Blog Short Story Project 3, March 5, 2007. Sponsors: Dave White and Bryon Quertermous. Theme: The required theme was something to do with blogging. What better than to start one?
The Musings of a Serial Maniac
Monday, March 5
Welcome back, mes amis. I apologize for the long absence. I’ve been tied up.
As those of you who have been reading from the beginning know, the melancholy has begun. It’s just not easy living inside a body that you cannot control. I didn’t choose this path. The life chose me.
This was treasure number five. She was delectable, lithe and smooth, and over the next few weeks, we’ll get into all the details. She was the finest triumph thus far, I assure you.
But mes amis, I must confess that I am restless already. According to plan, I stashed her body in the cardboard box, set it by the side of the road, and drove away, leaving her like a present under the Christmas tree of life. Who will find her? What will their reaction be? Will they feel reverence, pity, disgust? Dare I hope for a tingle of excitement? And why am I worried? I feel like I’ve passed some invisible mark, have entered new territory.
I’m ashamed to admit that I drove through town on the way home. I’ve broken protocol. I’ve broken my own rules. It was careless, I know. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from your comments and encouragements is THE GOLDEN RULE—Never Break Any Rules. That’s how we get caught.
Yet as I pulled away from that lonely little box, I couldn’t help myself. I drove through campus, my blood singing in my veins. I watched the innocents and felt myself stir. I don’t know how long I can wait. The raging of my soul will be my downfall, I fear. No, I know.
I must tell you, this blog has become a most therapeutic exercise. Many thanks go out to TeddieB21 for the suggestion. As a community, we all learn from one another.
I’ll join you again tomorrow, mes amis. Until then… Keep on Killin’. Over!
Tuesday, March 6
Mes amis,
I find myself unable to concentrate. I’ve been watching the news, waiting for any word of my treasure’s discovery, and there has been nothing. NOTHING! I’m afraid. Something must have gone wrong. The treasure was left in plain sight. Maybe I should check, see if she’s still there.
I can hear TeddieB21 now, screaming at me through his computer. No, you’re right, buddy. That would be bad. It would be breaking the RULES. Never come back to the scene. I know. I just have this longing building inside of me, and I can’t seem to decide the best thing to do. This happened the last time, with the fourth treasure. It took me three or four days to get over the high, to sate my desire. If I can just get through a couple more long nights, it will be fine, I’m sure.
I drove through campus again this morning. There is another treasure waiting for me to loosen her from the glories of this life, I can feel her. The vibration is back. It’s too soon. I must make it go away.
On a higher note, work went well today. I have been given a promotion. It means a bit more pay, so Donald, I’ll be able to get you your payment for the tapes. They were divine. I highly recommend you seek out Donald and browse through his extensive collection. Those videos have gotten me through many a bad night, I’ll tell you that. I wonder if I’d ever get over my shyness long enough to allow myself to be filmed with one of my treasures?
I’ve rambled on long enough. There’s a movie on soon I’d like to watch. I won’t tell you what it is, because you’ll laugh at me. Suffice it to say I’ll rewrite my own endings.
KOK. Over!
Wednesday, March 7
Mes amis,
They’ve got her!
The delay was my fault. I chose the site poorly. I didn’t realize that there was a short detour on the outside of town that rerouted incoming traffic to Route 41, dropping visitors to the city downtown instead. No matter. She is found now.
The outrage has made my blood simmer with a yearning I’ve never felt before. The fifth treasure is certainly affording me new experiences, and that’s what Elvis54 always says is the most important aspect of our careers.
I TiVo’d all three newscasts. (That second TiVo box certainly comes in handy—ha!) The investigation is in its beginning stages, but as you all know, this is my favorite moment, the second most exciting part of the process. Will they trace her back to me? NEVER! Long Live the Serial Maniac!
KOK. Over!
Monday, March 12
Mes Amis,
Just back from work and heard some very bad news. Smail466 has been taken.
It would behoove all of you to delve deep into your operating systems and remove his correspondence. I’ll be deleting any trace of him from this site immediately. I know it is difficult to do; Smail466 has been the harbinger of many excellent tips and stories since the inception of this blog. But it cannot be helped. He must be exorcised. Such a shame. That moniker, THE BUTCHER OF MONS, was just so lovely. I doubt the Belgian authorities ever realized the double entendre when they bestowed the name.
But let that be a lesson to all you newcomers. Smail466 made a tactical error and broke one of the RULES. He left that print behind in New York fifteen years ago. Always wear gloves, on your hands and on your pricks, mes amis. Why does something so simple become the downfall for so many of us?
Keep On Killin’, and be careful! Over!
KILLING CAROL ANN
Spinetingler Magazine Fall 2006; First Thrills: High-Octane Stories from the Hottest Thriller Authors, edited by Lee Child, Forge Books 2010
I’ve just killed Carol Ann. Sweet, innocent Carol Ann. Her blond hair flows down her back and trails in the spreading pool of blood. What have I done?
***
I’ve known Carol Ann for nearly my whole life. Every memory from my childhood is permeated by the blond angel who moved in across the street when I was five or so. Skipping up the street after the ice cream truck, getting lost in the shadows during a game of hide and seek, watching her sit in the window of her pink room, brushing that glorious hair. We were two peas in a pod, two sides of the same coin. Best friends forever. Forever just turned out to be an awful long time.
Our relationship started as benignly as you’d expect. I’d seen the moving truck leave, knew that a family had taken the Estes’ house. Mrs. Estes died, left her son with bills and a dozen cats. I missed the cats. I’d wondered about the family, then went back to my own world.
Carol Ann spied me sitting on our front step, twirling my fingers through the dandelions in the flowerbeds. Mama had sent me out to pluck the poor, insignificant weeds from the ground, worried they’d ruin her prized flowers. Mama’s flowerbeds were local legend. The best in three states. At least that’s what the members of the garden club said about them. Full to the brim with the heady blooms of gardenias, azaleas, jasmine, roses, sweet peas, hydrangea, daylilies, iris, rhododendrons, ferns, fertile clumps of monkey grass, a smattering of black-eyed Susans… the list went on and on. A green thumb, Mama had. She could make any flower grow and peak under her watchful gaze. All but me, that is. Her Lily.