Serial Killer's Diary- Part 2

**Warning: these entries may be graphic and, hopefully, frightening.  Keep in mind this is merely fiction.  No humans have or will be harmed in the production of this blog.  All names have been chosen at random and are not meant to represent anyone, living or dead.  Any similarities are purely coincidental.**

10/4/13  10:45 PM

      Everything went terribly wrong and perfectly right all at the same time.  I arrived at the good doctor’s neighborhood an hour before her office closed and I parked in the cul-de-sac down the street.  Dr. Jenkins arrived at her home shortly after 6pm. In the flurry of cars arriving and departing, no one noticed or cared that I was parked there so I watched and waited.  Just before 8pm she emerged wearing an elegant dress and high heels.  As I had hoped, she was heading out for some fun…after all, it is Friday night.  My plan was to enter her home when she had left.  I figured I could learn more about her and, if I was lucky, find a calendar or a day planner to obtain her schedule.  I couldn’t continue to lurk in the cul-de-sac or the neighbors might get suspicious.   After she was gone, I strolled casually up the street.  The sun had gone down and I was wearing black from head to toe.  Not that it mattered, the affluent don’t stay home on a Friday night.  The neighborhood was empty. 

      Still in stealth-mode, I ducked behind a cluster of trees and crept through backyards until I reached the Jenkins residence.  I expected to have to pry open a window but she actually leaves a spare key under the doormat.  Seriously, who does that?  Anyway, her folly is my fortune so I went inside.  My leather driving gloves gave me the protection I needed but my fingers still retained their dexterity.  No prints.  That was the only part of my plan that went exactly as I had expected.  Once inside, I rifled through her mail, dug through drawers, and found her iPad.   Her password is password-unbelievable!   

      This is where the plan fell apart.  I was reading her office notes from my last visit when she came home.  Damn, that hybrid car of her is so quiet I didn’t hear a thing until she opened the front door, tossed her keys down on the table and kicked off those ridiculously high heels.  Before I could hide, she walked into her office.  Startled, she gasped and dropped her purse on the floor. 

      Then, it was as if a switch went off in brain and I pounced.  I grabbed the Tiffany lamp from her desk and swung the heavy base at her self-important head.  She fell with a thud and blood pooled on her polished, hardwood floors.  “Please”, she whimpered and I heard a high, blood-curdling laugh.  It took me a minute to realize I was the one laughing.  Her cold, compassionless eyes were now filled with fear and welling with tears. “There’s nothing more I can do to help you,” I hissed, spitting her own heartless words right back at her.  As if seeing it all through someone else’s eyes, I watched a maniac, dressed in black, choke the life from the blood-soaked woman on the floor.  Once I was certain she was dead, I left the same way I had entered.  I could feel her blood seeping through the knees of my pants, cold and sticky on my skin.  No one saw me as I slipped through the darkness to my old, beat up sedan.  

      Driving home, I laughed at my luck.  I had only planned to do some recon work but managed to successfully complete my entire objective.  I even remembered to back out from her iPod so that my name wouldn’t be the first thing to pop up.  I’d begun sporting the “Walter White” look, about a year ago, so there was no chance of stray hair connecting me to the crime scene and no finger prints through my gloves.  No one saw me entering or exiting her home and my car was parked too far away to be suspected anyway.  I feel both euphoric and exhausted.  I must sleep now but I will continue the details in my next entry. 

Serial Killer's Diary- Part 1

In honor of the creepiest month of the year, I’m going to do blog entries as a serial killer’s diary.  Warning: these entries may be graphic and hopefully frightening.  Please do not call the police, it is merely fiction.  No humans have or will be harmed in the production of this blog and all names have been chosen at random.  They do not represent anyone living or dead.  Any similarities are purely coincidental. 

10/3/13  11:38 AM

I cannot suppress my rage any longer.  What’s the point of seeing these doctors when they are useless to stop my pain?  They have no regard for their patients; it’s the almighty dollar that controls their every move.  Now that they've depleted my bank account, they say there is nothing else they can do for me.  The prescription they gave me is little more than glorified Tylenol and does even less to ease my suffering… but do they care?  No.  Perhaps a little suffering on their end will open their eyes. 

