Chronicles of Chaos I
by Bobby Blades
"Violence does, in truth, recoil upon the violent."
(Arthur Conan Doyle)
There is a very tangible darkness
that takes hold of my deep black heart. It takes my sound mind and body and distorts it
into a malevolent murder machine. When this sinister urge takes hold I must give in or pay
the consequences of trying to deny its powerful hold; better to feed the beast then let it
free to wander.
I'm fifty-four years old and for thirty years I fed the beast, quenched its
thirst, scratched its itch. I gave in because I had to. I simply couldn't deny the beast
any longer and I learned (the hard way) that it was much better to give him what he wanted
when he wanted it than it was to show restraint as I had my first twenty-four years of
life. Y'know what I mean Padre? Of course you don't but I digress.
I did manage to some how restrain the need to feed the black hole until 1974,
that's when I destroyed my first human being. I say destroyed because I held back so hard
for so long that when I finally let go I exploded into a ravenous feeding frenzy as
opposed to partaking in a mere morsel of death.
It was only one murder, not a deranged spree, but the blackness overcame me
like a heavy theater curtain. It was so fast and so strong that I vowed to never deny the
demon inside me again. And thankfully he isn't a nasty greedy prick of a beast -- well,
anymore. He just needs one good feeding when he gets hungry. A few times he has even given
me a brief respite and let me go two or three years between feedings but never longer than
that. As long as I keep to his schedule he stays happily in the deepest, darkest recesses
of my mind.
Oh yes, sorry back to 74'. I'll skip the foreplay and get right into the
juicy details, as that's what you really want to know anyway. It was old lady Johnson who
I sliced and diced. She was a seventy-one-year-old widow with no kids and not many friends
left, so no one really knew she was missing for quite some time.
I used what was handy around the house, as I had no real plan other than that
I must satisfy the beast's request. I stuffed a rag in her mouth, covered it with masking
tape and then proceeded to clip her toes and fingers off with wire cutters. I really
enjoyed the sound of snapping phalanges and her muffled cries for help. It wasn't hard to
incapacitate her, just a few thunderous blows to her chest with my fists was all it took.
The fun began when I went downstairs and found a sledgehammer and shovel; one of those
old-fashioned heavy-duty snow shovels. I turned her over on her belly and began to whack
away at her head with the shovel. Oh how I enjoyed that metallic thud as the shovel made
love to ms. Johnson's head.
She was already dead by the time I turned her back over and started to smash
every bone in her body with the sledgehammer. That wasn't satisfying, as all I heard was
the ka-thunk of metal on bone; no cries for help, no squeals
of pain. Nothing!
Out of shear boredom I found every possible sharp instrument in the house and
stuck it into her corpse; knives, forks, scissors and some sharpened pencils rammed into
her eyes, which I thought, was a nice touch. I then aligned
her toes and fingers on the night table and left under the cover of night.
I read in the papers that they didn't find her remains until nine months
later, which by that point in time the case was for all intents and purposes as dead as
ms. Johnson; I put on a pair of her rubber dishwashing gloves before my little macabre
carnival so there were no fingerprints to be found.
Now I know that there are all these forensics shows on cable and TV nowadays
and you're probably thinking what about crime scene evidence? DNA? Blood splatter patterns
and all that sort of thing. This foray into fright was in
1974 and even though in subsequent years I became much more savvy and knowledgeable the
police are simply stupid -- well, not all of them. Hate to make such a blanket statement
like that so let me clarify by saying some of the police
are stupid, not all. The good cops -- and there are some very excellent policemen -- are
overworked, over burdened and shackled by bureaucratic bullshit thus making my opposition
into a bunch of bumbling idiots except for one detective Kirby Smith but I'll tell you
about him later on.
In the years that followed that first incident I became a voracious reader on
all aspects on the techniques of law enforcement, crime scene investigation and forensics.
I also learned all the intricate details of the human body, both through study and real
world hands on training.
There was also something else that kept me ahead of the game, and that was I
kept myself physically fit. I used No fancy equipment and I grew to have great disdain for
those rip-off quick fix gadgets that you'd see on those late night TV infomercials. Hell,
I didn't even have a weight set or belong to a gym. No, my routine was a simple one taught
to me by my father. I think it was his own combination of a Farmer Burns routine and
something he probably learned in the military but I did it faithfully 3-4 times a week
since I was a teenager. It consisted of high repetitions of push-ups and free hand squats
as high as one thousand repetitions (in my 20's and 30's I could do 1,500 but nowadays the
range is 500-750 still pretty good for an old-timer) of each per workout along with
stretching. This not only kept my body taut and strong like an ox it also helped release
some of the steam from the pressure cooker that was the beast inside me.
