said as he pulled the switch and watched Night Mare burn to death.
***
The smell of burnt flesh was looming in the electric chamber.
Murry walked up to his shift partner and handed the magazine to him. They were standing in the booth across the electric chair.
“What the fuck is this?” Is the thing he was beating off to for the last few days?”
“Not a few days but a few months. He had become obsessed with this stupid magazine. I don’t know what was so appeasing about it. Perhaps he wished for a different life and these printed papers transported him there,” Murry said.
“A view of Parallel Hills. Dreams of grandeur of a piece of shit scumbag like him-”
Murry snatched the magazine from his partner’s hands.
“Well he’s died now so don’t you think it’s unnecessary for you to gloat?” Murry said calmly. “Maybe he had a thing for Parallel Hills. Who knew that even the vilest serial killer had dreams?”
“Well fuck him and fuck this magazine too.”
Murry laughed.
“What the fuck is so funny?”
“Well you know he might have agreed on your last sentence if he was alive,” Murry smirked as he threw the magazine in the trash.
***