Chapter 8

The split muscle of my tongue dances in my mouth as I drag the pad of my thumb up and down my phone screen, rereading mine and Blair's texts. Long gone are the days of our Instant Messenger chats, but she makes it too damn easy for me to communicate with her by foolishly keeping the same phone number for all these years. Sure, she's blocked every number I've texted her from, but as long as hers stays the same, it's just a matter of me getting another burner phone to harass her from.

Whoever said time heals all wounds was either in serious denial as to how suffering works or fortunate enough to have never suffered at all. I've had plenty of time to move on from what Blair did to me, but I don't want to. Not until I break her like she deserves. Then, and only then, will the hostility between us be laid to rest, in the ground…where it belongs.

Forcing myself to peel my attention from where it is glued to our conversation, I close the text. I'll see you soon baby. But first I've got a job to do, since someone can't seem to stop stabbing people to death.

I know I shouldn't keep cleaning up after her. Even though I enjoy the spike of adrenaline that comes with ending lives, I can't help but feel like I've become her permanent clean up crew and it's getting old. Especially because Blair is fucking relentless with her need to kill anyone she feels like, justified or not. If I wasn't so obsessed with having all the collateral that I can possibly have on her, I'd find her inability to execute a thorough murder from death to disposal pitiful. It doesn't seem to matter how careless she may be, the fact remains that I've never encountered anyone so striking and capable of making me feel lust and anger all in one breath quite like she has – and I likely never will.

The thrill of watching from a distance, of scaring her into submission, that's what truly motivates me to keep finding ways to manipulate our paths crossing by holding her sins at ransom. If she were to get caught, how am I supposed to chase her?

"Women," I shake my head, breaking the silence that fills the confines of my shed, "can't live with them and can't live without them. Am I right?" My raspy voice drags as I reach for the wooden handle of my trusty steel shovel that is propped on the wall to the side of the bench.

With my shovel in hand, my booted feet move to where a bright blue tarp rests on the floor. The polyethylene crunches beneath my feet until I pause, positioning myself in front of the corpse that rests on top of the tarp, naked and full of multiple puncture wounds that range in size.

"What did she do to you?" I click my tongue, observing the countless slits and gashes that cover the upper half of what once was a reporter for the local paper. "Take this as a lesson learned, my friend. It's always better to keep your mouth shut. Don't want to upset a deranged killer." Let alone two. I chuckle at the sarcasm in my own words.

Releasing one of my gloved hands from where it's curled around the handle, I bring a flat palm to the mess of auburn hair that's matted down by dried blood. "Not much for conversation, huh?" I joke, patting the crown of the lifeless head. Judging from the deep hue of reddish purple that has taken over his body, livor mortis has begun to set in. "That's okay, I think you got the message. Now don't worry, you won't feel a thing." Sorry buddy. No one punishes my hellcat except for me.

My words echo against the wood walls of my new shed. Since moving I made sure to make a place that I can call my own aside from the main house. A soundproof oasis of sorts. That way only my ears will be the ones plagued by the shrill sound effects of those who are on my execution list. Bringing work home, even in the secluded lot I purposely chose to relocate to, can be tricky. I've gone this long evading the law, I don't need them sniffing around now.

Removing my gloved hand from the bloodied head, I bring it back to the shovel as I rise to my feet. I love this part. Sure, the killing is fun but it's the post-kill ritual that really excites me. From all my years of working with Cam, I've become a bit of a professional decapitator. While unnecessary, it sure is fun. Not to mention, once the skulls are skinned and preserved, they make for unique pieces of décor that give the shit they sell at HomeGoods a run for its money.

Making sure the sharpened edge is just below the protruding larynx, which makes for a cleaner cut, I bring my boot to the step of the shovel. Just as I'm about to strike my weight down onto the dead flesh, my phone vibrates against my pocket, completely pulling me out of the zone.

God damn it, today.

Frustrated, I pin the shovel beneath one arm as I reach for my phone with the other.

Cam Moeder: I hope you aren't where I think you are

Me: That depends, where do you think I am?

Cam Moeder: Don't be an ass.

Cam Moeder: You're cleaning up after her again, aren't you?

Me: Maybe…

Cam Moeder: I warned you years ago to end it.

Me: I will…tonight.

Cam Moeder: I'll believe it when I see it.

Placing my phone back in my pocket, I crack my neck from side to side. "Alright, where were we?" I mumble, securing the handle of the shovel between both eager palms. My foot back in place, I begin to drive the steel tip of the shovel blade just below the larynx. The crunching of cartilage feels like music to my ears. I wriggle the shovel against the web of veins that it"s currently cutting through for a few seconds before raising the shovel midair. Since the head is close to being fully severed, I decide to use my upper body strength to finish the job. A few forceful strikes later, the freshly severed head rolls, exposing a broken sea of veins and shattered cartilage.

