1. Hallows Eve

One

Hallows Eve

H appy fuckin' Hallows Eve. Do you know what time it is? It's that time of the year when dumb ass, inconsiderate people think they can do whatever they fuckin' please here in town. They assume that they are just scaring people and doing absolutely nothing wrong. They come out to fuck with people who don't do shit to them. I can not stand that shit. It is annoying and pointless.

I never really understood it. But I can't complain too much; it's my hunting season. The time of year when I get to make crimson nights and final moments for those who, in better words, "Fuck around and find out." I mean… As a huntress, my pursuits are not confined to Halloween alone. However, the chaos and disguise of the holiday provide a perfect cover. It's a time when the streets are filled with masked faces, and the unusual is expected, making it a simple matter to blend in and easily conceal my tracks. The festive atmosphere offers an abundance of targets, and the bloodshed goes unnoticed amidst the revelry. On Halloween, the hunt becomes a game, a dance of shadows where I can strike without raising suspicion, slipping back into the night as if I were never there.

The parties and events that get hosted are the best places for me to attend. People who attend them are usually the pricks caught in town tormenting people repeatedly. I will tell you: one thing that drives me to complete and utter rage is bum-ass men who abuse women. I show no mercy to them, and I swore to myself that I wouldn't. I don't care for men as is. I like being alone. Being alone only leaves me to focus on myself.

I like to make ends meet where needed. I'm the fuckin' master at fuckin up people who deserve it, 365 days a year. I don't just go for anyone; I'm a little picky about the ones I choose to brutally fuck up. I savor the hunt, the thrill of the chase, and that final, chilling moment when they realize their fate. Each victim is carefully selected, ensuring they truly deserve the terror that's about to befall them. It is a mix of intuition and a little pinch of justice that can drive me.

I try looking for those who have wronged others in some sort of way, who spread fear and pain without remorse. They mostly range from men who beat on their women to pedophiles who like raping kids. Some days, I'd just get pissed off and take my rage out on some drunk at the bar in town. I show a bit of mercy—nothing a quick trip to the hospital won't fix.

I was a God damn Goddess when it came to protecting the ones who needed it. In my own merciful way, of course. I'm no fuckin' Wonder Woman, and I don't classify myself as a superhero. I guess that I kind of look at myself as more of an antihero because my morals are definitely fucked up. I'm more of a vigilante, I think. I'm like the hero no one wants but everyone deserves.

Autumn is my favorite time of year; the trees start to wither and die. The bright, sunny days turn into cold, gloomy ones. People are more at home, and it's typically the time when I tend to shine most. Holiday seasons are known for pieces of shit to do some unspeakable things.

Last year, a man beat his wife to a bloody pulp for cooking a turkey wrong. He tied up his kids to sit and watch mommy being "punished," and once I heard about it. I had decided that he must be a prime example to those who do the same sick shit. I learned some serious skills in the Army, and I made sure to use them to my full advantage. After the incident, I got medically discharged, and my brain went haywire—my rage unleashed itself like a beast, more often than I'd like to admit. No medication could even attempt to control it. But at least I was clean and precise in my methods, like a surgeon with a scalpel.

The bastard didn't even get jail time because once his wife came out of the hospital, she told the police it was just an accident and made up some bullshit lies to save his ass. Some women feel like they can't survive without their abusive partner, mainly because of financial reasons or in hopes they will change. I have seen it so many times, and it's always the same.

I will take out the trash myself to show those women that they were, in fact, strong enough to do it without them. It's been over a year, so I'm sure the prick thought that he was in the clear. Little did the fucker know I'd be paying him a visit. Soon.

I had ridden my bike around the block they lived on for quite a while now, learning schedules and patterns of the family's routines. Once I had it down, it was go time. I waited for morning on a Monday because that was the busiest day for the mom and kids. She takes them to school, and after that, she goes shopping for groceries and household essentials.

I had my black beauty parked up the street so that I could see when the coast was clear. I made it look like I was working on my bike. The mother and kids loaded up in her car when seven o'clock hit. When I saw that she had left to take the kids to school, the bastard was finally home alone, and it was my time to give him his much-needed ending.

"Fuckin disgusting pig," I whispered under my breath. This prick is sitting on his ass shirtless and wasting away his liver when someone, somewhere, needs one. A half bottle of Jack is sitting on his side table while he's lounged back in a recliner on his phone watching porn.

His volume was so loud I could hear it from outside the window. "Oh yes, Daddy, yes..yes.. yes, oh fuuuck." How is that attractive to a man? You have a fucking wife, you piece of shit. But don't worry, you rotten soul. Tormenta is going to take good care of you. I just needed a good advantage point. I peek around the house to see if I could gain entry somewhere without being seen by neighbors. What do you know? It's like the gods just want me to do this.

