My First Kill Scene

Here is an excerpt from the horror manuscript I’m currently writing…

No one suspects a thing.

It is because of the voices that he is here tonight in wait. They told him to silence the harlot. They told him to kill Cheryl for what she had done. He is helpless to refute their commands. And so he will kill her.

She had nearly gotten into the car with her sibling after the game. That would have ruined everything. But she decided to walk. The voices were happy with that.

He peeks out one eye from behind the rhytidome pillar, careful not to be seen. She is a ways away but she is growing on the horizon. She is beautiful. Like a princess. Her blonde strands shimmer under the moonlight. Her skin is milky and soft. The way her hips sway hypnotically as she walks enraptures him. His veins course with exhilaration and the inside of his mouth is wetted by new saliva.

He tightens his grip around the knife handle and falls back behind cover. He waits. He counts to ten. He peeks one eye out from behind the tree for a second time. She is seven houses away. Seven trees. The breeze that passed through him moments earlier reaches her, tossing back the golden tips of hair sweeping her shoulders. She braces the intercourse but shows no signs of displeasure. She is content. She is sure-footed.

She doesn’t suspect a thing.

He returns behind the tree and takes a breath. He listens to the throaty belch of vagabond crickets in the grass. He listens to his throbbing heartbeat inside his chest and ears. Most of all, he listens to the absence of the voices.

Her footsteps draw closer, pattering along the sidewalk. She is humming a gentle melody to herself; Her voice is exquisite.

He fantasizes slicing open her voice box and watching the sheets of red-black blood cascade down her neck, over her collarbone, toward her breasts.

Anticipation bubbles and boils. Shivers run through his limbs like lightning. He is ready to proceed.

He steps out from behind the tree, concealing the knife behind his back. He walks toward her like he has been strolling for some time and conducts himself as if he is incognizant of her trajectory.

She is three houses away when she notices him approaching. She is unprepared for the recognition that follows. He allows his glance to meet hers. He smiles benignly, portraying a mirrored reticence. This will disarm her, he believes. For a moment her stride latches and she considers crossing the street. She abruptly decides against it. She believes him to be innocuous. Truly, she does not know him at all.

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