I had every intention of doing all this earlier, but the disposal of her other kill from this week took longer than I anticipated. If she doesn't realize that this is what true love is, I don"t know what will make her see how dedicated to my obsession I am with her.

Now, for the fun part…preserving the skull. Though I'm a little disappointed because this isn't my ideal process. I usually wait a day or two before I begin work on the skull. Typically, I first focus on getting the body over to the incinerator that one of my childhood friends, Carmine, has at his family's warehouse just outside of town. However, when I spoke to him earlier, he told me it's currently occupied so until I can get this dead weight over to the Moretti warehouse, I'll need to make use of the deep freezer I have in the shed.

Grabbing the severed head by the mop of messy hair, I place it on my workbench, reaching for my scalpel. With careful precision, I bring the blade to each of the eyeballs, cutting them out of their sockets. Before I begin to peel the skin, I make sure to cut away any pesky veins that hang from where the neck once anchored the head. Once the eyes are gone and the veins are trimmed back, I can begin removing the dead flesh.

Angling the sharpened tip of the blade so that it dips into the dead tissue, I press a firm and steady hand on the handle as I begin to glide the scalpel through the skin. Starting at the patch of flesh where the hairline and ear flirt with each other, I continue cutting my way to the other side so the skin can peel off the scalp with ease. From there I work my way down the forehead to cheeks and then the chin, until everything is gone. Leaving a skull that's so perfect, so pristine that those plastic ones in the stores around this time of year look like a fucking joke.

Reaching for my respirator mask, I drape it over my head grabbing the small vat of acid that will melt the remaining flesh in a matter of seconds. That way it will help streamline the process and I can put it with the other gifts I have collected to give my little hellcat. Speaking of which, I wonder if she received my gift, I had delivered for her this evening at Satan's. Just in time to throw her off for the Horseman's Hollow Duel that I know she is already dreading.

Excitement stirs within me as I set the timer on my phone, so the acid has enough time to eliminate any pesky skin or tissue that still remains on the skull, but not too long that it begins to disintegrate the bone itself. As I watch the flesh begin to melt away, a ghost from my past presents its eerie voice within my head. It's both comforting and unsettling how, at the most random times, I can hear my father's voice within my memory, so crisp and clear, like he's here talking to me.

"Anniversaries are important son,"his voice whispers, both haunting and soothing my psyche.

Yes, they are. The good ones and the bad ones.

Which reminds me, as the timer's beep begins to assault my eardrums, that after I place the latest trophy onto the mantle, I need to text Cam's business associate to confirm the burial plot I requested to be dug up will be ready in time.

As I lift the now flesh free skull from the acid, my mind begins to race, fantasizing about how beautiful my little hellcat will soon look below ground as she does above it.

* * *

2008

Boogeyman_Of_Haddonfield_31: You live in Sleepy Hollow right?

FinalGirlRocks_666: Umm yeah, why?

Boogeyman_Of_Haddonfield_31: Nothing, I'm just surprised you aren't into the whole Headless Horseman thing. I mean it's paranormal lore and you live in the heart of it, there is a lot of potential there…

FinalGirlRocks_666: Don't get me wrong, the paranormal aspect is hot, but I've always gravitated towards slashers. No frills, no ghosts. Just evil and a knife. There's no better match.

Boogeyman_Of_Haddonfield_31: So that's why you're obsessed with Michael Myers? I mean he's cool and all but there are so many good slashers out there, what is it about him that

FinalGirlRocks_666: Gets me going? =P

Boogeyman_Of_Haddonfield_31: I mean yea haha.

FinalGirlRocks_666: Ahhh, what a loaded question…where do I start?

FinalGirlRocks_666: Ok, first…the mask…*drool*

FinalGirlRocks_666: Oh and the confident saunter. The fact he knows he can kill whoever his target is. No matter how fast they run. No matter where they hide. Their death belongs to him. It's inescapable.

FinalGirlRocks_666: Oh and let's not forget…he doesn't talk…ever!

FinalGirlRocks_666: Masked, confident, tall, stabby?! AND keeps quiet?!

FinalGirlRocks_666: He's the ultimate stabby daddy

Boogeyman_Of_Haddonfield_31: Hey now!

Boogeyman_Of_Haddonfield_31: As the Boogeyman of Haddonfield *underscore* 31…I take offense to that

FinalGirlRocks_666: Awww, how cute. You're jealous? What…you want to be my daddy?

Boogeyman_Of_Haddonfield_31: Among other things =P

FinalGirlRocks_666: Sorry facts are facts Boogeyman. Michael is daddy.

Boogeyman_Of_Haddonfield_31: Noted…