Give him a good old-fashioned slaughter of the emotions any old day. To curtail the enjoyment by killing seemed to him unnecessary, pointless. Kiss the girls and make them cry-Georgie Porgie was his kinda guy: a man with a righteous attitude. He loved to hear the high edge of hysteria that colored their voices when they begged to see their eyes stretched by terror as the cool point of his knife caressed their throats, their faces, their breasts to feel the futile resistance of feminine muscles violently breeched. No, for him it was the thrills derived from hurting and terrorizing he’d opt for those any old time, reveling as he did in his victims’ fear. Not that he harbored any particular moral objections to murder he simply didn’t get his kicks that way. He wasn’t a killer, but that night he teetered dangerously close to becoming one. and all’s well that ends well, he always said. It was his show, though, all the way so naturally it worked out just fine. For a while there matters got a little dicey before he finally managed to get a handle on everything. He was brilliant-anyone seeing him would have had to admit as much. It was, in fact, a downright shame that aside from ole Bess there was no one around to witness his performance. Everything went like clockwork at first, too, just as he’d expected.
It was another full moon he felt invincible and full of purpose when he set out.
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