The main reason that I did all this was that as evil as I might have been
when the beast beckoned; I did enjoy some of the perks of everyday life and didn't want to
spend the rest of it in jail. I really enjoyed going to the movies, horror ones
especially. That Silence Of The Lambs sure was something and that Hannibal Lechter was
quite a character. The only problem I had with the movie was that I wished Hannibal would
have disemboweled Clarice and then fucked her corpse, oh well there is always real life to
fulfill ones fantasies isn't there?
The other thing I enjoyed was music -- from the dark haunting tones of the
Bach cello suites to the thick sludge of distorted, detuned guitars on Black Sabbath
records; Masters of Reality being a particular favorite, though that Born Again album in
83' did bring back fond memories of spinning their earlier records back in 1971. Now I
don't want to sound like an old dry fart but there is something primordial when listening
to the scratchy hiss of records that the cleaned up, well produced CD's just don't have.
They are too clean, too perfect thus eliminating the danger and anger of inspiration.
Yes, I actually liked certain things -- albeit wonderfully dark and scary
things -- but not so strange, lots of people like dark music and movies. Why are you
looking at me so strange? Can't believe someone is capable of taking a life with such
ease? Oh Padre your outlook on humanity is so naïve and hopeful, it's very refreshing but
you are the new kid on the block...wait until you are here for few more years, you'll
develop a thicker skin. So this begs the question as to why I am the way I am. I don't
know, but I don't curse this gift; I love it and thrive in the darkness, though when I was
younger I didn't understand or embrace it the way I do now. I had come to treat it like a
holiday where as before I struggled to control the sinister element coursing through my
veins. Death mixed well with all the joyous days of the year especially Christmas. There's
nothing better than finding your wife under the tree with a branch rammed up her cunt, did
that one in 86'. The poor bastard husband was probably hoping for a new tie or electric
saw and found that instead.
You must be going nuts wondering what happened in my childhood that made me
this way, the truth is -- nothing. I didn't have an incestuous relationship with any
family members. I wasn't molested or beaten. I didn't have brothers or sisters but I was
born to doting parents and no real stress in life. I even had a dog and NO I didn't kill
him, I didn't start doing that until 66' with pigeons in the park (the teenage years are a
rough patch for a lot of kids and I was no different -- well, ok I was a little different
in that my release wasn't booze, drugs or chasing skirts but snapping pigeon necks).
I guess that's what makes me so scary, the fact that by outside appearance I
was semi-normal, the kind of guy that was neither too strange to think oh yeah that guy
was a weirdo nor too upstanding a citizen to where the opposite thoughts would apply I
can't believe that guy was a killer, its always those who seem too nice, too perfect you
have to worry about. Add to that scenario that there were no major tragedies to turn me
into a monster and you have the perfect situation to ask "What the fuck?" So
what gives you might be thinking? Well, again, I don't have a good answer for you; maybe
it's a genetic anomaly where one in every million babies is just born with evil in its DNA
structure, a few helix strands where Satan has left his imprint to fuck with the world. I
honest to god don't know; for me it's just been this feeling that's always been there,
it's normal for me and something I wouldn't change for all the money in the world.
Crazy, you're thinking right? Well, just from that look on your face I can
tell what you're thinking Padre, but fret not, my story gets better and I actually saved
the world from something much more sinister than I ever could be, at least I thought so.
Yeah I might as well get into this story right now.
In late 1979 or maybe early 1980 somewhere in that ballpark I was on one of
my trips. This was just one of many I took but we'll get to that later on and it all ties
in with detective Kirby Smith. Anyway, I was somewhere in
Pennsylvania cant remember the town but I was going across I-80 and saw lots of mountains
and trees, very desolate for long stretches until finally in the middle of nowhere I was
greeted by those golden arches, McDonalds. It was a mini
godsend because not only did I have to drain my dragon I was starving.
So I peed and was walking out with my burgers and fries when this teenaged
girl comes to me hysterical, begging and pleading for me to take her with me. An easy mark
I thought figuring she was just some runaway that no one
would care about. She went on telling how she would give me all the blowjobs I wanted if
I'd just get her out of here.
I took her up on her promise and let her ride with me, I even gave her some
of my burgers and fries, and it looked like she needed it. Her nose was flat and her eyes
were slightly swollen and purple. It looked like she was just starting to get over a good
beating.
She was quiet for the first fifty miles or so except for singing the
roadrunner theme song over and over. "Roadrunner, beep-beep, if he catches you you're
through. Roadrunner, beep-beep, if he catches you you're through."
At this point I had enough of the "beep-beep" and asked her to
please give the singing a break. She did and then asked me "what's up doc? Would you
like me to suck your cock for ya? I do it real good y'know." I declined her offer and
said "Just stop the singing ok -- doc, that's good enough for me." And she did
stop singing but I had the feeling that at anytime she would burst out into song with
"Jimmy crack corn and I don't care." Thankfully that didn't happen.
