My head may very well explode. It's too fucking cold outide. I'm going to freeze like Jack in The Shining.
 

That's why I drink so much beer. The kayak is the best thing to happen to me in some time. It's winter and cold as fuck, but I'm going to fish anyways. Who knows, maybe I'll get my own fishing show. Even if I don't, at least I have something to do with my time instead of brooding. Look what I found in the lake.

The Note

    My name is Seth McRoy and I am writing this against my will. I worked as a bartender at a bar and grill on the outskirts of a little town called Ellisville. I don’t anymore. I am writing this because a serial killer whom I call Steve is approaching retirement and wants a book written about him to preserve his legacy. I am not a good writer. Actually I am a failed writer, and I think that is why he chose me. That and the fact that I have a daughter I love very much and an ex-wife I still love even though she hates me. They’re both being held captive somewhere only Steve knows and will starve to death should anything happen to him. So many things are happening. It is difficult to keep up. I’ve seen things that no one should ever see. And the book is nowhere near complete. I’m going to try to start at the very beginning.

    It was around 12am when I returned to my one bedroom apartment from work. I knew something was wrong when I found my door unlocked. I always lock my door. I pushed it open and peered inside without actually stepping through the threshold. Nothing was out of place as far as I could see. The empty beer bottles and laptop still stood undisturbed on my coffee table. The TV and DVD player were untouched. Nothing was missing. After a few deep breaths, I stepped inside and made my way to the bedroom. That is when I saw something lying on the bed: an envelope with my name written on it in red ink.
    Inside the nightstand, I kept a snub nosed 38. Special. I took it out and did a sweep of the apartment, careful to check behind the shower curtain and inside every closet. Then I opened the envelope. Inside was an SD card and a typewritten letter.

I am the one they have been calling The Head Hunter

I have your daughter Annie and your ex-wife Zoey. On the enclosed SD card you will see the proof. If you call the police I will know, and Annie and Zoey will die very slowly. Even if the police were to somehow capture me, I will kill myself before giving away their location. It would not be good for them if you test me. There is only one way to save Zoey and Annie’s lives and that is for you to meet in the alley behind the Peirce and Peirce building at 2am tonight. It can be hard to find, so I have also enclosed a map with directions. I am not looking for money. I simply want to talk. For the sake of your family, do not make the mistake of telling anyone about any of this. I trust you will make the right decision.

It is important that you follow my directions perfectly and park in the spot I have circled on the map. Tell no one where you are going and dress as plainly as you can. Make sure NO ONE sees you enter the alley.   
      
                                                                                                        -A friend

    For a long time, I simply stared at the letter. My mind lagged like an old computer. Then my hands began to tremble and a wave of nausea rolled over me. The route traced out on the map led to a large parking lot next to the mall. I was to park there and walk about a half mile to the alley. I picked up the little blue SD card and popped it into my laptop. There was one photo. I took a deep breath and opened it. It was Zoey and Annie in the trunk of a car bound at the wrists and ankles with duck tape. Annie’s face was streaked with tears. Zoey’s face was stern, almost angry looking, but there was plenty of fear there too. I knew right away that this was no joke. My hand went for my phone. The police, I had to call them. Meeting this guy claiming to be a serial killer in the middle of an alley was insane, perhaps suicidal. I dialed 9, 1, and then hesitated. I remembered something I saw on the news about the Head Hunter killings, something a profiler said about the suspect likely having ties to law enforcement. The memory was fuzzy but it was there. I remembered hearing it.
    The Head Hunter had been a hot topic for the first few years after decapitated bodies began popping up all around the state. The heads were never found and, despite a massive effort, the killer was never arrested. Eventually the killings stopped and the murderer was thought to have died or went to prison on some unrelated charge. That was until bodies matching the same M.O. were discovered in surrounding states. Despite the best efforts of forensic technicians, authorities could only speculate about the killer’s identity.

