Into The Mind Of A Murderer continued…

This was originally intended as a short story, and who knows that may well be what happens but the more I write the more I like the idea of it being a novel. Anyway Please do have a read, let me know what you think, all thoughts and comments welcome as always x


Into The Mind of a Murderer

He had closed his mind to the infrequent sufferings of his conscience many years ago. Time withered what little compassion he had left, empathy and love existing only as faded fragments, regarded as pointless fiction upon the rare occasions when his thoughts were permitted to wander to such things.

He picked up the scalpel and walked over to the bed. The nurse would be awake soon and these were the moments he savoured more than most.

Moonlight shone in though the skylight and reflected his perfectly sharp razor like grin on the surface of the surgical instrument.

The irony that this implement, designed to preserve life, was perhaps the most efficient tool he had ever used to torture and eventually kill was not lost on him, in fact he considered it often during his quieter moments.

Her eyelids flickered, slowly at first, before her own memories of the past few hours, like a burst damn flooded her thoughts and they snapped open.

Unable to move due to the leather restraints that bound her hands and ankles, she looked frantically left and right as though her eyes were trying to make a frenzied escape of their own. Even though he’d seen it before, this amused him somewhat, giving rise to a low guttural chuckle.

She followed the sinister sneer, slowly and reluctantly till eventually her gaze met his. He showed no emotion, apart from an ill concealed show of excitement as he studied her shocked and fearful expression.

An icy breath of air from the howling winds outside forced its way into the room and brushed over her body, forcing her to shudder. She had been stripped naked, apart from her flimsy undergarments, though modesty was now the least of her concerns.

She knew that this monster in human form was the last person her living eyes would ever see.

He reached for the strap of her bra and she spoke.


Now there was a word she wasn’t used to using. She’d heard it often enough throughout her own life, but her feeble utterance gave him pause. She was scared, that much was screamingly obvious but the way she said that word, almost a resigned acceptance of what was to come.

He didn’t like that at all. He needed more petrified concentration from his victims. If he let that sort of behaviour slide what would be next? Would they be quietly reading a magazine or watching a final instalment of Eastenders whilst he carved away at their innards?

He cut the strap both sides and yanked the bra free, hoping to illicit some sort of reaction. There was none, in fact she slowly closed her eyes.

He stepped back, dumbfounded, probably for the first time since he had started doing this type of work.

Well excuse me. He thought, I didn’t mean to wake you!



I sat on the swing, alone, watching the other girls play. Occasionally they’d rush past me, never even bothering to taunt, not anymore; to taunt is to notice and I was as invisible as the proverbial housefly, and as annoying, at home, when I ventured out of the shadows to communicate with the only other person who lived with me – My mother. She had done nothing to earn that title. Giving birth then spending the next eight years blaming me for my father’s disappearance hardly qualifies. Whenever I spoke she would simply swat me away with a swift ‘woosh’ of her hand.

“Not now Bonnie, why don’t you …”

I liked the way she did that, didn’t even finish the sentence, just left it hanging and drifted back into her terribly important work, watching TV or eating toast, perhaps dying her hair yet another shade of orange. It did mean however, that I could occupy my time thinking up some imaginative endings to her incomplete suggestion:

Not now Bonnie, why don’t you…

Have some cake?
Take something from my purse?
Kill the dog?
Go outside, watch the other girls play?

Three down, one to go.

So there I was, sitting on the swing, watching the other girls play. They were standing round the duck pond arguing about how deep it actually was. The water was so mucky you couldn’t tell just by looking, though their incessant arguing was beginning to get on my nerves.

In the warmer months John Bower, the boat keeper used to do a good business there. He let me on one of his boats once so I guess the water had to be kind of deep. Most of the girls walked away from the pond to the little coffee shop, leaving one behind staring at her own reflection in the water.

“Bring me one too, with a flake in it!”

She eventually called back after the group without altering the direction of her own gaze. I guess they’d gone for ice cream. None of the girls responded, probably couldn’t hear her. The cafe was a good five minute walk from there.

I didn’t know the girl who was left, now dabbing her foot cautiously into the water, I mean she’d bullied me when I was younger but never stopped to offer her name in-between punches to my face.

I remember crying for hours after that. It was only later, when my mother asked me who the girl was that I had to stop and think… You know, she never told me. Rude!

I became transfixed as her attempts to touch the bottom of the pond grew ever more daring; each slow wave of her foot going a little deeper. My prediction was three more swooshes with her foot and she’d fall. I was elated when, on the third swoosh she lost her balance and toppled over and into the water, I knew I was right, three swooshes it was.

I walked over to the water’s edge for a while and stood quiet while she splashed and cried, least I think she was crying, hard to tell, she was covered in water. Bemused me why she didn’t just swim out. Maybe she couldn’t. Maybe her name was Tiffany, let’s say it was. She looked like a Tiffany.

Tiffany went under a couple of times then re-emerged, coughing and spluttering before she died.

I’ll never forget that look in her eyes before she was lost to the unusually deep duck pond, kind of a peaceful resignation, dunno what she saw, but that look… I was kind of jealous.