I'm telling you Padre she wasn't like me she was really crazy. She went on to
tell me that lately she was getting by with her predilection for fucking and sucking
truckers. They were lonely easy idiots she said and when they got out of hand or she got
bored and used them for all they were worth she would kill them. But not with a gun or a
knife she would cut the break lines at night and take off with another idiot. You could
thank her for a lot of innocent lives being lost in those traffic pile-ups along the
interstate. But as for her black eyes, a few days before I picked her up two truckers
cornered her. They raped and beat her in the back of one their trucks before tossing her
to the side of the rode where I picked her up.
Yeah I guess you're supposed to feel sorry for this little devil or as I like
to refer to her as "Cuntus-Diabolicus" (sorry the roadrunner just got stuck in
my head). She was raped by her many stepfathers that came and went and also a few
stepbrothers as well. And come to think of it Padre, step was an accurate word to attach
to this girl because she looked like she had been stepped on her whole life.
I listened to her as she explained how she poisoned her last stepfather and
brother and how she went on to have a tremendous hatred for men. She even started killing
innocent men that were nice to her just because she could.
They were suckers looking for some easy pussy and she fucked them so she could kill them
as they slept. That was her plan Padre, to kill as many men as she could.
Now why would she tell me all this? Well of course she thought I was an easy
score, a sucker if you will; that I would fall for her crying girl in danger, sympathy
bit. I didn't of course, but I did play along even when she pulled a knife from her boot
and put it to my throat.
For nearly three whole minutes I let her think that she was getting the
better of me. And to be honest with you Padre, I kind of enjoyed being the one threatened
during that time; it was a different feeling for me to be on the opposite of side for
once, but it did wear off quickly. She could see that I wasn't afraid and I could see the
evil in her eyes, more like scorn mixed with evil; she did have a good reason to be angry.
When I asked her if she wanted to kill someone her eyes went wide. She looked
deep into my eyes and could see I was serious about this. I turned and said, "someone
other than me, y'know...we'll do it together, just put the knife down." And she did
Padre, she sure damn did.
We drove past this pasture that had horses running about and we could barely
see some light from a house in the distance. The road was so desolate and empty I could
have murdered a thousand people and no one would notice for
quite some time. So I put the car in reverse, went back to the pasture, and pulled the car
off the road. I quickly hatched up this plan for us to feign that she was injured and that
we desperately needed help.
She was really into the idea; subterfuge was numero uno in her bag of tricks.
I told her to cut her self on the arm with the knife and let the blood trickle down her
face and on her clothes; the combo of the blood and her bruised face made for a believable
story. She did what I told her to do without hesitation and slit her forearm fairly deep
with the knife and let the blood drip on her face giving her a gruesome crimson mask.
The car was blocked by some brush so who ever lived in the house couldn't see
it even it wasn't dark out. I got some essentials from the trunk before we left for our
hike: a roll each of duct tape and twine which I shoved in her backpack, a flashlight and
a .38 which I put in my back pocket and off we went.
There was a sturdy wooden fence that we had to hop over and I was a perfect
gentleman by helping my little diabolical cunt over the fence with a push; she landed on
her ass but didn't bitch about it. I then threw over the backpack and flashlight and
hopped the fence with ease.
I was younger then you know Padre and the physical stuff was too easy it was
almost unfair. Anyway, I picked up the backpack and turned on the flashlight. I grabbed
the little cunt by her hand and we headed towards the house. I kept the flashlight facing
down so as to not attract attention; but enough shined so we could see ahead of us.
We went up the right side of the pasture where the woods were thick. When we
got close to the house I shoved the flashlight into her backpack and picked her up in my
arms and started to scream "God, please someone help my
wife." When we reached the porch I put her down and started banging on the door
fervently.
A man in his early thirties peeked
through the window of his door. "My wife...she needs help, we've been in an
accident." I said rich with concern. The man and his wife came out right away to
help. They saw the bloody mess that she was and told to come in right away as they called
911.
That's when we pounced on them Padre. They were just honest citizens doing
the right thing and they paid for it -- too bad, that'll teach you to have compassion for
a fellow human being.
I pulled the gun on them as my little cunt bound and gagged them with the
tape. She seemed to be having a ball torturing the man by putting matches out on his face
as I had myself a glass of ice-cold milk. Gotta have your
calcium to keep them bones strong Padre. Yeah, I know, what a time to worry about
essential nutrients. Anyway, once my little cunt got bored with putting out matches on his
face she went to the genitals and it wasn't a pretty sight when she was done.
After several hours of torture and several glasses of milk I decided it was
time to do the deed. I picked up the shovel from their shed and we marched the two saps
out into the woods behind the house. This was the big kicker Padre. After ms. little cunt
tied the two saps to a tree with the twine I put the gun to her head and handed her the
shovel. "Start digging bitch." I said as her tense blue eyes seared through the
congealed blood on her face.