Step 1: Surveillance – follow Dr. Jenkins and discover place of residence.  Monitor activity and additional recon on home security.

10/3/13  7.:45 PM

Step One Update:  Unsurprisingly Dr. Jenkins lives in a sprawling Colonial in a cookie-cutter development.  My entire apartment could fit in her garage. Her shiny Lexus LS F Sport hybrid only speaks to the vile bitch’s hypocrisy.  As if the falsehood of “going green” and emulating the image of caring about the environment somehow makes up for spending nearly $140,000.00 on a car.  There’s a placard in the yard advertising a home security system but, as I watched her enter, she did not rush to punch in a security code.  Either she has a super long delay on her system or she is foolish enough not to activate her system on a regular basis.  I suspect the latter.  It fits with her holier-than-though attitude; as if she believes she’s so perfect that no one would ever dare to intrude on her flawless life.  She’s wrong, so very, very wrong.  Every fiber in my being screams to go back there now- to prove to her how stupid she is but I must wait.  The devil is in the details and I must spend more time preparing.  My time will come and she will suffer as I have suffered.    

It's FINALLY October

      October ushers in a multitude of delights and I, for one, am ready to embrace them all. The air will be filled with the cloyingly sweet scent of pumpkin spice and for the next few days stores will be decked out in orange and black.  (It won’t last long; retailers are already unpacking their Christmas decorations) But for now, Halloween reigns supreme. 

      Halloween is only a small part of what makes October great.  Costume parties and trick-or-treat are just the tip of the witch's hat.  We can also look forward to the return of The Walking Dead and American Horror Story.  Horror films will get their well deserved time in the spotlight, at least for thirteen days and let’s not forget It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown. 

      October also marks the start of hockey season.  The NHL kicked off their official start yesterday and my Philadelphia Flyers (Coincidentally, their colors are orange and black) hit the ice tonight.  Despite their less than inspired play in their home opener, I’m a die-hard fan and will continue to hope for the best.  If I keep shouting at the TV; however, I’m going to need to stock up on tea and honey!   On a more personal note, my wedding anniversary is also in October.  See that, sweetie, not only did I remember it is on my mind weeks ahead of time. 

      All summer long, both The Walking Dead fans and NHL fans kept asking, “Is it October yet?”  Well, it’s finally here.  Let’s enjoy it.  May your bellies be filled with “fun sized” candy bars and pumpkin pastries and your dreams be filled with psychos wearing Captain Kirk or hockey masks.  Sleep well.   

Ding Dong the Witch is....Closed?

      I rarely throw in my two cents when it comes to political matters but this time I just can’t hold my tongue-or more aptly, my fingers.  Our nation’s leaders are behaving like Kindergarteners.  Instead of holding their breath until they get their own way, they took their metaphoric bats and balls and went home.  I can’t help but wonder what our founding fathers would think of this kind of behavior. 

      I’d like to think that our Founding Fathers would take a very old-school, fatherly approach.  Perhaps, they’d take those spoiled brats behind the woodshed and whoop some sense into them.  I’d pay good money to see a ghostly George Washington or specter-like John Hancock dragging Senators or Congressmen out by the scruffs of their necks and “tanning their hides”.  Instead of a Boston Tea Party they’d throw a “D.C. Paddling Party”.  

      Regardless of your political affiliations, or lack thereof, the time has come to look beyond the differences and start caring about what really matters: securing a nation of freedom and prosperity. Once upon a time, men gave their lives to grant us freedom and this is not the way to repay them for that sacrifice.  And if we don’t, someone just might break out the Ouija board and recall the ghosts of America’s past.  Sadly, the government would have to temporarily shut down again because they wouldn’t be able to sit for a week!  Sleep well and CYA! 

Lullaby

      I've recently re-read (again) Chuck Palahnuik's "Lullaby" and even though I loved it the first time, I think my opinion improves every time I read it.  I have to admit, the idea of a culling song is brilliant.  In fact, it's so brilliant I wish I'd come up with it.  There are times when all of us wish we had that kind of power at our disposal.  Yet, Palahnuik's genius is playing the devil's advocate and presenting the less-than-rosy burden of wielding such a vicious weapon: the inadvertent side effect of killing unintentionally. 