    I put the phone down and paced around the room trying to decide what to do. The time stamp on the photo said it was taken the day before. I had to do something quickly. I walked back into the bedroom and found the shoulder holster for my pistol, put it on and zipped up my hooded sweatshirt. Every cell of my body was screaming in protest. Meeting this guy was dangerously stupid, but I had only been out of jail for a few months for a drug charge. The police would remember my past, see that I had a gun, and label me suspect number one. I could not take the chance. It was a panicked gamble that I had to chance.   
      
    

The Meeting

The first time I saw him, he was wearing a thin white t-shirt, blue jeans, and a friendly expression that stopped at the eyes. He told me to meet him in one of the alleys downtown and made me wait amongst the broken beer bottles and used condoms for almost an hour after the agreed meet time. The humidity was almost enough to make me forget why I was there. Almost. My first thought upon seeing him was, there is no way this is the guy I’ve heard about in the news for the last six years. He was going bald, middle aged, and shorter than me. He extended his hand to shake and I returned the gesture. His hand was warm and soft.
    “Hello, Seth, how are you tonight?” he asked, voice soft and friendly.
    “Okay, I’m here, and I didn’t call…”    
    “I know you didn’t call the cops, Seth.”  
    I felt the weight of my snub nosed 38. concealed under my left armpit. That and the three Xanax I had taken on the way over were the only things keeping me steady.

    “Are you going to, like, shoot me now or later? Do it now if you want. Get it over with. Right here.” He pointed to his forehead. The friendliness slipped from his face revealing nothing.  
    “But if you do that, Seth, Zoey and your daughter Annie will slowly starve to death, and only the rats will ever find them. Waste not, want not, and all that.”
    I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. Any sort of comfort I might have had dried up. The lump under my arm was useless iron and wood now, just something to weigh me down.  
    “You said in the note that you’d let them go if I just did something for you.”
    “And I meant it,” he said, “but it’s not going to be easy Seth and you’re in for a pretty wild ride.”
    “How do I even know you have them? How do I know they’re alright?”
    He gestured toward the city: skyscrapers and apartment complexes crammed between a valley with thick forest to either side and layer of rain clouds overhead partially obscuring the moon.
    “Tonight someone out there is going to die. Though it wont be anyone you know. Not tonight anyway. Maybe it’s fate. I’ve always been skeptical of fate, Seth, but it sure seems real sometimes. I’m going to bring about the inevitable. It’s just natural selection. Or maybe, like, unnatural selection.” A funny expression passed over his face.

    “And you’re going to watch. And you’re going to document what happens from a completely subjective stand point. You’re here to write my biography, Seth. This is my final hurrah. It’s all over for me after this.” He continued to stare at the sky as though seeing something only he could see.
    I spoke the best I could with my dry tongue, “I need to know they‘re still ok.”
    He never turned his gaze. From out of his pocket, he pulled a smart phone and tapped the screen a few times.
    “I thought you might say that,” he said, “here, take a look.”

    My stomach churned and I tasted vomit in the back of my throat. There they were. Both of them disheveled and chained by the feet to a concrete wall inside a round room. Annie was sobbing and staring at the floor, her blonde hair a tangled mess. Zoey was doing her best to appear brave but her red rimmed eyes betrayed her.

    “Speak to Seth,” Steve’s voice echoed on the recording.    
    “We’re okay right now, Seth, he hasn’t hurt us. Just please do what he says. You have to write his book. That’s the only way he’ll let us go. Just do what he says. Just write his…” Her voice broke at the end as she struggled not to sob.
    “Daddy!” Annie cried. Zoey made a move to comfort her and the video shut off.
    
    “Satisfied?”
    Again I was conscious of the pistol’s weight just under my arm, each chamber loaded with a hollow point. I could have shot him in the knee cap and forced the information out of him. My hand tingled, itching for the smooth wooden grips and the cold steel. Steven looked into my eyes and smiled the warmest smile I have ever seen.
    “There it is!” he said, “That special look.”
    “What are you talking about? Where are they? Tell me where the fuck they are or I’ll kill you!” My hand was moving upwards to the gun. I put on the most threatening face I could muster.  