I can see an open window that leads to a bedroom. I guess it's one of the kids' rooms because it's very well-mixed-matched. Thankfully, a little jump could get me in, and I didn't have to climb anywhere or break a window. I like to take the easy way if possible, but the more challenging way is way more fun.

Once I entered the room, I stood in complete silence. I didn't even want to breathe because I could hear the pig shifting his position in the chair. I can see in the reflection on a mirror that there is a bedroom next door to this one and a bathroom down the hall. When I take a quick peek out to look for him, I can see what looks like the kitchen.

I began to creep stealthily down the dark hall and enter the kitchen. He is in an angled position facing the front door and is completely unaware of what is happening behind him. The sound on his phone is at its max, and he doesn't even realize I am now in his kitchen. I tried sitting at the table looking tough, but it didn't feel right, so I stood up and went by the counter to lean onto it so I'd be ready for whatever I felt when he walked in here. I had a visual of every entry and exit way here. That seemed to work better for me. My adrenaline started to take over, but I wanted a quick word with this pathetic, low-life piece of shit. So I took a deep breath and let it out as controlled and patiently as possible.

I had my black Ray bans on and high in a tight ponytail. Of course, I wore the sleek black outfit that perfectly fit me and carved out my body and muscles like a goddess. I hear him wacking his disgusting cock just feet away, and I think about sneaking up behind him and just ending him with his junk in his hand and leaving the display for his wife to find so she can see what she missed for taking care of their children. His grunting and moaning noises make vomit slither up my throat, and the phlegm is hard to keep down. I try to relax myself, but I'm just so damn excited. I don't even want to know how fast my heart nows moment. He is so drunk he didn't even notice someone was standing in his own fuckin' house in his damn kitchen.

I can tell his climax is about to reach its peak because instead of a steady rhythm, he begins stroking himself uncontrollably fast. I let him have his moment of satisfaction. As soon as he came, he laid back in his chair, letting his come marinate on his disgusting flesh, resting his head back in pleasure. I take this as an opportunity to make my move. I started to whistle a low "Oh, you fucked up" type of whistle. He jumped up, looking around in confusion. His gaze finally meets with my figure. "Who the fuck are you, and why are you in my house God damn it?" I let out a little annoyed groan. "I am a friend of your wife, I've heard a lot about you, and I have even seen you on the news. It's crazy that a piece of shit like you are out and walking free". His eyes widened, and he quickly stood up and walked towards me. "You crazy bitch! You don't know shit. I'm innocent! That bitch of a wife of mine is crazy and medicated!" I can't blame her on the medicated part. If I were her, I would need something much more substantial to keep me from killing this prick myself.

I stood there for a moment, just taking in what he was saying. Standing tall with my arms crossed over my chest. This mother fucker is plain fuckin' delusional. "You see, I was going to take it easy on you. Tell you that you're a fucked up individual and a piece of shit scum like you don't deserve to live a full life, but regardless I came to cut it short-and seeing you wanted to piss me off even more… I have just one question for you. Did it feel good? You know when you were beating her until she was unconscious? I'm just curious." His eyes were full of drunken rage. But little did buddy know I feed on fuckin' rage.

He pulled his drawers up (Thank God) and quickly approached me. He lunged forward to grab me up, and I smoothly redirected his body by grabbing his arm and throwing it to the left side of me, causing him to stumble and trip over himself. "Tsk. You poor drunk bastard," I laughed. That had to of pissed him off because he got up, pissed, and he tried it again. It almost seems as if we're playing some sort of game, and unfortunately for him, I don't have the time or the patience for games today. Reaching down and taking my bayonet from my thigh, he stood up, stumbling, and charged again, giving me an easy target.

I smacked him in the nose with the bottom of my knife. He reached up to cup his nose, which was spewing blood everywhere, as I quickly slammed him into the kitchen table chair and made a swift motion to get behind him. I leaned in closer to his ear. "You are going to hell, and you will never hurt your wife or those kids ever a fucking again." He was whimpering and begging me to set him free, apologizing even. "Aha fucking pathetic idiot," I spat out.

In one swift motion, I yanked his head back and slit his throat wide open, holding his head firmly until the gushing blood began to slow. He is done after a few minutes and a quick little pulse check. I must have cut the carotid artery almost perfectly. "One more bastard taken out to the trash," I mumbled. I felt kind of bad for the wife because now, not only will what he did to her and her family haunt her for the rest of their lives, but also the time she will need to take to clean the blood I accidentally got on her curtains.

Blood can be a bitch to get out of fabric if you don't know how to clean it properly. However, as for her, I am sure she has become a professional over the years with how much blood the now-deceased piece of shit had caused her to lose.

I picked up his cell phone, dialed 911, and threw it on the table, wiping my gloves off on my jacket on the way out. I hoped for the first responders to get here before the wife did so she wouldn't have to see him like that. Even after all of the abuse some women sustain, they still have trouble leaving their abusers. I see this as a way to help those who can't help themselves. But the bastard deserved it. She should know that.