She was stunned Padre. She really lost it. I guess she felt like we bonded
with each other and would continue on a psychopathic serial killing spree together like
that Oliver Stone movie, but I had bigger plans. I knew she wouldn't give in that easy so
when she swung the shovel at me I was ready for it. I ducked and then pistol-whipped her.
She was a tough one for sure and I needed to deliver a second blow to the back of the head
to knock her out cold.
It was about twenty minutes later when she came to. I already had begun to
dig a pretty decent sized hole when she stumbled to her feet. My original plan was to have
her dig her own grave but that wasn't going to happen so I gave her the shovel -- right in
the face.
Whack.
She went down like a ton of bricks. Torrents of blood began spewing out of
her mouth and nose and she was gagging and choking on it when I laid into her for a second
time.
Thunk.
This time I teed of on her; really got my weight behind it like a home run
hitter and heard all of the bones in her face crack. But she didn't quit so the third,
fourth, and fifth blows came raining down on her. I didn't want to break the shovel so I
let her lay in a moaning, blood mess and went back to digging the grave deep enough.
With my supreme conditioning it was just another twenty-five minutes before I
had a nice four-foot deep grave. The good Samaritans were sobbing and trying to plead for
their lives; they couldn't really speak but I understood
what their muffled moans meant.
I went back to the barely alive "Cuntus-Diabolicus" and pulled out
the knife from her boot. I don't know why I let this bother me but I felt the need to sing
the Roadrunner theme song back to her. "Roadrunner, beep-beep, if he catches you
you're through. Roadrunner, beep-beep, if he catches you you're through."
I don't think she liked my rendition because a barely perceptible moan
escaped her crushed mouth. Gotta feeling that she we would have been much better off if
the Roadrunner caught her instead of me... don't you think Padre? It's ok, you don't have
to agree with my sardonic humor, but I can see it in your eyes that you agree with me.
So anyway, I went back to the suckers tied to the tree and freed the woman.
She seemed so grateful as I pulled the tape over her mouth.
"Please, we will give you anything you want, just let us live." She
pleaded to me.
I pulled the gun from my back pocket and ordered her to her knees as a
mournful look shot out of her sullen eyes.
"Do it or I'll shoot him," I said now aiming the gun towards her
husband.
She replied accordingly as I put a
fresh piece of tape over her mouth. Don't know why I took it off to begin with. I guess
the beast needed to hear a few more desperate cries before it was over.
I then went over to the husband who was absolutely spent by this time; she
really did a number on this guy's penis with those matches and I guess the pain had gotten
to him, breaking his spirit in the process. He fell in a heap as I cut the twine and tape
off of him.
I dragged his limp body over to where his wife was and positioned it so that
he lay prone in front of her. I crossed his arms and gave her the knife.
"I'm giving you just three seconds to plunge that knife into him. Ok?
You can either do it the easy way or the hard way. I could just shoot you and torture him
some more or you could put him out of his misery yourself." I said as I pressed the
gun against her head. She looked up at me like a puppy dog that was afraid of its owner.
She must have resigned to the fact that she was going to die cause she closed her eyes and
didn't move a muscle.
"One...Two...Three!"
I got behind her execution style and pulled the trigger blowing her brains
all over her husband.
Do you think prayers were going through her mind Padre? I think so but I
don't think they helped her much. Well I flung her body into the grave and dealt with the
hubby quickly. The beast was already full so I put a shot into his head and threw his body
on top of his wife's. I thought that was very considerate of me, putting them two together
like that. Till death do us part right Padre?
Now I was left to deal with my battered and bloody
"Cuntus-Diabolicus." I have to give credit where credit is due; she was still
alive after all I did to her. Raspy gasps of air came out of her mouth as I stood over her
pondering over what to do. I could shoot her in the head and make it simple. I could have
whacked her a few more times with the shovel. But I thought she ought to go out a special
way, so I pulled the bodies out of the grave and began to dig a little deeper.
Even though the beast ate like it was a Thanksgiving dinner I felt like I
could shove a little more down his gullet. I dug a full foot deeper. It took me a while
but I got it done. When I climbed out of the grave (which took a little more work now) I
went over to her body and whispered in her ear "I know you can hear me. I'm going to
bury you alive and it will be a horrible death." I then proceeded to throw her body
into the grave and then the couple on top of her. Her rasps seemed to be a bit louder now
in the dead silence of the night. Maybe she knew this would be terrible but I didn't care,
I just wanted to get the grave filled with dirt.
Hey Padre where are you going? Don't call for the guard. Please don't go. Ok,
you need a breather. Will you be back later? I have so much more to tell and you have to
learn how the press dubbed me "Black Angel."
©2004 Bobby Blades |