    “If you shoot me dead, be sure to check my wallet. There’s a web address written on a note in there where you can watch a live feed of your ex-wife and kid through a camera. You can watch them starve to death in real time, Seth. You can watch your wife or ex or whoever the fucking bitch is to you consume the flesh of your daughter you seem to care nothing about. Ever seen someone starve to death, Seth? Ever seen what it does to so called people? It turns them into animals, well, worse than animals. People’ll do anything to survive. Oh, it takes them a while to work up the courage. And in all that time they’re fiddle farting around, the meat is rotting. But that doesn’t matter. In the end, you’ll eat anything to keep your hair and teeth from falling out.”

    My eyes were closed, teeth clenched, and knuckles white. When I looked, Steve’s face was inches away from my own. His minty fresh breath mocked me. He gestured for me to follow him, and so I did. We walked across the cracked asphalt that seemed to go on forever between the two buildings. Dozens of stinking garbage bags sat crowded around a set of rusted doors near an over flowing dumpster. I recognized from the smell that we were behind some kind of restaurant.
    “You have followed my instructions to the letter, right, Seth?” he asked.
    “Yes, I parked where you said, walked the way you said, did everything you’ve told me to do. Please, just…”
    “So you’ve done absolutely everything by my rules exactly?” he asked again, all the while studying my face. He took a few steps toward me until he was inches away.
    “It’s very important to your family that you do everything exactly as I say, Seth. I am taking a big, flying leap of faith here with you, ya know, but I know well enough to realize you’re a circulated risk. You wont let me down. And you certainly wont go to the cops. I just want to make sure you realize the gravity of it all. So if you did anything differently, you need to tell me now or we both could wind up in jail as your family slowly dies. So did you do everything I wrote?”
    “Yes, I did. No one saw me. No one has any idea where I am. I swear!”
    Seeming pleased with my response, Steve put on a pair of latex gloves and removed the largest butcher’s knife I have ever seen from a sheath inside the wasteband of his pants. My eyes went wide and I felt cold sweat forming on my back. Until now I had not noticed the unconscious homeless man lying halfway hidden by the garbage bags. An empty bottle of expensive vodka lay overturned by his filthy hand.
    “This is not going to be my best work, but my hope is it’ll give you a better understanding of what you’re going to be documenting. So pay attention. Pay close attention. You’ll just have to take mental notes this time.”
    “No. Wait. What are you doing?”
    “I am going to kill this man,” he said, pointing with the knife.
    “No, wait, maybe I left something out, maybe I fucked up on the instructions, maybe…”
    “No you didn’t. I trust you.” He winked.
    My mouth moved some more, but no words came out. The look on Steve’s face had turned into something I can only describe as lust. He took a few steps forward, silent as a cat, until he heard the little click of my gun being cocked.
    “Ok, that’s enough,” I said. The tiny revolver felt heavy in my shaky hand. Steve glanced at it and smiled his crooked smile.
    “Just remember, after the deed is done, do not run. Be calm and follow me. I’ll get us out of here long before anyone figures out what happened. Not that they’ll care much. No one cares about these bums. If anything, I’ll be doing him and the world a favor. It‘s actually bad sport on my part, but oh well.”
    “No, I’ll fucking shoot you, motherfucker! No!”
    “Whaaaa?” the drunken homeless man shifted around on his garbage bag pillow just as Steve pounced. The tip of the knife pierced the man’s windpipe turning his scream into a gurgle. Steve’s knees were on the man’s chest pinning him to the ground. The man feebly struggled against his attacker making the worst noises I have ever heard, but Steve was much stronger than he looked and held the squirming man down as he bled out. My finger rested on the trigger. I knew that if I shot him, Annie and Zoey were as good as dead. I was just a few feet away. Close enough to smell the blood. My vision became blurry and my head swam. The most blood I had ever seen in my life was gushing out of the homeless man’s unshaven throat all steamy and deep red. I found it easier to shut my eyes and try to ignore the noises the dying man made. He still gurgles in my dreams.