A killing in broad daylight? I'm fucking lethal. I even made sure to clean up my tracks and closed the window down to where it was cracked before I entered. Once I got to my bike, I took my gloves off. I shoved them in a plastic bag into my backpack and wiped my hand on the end of the exhaust to grab some of the built-up carbon on my bike, I rubbed it on both hands, and I even rubbed my forehead to make it look like I was a real damn mechanic over here.

I saw the police cars begin to arrive. I watched for a second until I saw them kick the door in, and I called it a day after that. Hopping on my bike and into the bright sun, I go. My helmet has a built-in Bluetooth headset, and that shit is fantastic. When I turn it on, it automatically connects to my phone and plays music, and I swear it's like my phone just knows me because the song ‘Made for This' by The Phantoms started playing. If my smile had stretched further, my lips would have split like the Joker's infamous grin.

I had never fit in well with others, so I lurked in the city's shadows, thriving in the darkness where I felt most alive. Strolling through the town and seeing crowds of people smiling, laughing, and cheering reminded me of the fliers posted on every street light and in all the store windows I kept seeing. A busy night was potentially ahead of me. There is a Halloween party tonight, and well, let's just say I had some hunting to do. Luckily, tonight will be a piece of cake. I'll be blending in, that's for sure.

I got the perfect outfit I like to wear for nights like this, including my black tactical pants, which fit my curves just right. My pants carry most necessities, such as my beautiful yet very deadly bayonet that straps to my right upper thigh. I have a sweet little Smith and Wesson 9 mm handgun in my left side pocket that is located by my knee for easy access and easily concealed. Oh, and I can't forget my chapstick–weather like this does nothing nice to my soft and perky lips.

I also got a long-sleeved black turtleneck that hides most of my upper body, especially my tattoos. Black boots that have you looking at your reflection when I walk by. Or, in most cases, when I have someone begging for their pathetic life on their knees. Man, tonight was going to be exciting.

I get on my phone to check where the party is and what time it starts. I know better than to go when it first begins because that would give me opportunities to do something that could fuck up my whole operation, and I'll be damned if I help set up a party I just may destroy. I will give it some time to get busy. Meanwhile, I'll finish my outfit by putting my hair up in my military-styled bun, slicked back to perfection, and grab my classic Ghostface mask that made me, well…me.

"Time to do some rounds," I muttered under my breath. I took a glance in my full-size body mirror to make sure I looked like I was actually going to a party and not mercilessly killing anyone. I hope that tonight brings me some much-needed release. I don't think I will be making a bloody massacre; just a bit of fun. My beautiful black beauty is parked in my garage next to my gray Toyota Camry—two of my most prized possessions. I climbed on top of her, opened the garage door, and shuffled out before she roared to life. I gave her a little gas to hear her purr for me. Man, she is so damn sexy.

My Suzuki Hayabusa was any man's dream bike (if they have excellent taste and are smart like me), and she's been through everything with me. I maintain her well and keep her in pristine condition. I throw my Ghostface mask in my backpack, put on my helmet, complete with a customized skull design, and head off into the darkness, patiently awaiting my arrival.

The street lights blur into strobe lights as I tear down the highway, fueled by pure adrenaline. The road is a sea of traffic, but I'm weaving in and out like a high-speed video game, all while blasting ‘Feel Invincible' by Skillet. It is moments like this that remind me why I do what I do. There's nothing quite like feeling high on life, with the wind rushing past and the music pumping through my veins, making me feel unstoppable. Tonight is going to be chaotic. I can already sense it.

While doing rounds, I spotted a ma-and-pop shop where teenagers were fuckin' with the elderly owner. "Nothing beats a little pregame warm-up," I say to myself. I parked my bike across the street, where the trees cast ominous shadows, making my bike blend in and become invisible to the naked eye. I put my helmet on the seat, trading it out for my Ghostface mask and strutting my way over to the pricks who should pick on someone who can defend themselves. There are four of them and one of me. I like these odds. As I close in on them, I hear the older lady yelling, "ayúdame! ayúdame!" Have no fear the devil herself is here, amiga.

I stood about 5 feet away and started to whistle the tune from The Hunger Games. All four of them stopped in their tracks and refrained from terrorizing her, now focused on me. Perfect. One of the guys looked around as if he was looking for someone else I was whistling to in confusion. "I'm glad you have good hearing compadre. How about fuckin' with someone up to your speed, huh?" The confused look on his face was priceless. His head tilted to the side, and his brows furrowed.

He turned to his buddies and started laughing. "Look at this crazy pendaja, what the fuck does she think she's doing here?" And another one chimed in, "Let's have some fun with her." Tsk, tsk, tsk. These fuckin' idiots have no idea what's in store for them.