Song: Killing is my Business... And Business is Good by Megadeth

"A 'possessed' dog in the neighborhood won't let me stop killing until he gets his fill of blood."—David Berkowitz

As I sat in my kitchen munching on my cereal, I thought of my next plan. I analyzed various scenarios that would cause her maximum pain and at the same time give me my long overdue satisfaction. My cravings for pain and fear had reached its peak.

One particular scenario seemed appealing to me. My only prayer was that it would come out the way I pictured it in my head. Human beings could be very disappointing.

I glanced at the clock on the wall; it was almost midnight. Standing up, I rinsed the cereal bowl. Then, I searched for what I needed and proceeded to the basement. The time had come to wake her up and put my plan into action.

I flicked on the switch and descended the wooden steps. It creaked beneath my feet. I hadn't found the time to fix it.

The basement didn't have a spooky atmosphere. Cobwebs, broken furniture, cardboard boxes, and every other thing that made a basement look unkempt were absent. That shouldn't be a surprise, seeing as this was my man cave.

I scanned the room. On the table at the left corner sat my cleaning supplies and my knife set. The television sat at another corner. Then, my eyes landed on the main reason this man cave existed. She laid on the floor unconscious, still in the exact position I left her.

I placed the things I brought from the kitchen on the table, leaving only the cup of water in my hand. I approached her sleeping form.

Staring at her face as I ran the tip of my fingers down it. I wished I could let her remain unconscious. Her makeup had been smeared. She looked like she needed to sleep, but I wasn't that generous to grant her that.

I stood upright and splashed the cup of water on her face. "Rise and shine."

She jolted awake and blinked rapidly as she did a quick scan of the room. "What the...You! What did you do to me?"

I smirked. "Aggressive much."

"Aggressive?" She looked down at her chained hands and legs. "You kidnapped me and all you can say is that I'm being aggressive?" She yanked the chain.

My hands were suddenly in the air. "Hey! In my defense, you got into my car willingly."

"I should have paid heed to my instincts. You didn't look like someone who interacted with the likes of me, but I needed the money," she said as her shoulders sagged.

My legs ached, so I sat in front of her and said, "What exactly would you need money for? From the way you look, it's obvious you don't spend the money on clothing and feeding."

The look she sent my way gave me goose bumps. "What would you know about not having money? Take your car as an example, it's expensive."

I barked out a laugh. "You think because my car is expensive that I don't know what it means to be without money. Just so you know, I had a terrible childhood. The only difference between my mother and you is that she slept with men for free while you do it for money," I sneered.

She shrugged. "Why exactly did you kidnap me? Is this one of my ex-husband's tactics?"

I knitted my brows together. What was she talking about? I shook my head and decided to ask her later. "Now, back to the reason you needed money?"

"Judging by that question, my ex certainly didn't send you," she said.

"Answer the damn question!" I rubbed my temple. Was she intentionally trying to push my buttons?

She flinched away. "Fine." She huffed. "I'm in a custody battle with my ex-husband over our son. He thi—"

"The same son that looks malnourished and that you let stay in the corridor while you sleep with men in the apartment?"

Her eyes widened. "How do you... You stalked me!"

I smirked. "I wouldn't call it stalking, more like observing."

"You son of a bitch!" She yanked the chain harder.

"You got that right. My mother was a bitch," I said then released a humorless laugh. "It's obvious you are not capable of taking care of your son. Why don't you just give your ex-husband custody?"

She gave me a cold glare. "If he thinks that because he is rich that he can take my son away from me and live happily, he's got another thing coming. I'll rather kill my son than let him have him," she spat.

I froze. She certainly couldn't mean that, could she?

"Good thing that I kidnapped you," I said with a smirk.

She rolled her eyes. "It's not like you are going to kill me. You don't have it in you."

I smiled and stayed silent.

Her pupils dilated. "You are not going to kill me, are you?" she said, her voice weak.

I moved closer to her and whispered into her ear, my voice laced contempt, "That is the only thing I am good at. After all, I am the Midnight Killer."

She froze. Suddenly, she began to tremble like a leaf. Joy surged through my body, making my fingertips tingle.

"Jeez! I haven't started anything and you are already scared." I smirked.

"Please, don't kill me. I will change." She cried.

The word 'change' made me cringe. "Do you know how many people have said that to me, yet I still killed them? You are not different."

"You are a psycho!" She spat at me.

"Agreed." I wiped the spit off and laughed. "Time to have fun," I said as I walked over to the table and picked up a knife and the saltshaker I had placed on the table. I ran my finger along the edge. Sharp.

I walked up to her. She backed away when she saw the knife.

"Please..." she said as tears ran down her eyes.

"If you stay still, this will pass before you know it."

I used the knife to touch her arms. She jerked away and screamed.

"I haven't even done anything yet," I yelled.

I stabbed her and making a deep cut on her arm. She screamed and wailed. Blood gushed out of the cut.

Before she could react again, I made another cut. More blood gushed out, trickling down her arms.

Her screams and crying increased. I smirked.

I made another cut on her thighs. The blood gushed out more.

She was quick to react before I could make another cut. She kept moving away. Smart woman.

With an emotionless expression frozen on my face, I circled around her like a pack of wolves hunting down their prey.

A violent cough escaped her throat, sending sputters of spit onto the floor.

Her eyes followed me as I walked around her. As soon as I noticed all her attention was on me, I went in for another cut.

To maximize the pain, I added salt to the cut on the arm.

She screamed until no sound could escape from her throat. She resulted to silent cries and rocking her body from side to side.

The cut on her thigh called onto me, so I added salt.

She let out a loud cry.

It was the exact reaction, I wanted. It gave me full satisfaction. But for how long?

I shot a blank stare her way. Her face smeared with tears and blood.

She looked up at me and said, "Please, just let me go. Haven't you tortured me enough?"

"That is true. You have nothing more to offer me."

I went behind her, lifted her head, and made a swift deep cut through her neck, severing her carotid artery. Blood gushed out, sending sprays of the crimson fluid onto the floor and onto her body.

Her body jerked as she lost blood.

She opened her mouth and closed it, fighting for air. The cut must have severed her airway. Her jerking continued for a few minutes until she finally gave up the ghost.

Her body slumped, lying in her pool of blood.

What a pleasant experience.

"After my head has been chopped off, will I still be able to hear, at least for a moment, the sound of my own blood gushing from my neck? That would be the best pleasure to end all pleasure."—Peter Kurten

Thank you for reading THE SERIAL KILLER IN ME. Please do vote, comment, critique and share if you enjoyed it. I am very grateful.