     When I opened my eyes, Steven, or whatever his name was, held a severed head by its long, stringy gray hair as it dripped blood onto the pavement. I backed away until I hit the opposite wall.
    “This was Monroe Joe’s favorite sleeping spot. He comes…er came here for the leftovers in these trash bags. Half the time the dumpster gets full so they just throw them around the steps for the garbage men to deal with. It also makes a good place to get shitfaced and pass out apparently. God, nothing bleeds like a drunk. Hey, don’t you fucking puke!”
    Seth dropped the head and snatched up a plastic bag lying in the gutter.
    “Use this. The last thing I need is a big fresh pile of DNA contaminating my crime scene. Even though it’s going to rain soon, I’m not so sure that’d be enough to rinse away a giant pile of fucking puke.”
    I took the bag and dry heaved into it so hard I though my head would explode. Nothing came up. I hadn’t eaten in close to two days. Ever since I found out my kid and ex-wife were missing, my appetite had suffered.
    “Be sure to hold onto that barf bag. We’ll dispose of it away from here. And don‘t worry about your fingerprints. I’ve been watching and you’ve touched nothing that matters.” Steven reached inside the dumpster and pulled out a backpack. When he unzipped it, I saw the inside was lined with plastic. He threw the head inside, zipped it up, and shouldered the bag. Then he motioned for me to come with him. Every instinct told me to run, but I followed Steve’s leisurely stride and tried to take deep breaths.    
    We walked for a long time, even climbing over a couple of chain link fences. I was on the verge of panic, but Steve’s moves were calculated and calm, as though rehearsed. After a while, we popped out next to a parking lot near a liquor store.
    “If you didn’t already know, this is where I bought Monroe Joe’s last bottle of vodka,” Steve chuckled, “I made sure it was the good kind. I even dropped a couple of valium into the mix.”
    I put my hands on my knees and tried to regroup. My head was spinning and my heart felt dangerously close to bursting. When I looked up, Steve was unlocking the driver’s side door of a large white van marked with peeling letters: Johnson Heating and Cooling. He removed his latex gloves and stowed away the backpack containing the head.
    “Are you getting in or what?” he asked. I looked around. The area was as dead as Monroe Joe. Only a few cars littered with tickets and fliers were parked in the lot. Typical for 4am on this side of town. After a few deep breaths, I got into the passenger side of the van and nearly screamed when Steve tossed a thick notebook onto my lap with a pen clipped to the binding.
    “You can use this to take notes if you need them,” he said. Then he put the van into gear and left the parking lot as though nothing had happened.  
 
    

I enjoy getting away from society. It's suffocating around people sometimes. Maybe I'm an alien, but probably not. I'm just a defective human. I'm also a surivior though. I wish the end of the world would hurry up and come because I'm getting bored.

The Gopro cam can wait.

A Sick Thought IX

I want to decorate the trees
With bloody, red atrocities
A headless corpse still pumping blood
Mixed the dirt is now red mud

A hate that burns so hot it’s cold
I feel my soul has just been sold
Air turns pink with misty rain
We find ourselves at life’s refrain

So flay the skin and cut the meat
Wendago’s touch, a slice so sweet
Inside the mind, inside the hole
My true face I will now show

(I have to be on a watchlist by now.)

______________________________________________________________________

     I have decided to buy a Gopro camera within the next couple of months instead of music making software. I’m far too poor to buy both.* Hopefully it will motivate me to be more active instead of sitting behind my computer screen guzzling beer and eating chips. I mean, I’ll still do that of course, but maybe not as much. Ya see, I’m kind of outdoorsy believe it or not, and occasionally I have adventures that I would like to relive FPS style. Who knows, perhaps I can share it with you, my esteemed fans, all 3 ½ of you. Can you upload webms to Newgrounds yet? If not, I hope they make it so.

*Upon his election, Donald Trump will turn me, as well as every other disgusting poor person, into quality soap.

Our reptillian overlords!

Well that sucks.

I'm listening to some funky electronic beats right now and sippin' on some fine hobo beer. My five year plan is to not become some insane homeless guy feeding alley cats the sucker fish he catches fishing using dropped cigarette butts and used chewing gum as bait. 

This incoherrant rambling brought to you by Icehouse Edge: Offical Drink of The-Schizphernic-Homeless-Societ.

It's Devil's Night.