      Like that bubble-gummy pop song that your co-worker, in the next cubicle, enjoys playing, or that annoying jingle for car insurance, songs get stuck in your head and once it's there...good luck getting rid of it. Without even thinking, that culling song wiped out the entire PTA meeting or your kid's soccer coach.  Your neighbor with the bad breath and the darn Girl Scouts selling cookies when you're on a diet-gone.  The guy across the street with the dog that barks all night long and the pizza delivery driver who squashed your dinner are toast.  

      So, you're wondering where the downside is, right?  Subconsciously, you've also zapped your cousin for forgetting your birthday and your best friend for beating you in fantasy football.  Don't laugh-fantasy football is cutthroat!  Bottom line: there's a reason the average Joe cannot harness that kind of power.  Most people don't have enough control of their subconscious mind and they'd be the only one left on the planet.  Hmm, maybe that's not so bad after all.  Close your eyes, snuggle with your favorite blanket and I'll sing you a lullaby.  Sleep well.  

Raise Your Glasses

     Like most married couples, my sweetie and I have plenty of inside jokes.  Because I'm a touch twisted, the average observer might be a bit put off... but the two of us are usually on the same page. For example, requesting a tall glass of Hemlock when one of us is having a bad day fits the norm in our house.  Depending on the mood, sometimes we request ice, other times, straight up. Either way, it would get the job done.  
     Surprisingly, it takes very little, (around 100 mg) of Hemlock to kill an adult human.  That breaks down to about 6-8 of the Hemlock's tiny leaves or even less if the roots or seeds are included.  Though indigenous to Europe, particularly in the Mediterranean regions, and a different strain in South Africa, the pretty flowers of the Hemlock plant encouraged transplanting in North America.  This pretty poison is even more deadly considering it can be easily mistaken for non-toxic foods.  The roots are often mistaken for parsnips; while its leaves resemble parsley and the seeds look like anise.  
     Whether straight up or on the rocks, ingesting Hemlock results in numbness and paralysis starting in the lower extremities and spreading up through the entire body.  Finally attacking respiratory functions, the victim will cease to breathe and eventually die from lack of oxygen. Though the ancient Greeks believed ingesting Hemlock was a humane way to dispose of condemned prisoners, Socrates might disagree.  Slow suffocation is not the easiest way to go!       In closing, I'd like to leave you with a fun, 80's movie quote.  "In the immortal words of Socrates...I drank what?" -Chris Knight(Val Kilmer), Real Genius.  So raise a glass, make a toast, and sleep well.  

Supporting Characters: Part 4

      On our last discussion of supporting characters, we encountered one of the kindest, sweetest women you'd ever meet.  Fiction, like life, embraces characters from all walks of life and I strive to introduce diverse, realistic, characters in my stories.  Which brings me to Whitney....the antithesis to Iris.  Whitney is the embodiment, the very definition, of "the mean girl".  Every high school has at least one but Lincoln High has several and Whitney is their Queen Bee.    

      As a young child, Whitney learned that beauty is the golden ticket to getting everything you want out of life. Her parents, a former model and an affluent plastic surgeon, reinforced the harsh truth that pretty face and a perfect body were essential for happiness.  To help Whitney shed her "baby fat", she was enrolled in dance and gymnastics classes by the age of three.  When she got older, her mother steered her toward cheerleading as a way to improve her social status while burning calories.  The lavish lifestyle she was born into, teamed with shallow, self absorbed parenting imbibed Whitney with a self-righteous sense of entitlement. The world is her oyster and expects pearls!  She is used to getting what she wants, when she wants it and anyone standing in her way had better watch out.  

      Speaking of what Whitney wants, her sights were set on marrying a rich, handsome man.  Someone wealthy enough to support her high expectations while giving her everything her heart desires.  She has no intentions of working, not outside of the home and certainly not in it.  She expects housekeepers and nannies-assuming she'd ever sacrifice her toned body to bring a child into her world.  Whitney's love of money is only overshadowed by her love of self.  Some people are sore losers, others are poor winners.  Whitney is both.  As a shining example of the "Millennial Generation" her narcissism and self-importance are the traits most noticed-after her physique.  

     I don't know about you but I think haughty, self-absorbed, princesses are choice morsels for the undead. Eat well my zombie pets.  As for the rest of you...sleep well.