Prologue
Now where in the world did this go wrong? I think to myself as I reach into my back pocket and pull out a small boxcutter that my best friend Amy gave me for my birthday earlier today. Such a peculiar gift but a fitting one as I push the blade out slowly, tilting it just so to see the moonlight glint on the blade. I look down at the body to my left, looking like a ragdoll just tossed haphazardly by a small child with it's limbs bent at awkward angles.
I bend down and roll the body over a bit to get a clear sight on where would be the perfect finishing slash. I then see what It's wearing. A black hoodie with a picture of Ghostface and dark blue jeans with white shoes to compliment the look. A classic douchebag outfit. Just as a precaution, I put two gloved fingers to the throat to make sure I haven't rushed anything.
I count out 5 excruciating seconds where the silence of doing so roars loudly in my ears as it meets with the crashing of my adrenaline and loud beating heart. With all these internal noises, a part of me is worried a passerby may hear everything and next thing I'd know, they'd whip out a phone and cops will come running.
Soon, I feel the thready but pulsing throb and I let out a sigh of relief as I push the blade of the boxcutter back in and stash it away in my pocket where it was a moment before. I don't need it just yet. I need to find a dumping site first. I stand up then and scan around the quiet opening of the park and notice a tall, wiry black fence lit up only by dim streetlights nearby. I sigh and host the body up as if I was carrying a drunk friend home and head straight for the fence ahead.
Once I arrive, I drop the body and hear a soft thunk as it hits the hard ground. I briefly glance at it to make sure nothing was damaged then I look back at the fence and notice it had an old padlock on it. I curse under my breath as I peer through the bars and what I see makes a cold smile spread across my face. In many rows, I see pale white headstones and realize that I'm in a fucking cemetery.
The perfect place to hide a dead body. In the midst of my excitement, I almost didn't hear a faint grunt beside me. I whip around quickly to find the body sitting up and it's hood slides off as they groggily rub their head.
Panicking, I lean in front of the person and see that it's actually a guy. A really cute guy. Damn this job just got interesting. Once the guy's eyes seem to focus, he looks at me and opens his mouth to speak as confusion and fear dance across his features.
I then throw a quick punch to knock him out and just like that, he's out. Just as soon as his head hit the ground again, shake my hand in pain. I need to hurry this shit up before something else unexpected happens.
I look quickly for a way inside the cemetery when I see a small hole on the side and I look at the guy and then back at the hole, trying to calculate if he would fit without leaving evidence of cut skin or torn clothing.
I shrug and decide to clean up the scene if need be on my way out and I hoist the guy up again, heading towards the hole where i set him down, making sure to prop him up like he was sleeping against it and I shimmy my small frame through with ease. I then turn and grab tightly onto the guy's shoulder's and yank him through in one motion and don't hesitate to find a home for this kid.
I spot a shovel laying on top of a crate on the far side and I run over to grab it. I walk around the rows and rows of gleaming, pale headstones trying to find a blank one. Finally, in a small corner of the graveyard that seems to be completely overlooked unless you are actively looking for it. I smile to myself as I soon begin to dig a hole and occasionally glance at the slumped kid leaning against a headstone a mere 4 steps away.
Soon, once I get a good depth, I head over to the body and hoist him over my shoulders, and hobble my way over to the hole and toss him in. A dense slap could be heard as his body hits contact with the cold hard dirt.
I wince despite myself and dust my hands off, admiring my hard work and smile coldly. "This was always your fear apparently. The same as many." I say as I start to see guy stir once again. I grin menacingly as I grab the shovel and scoop up some nearby loose dirt and begin dumping it on him, moving quickly, my adrenaline fueling every scoop. Soon screams of fear light up the quiet air around us.
Scowling, I drop a couple scoops of dirt in his gaping mouth, watching as he hastily spits it out in every direction. I walk over to where his head is and squat down, looking into his fear-ridden eyes and find myself beginning to get cold feet, feeling his fear snake through my heart. I soon turn my gaze to my progress, seeing him being halfway buried and I laugh at his misfortune.
The guy, who seems so few of words, suddenly snaps. "What are you laughing about you monster?" I snap my gaze back toward his striking cold blue eyes that are now penetrated by the moonlight.
"Monster?" I ask, mildly offended. "Monsters are ugly and messy. Whilst this job proves to be just that, I am not what you call a monster." I smile sweetly and he stills, now overcome completely by fear. Now certain he is done with further conversation, I continue my work. Once I am finished, leaving just a couple patches of dirt left for his face, He askes me, "Why are you doing this?"
I pretend to think thoughtfully and I walk over to him once again, squatting down but I lean in this time so he can hear what I say next very clearly.
I quietly pull out the boxcutter and slide it out, keeping my eyes on him and I whisper in his ear, "Because you, Mark, are a killer yourself." His face pales impossibly so in the blackness of the night and I bring the blade up to his neck and slide it from ear to ear in quick succession.
His eyes widen as blood gushes everywhere, I simply clean the blade off with my shirt. "Do you see that Mark? This is messy and now you know how Amy felt when you killed her."
As the light and fear begin to fade from his eyes, I cover the rest of his face up and swiftly walk over to where I'd first found the shovel and put it back. I then take a lighter and burn the words,
Mark Woods
Served Amy to God sooner than he needed.
Suddenly overcome with rage, I let out a brunt scream and get up brushing the dirt off of my clothes the best I could. I then walk over to the hole to check for any fabric. I shake my head once I find nothing.
I get out the way I came and as I walk home, I pull my phone out to call someone. With my adrenaline burnt out, I felt tired but I needed to come up with an alibi. I can only think of one number I want to call on a night like tonight.
I call Amy's.
I hear the dial tone then Amy's voicemail intro and it's enough to make me stop walking and almost break down crying.
"Hey, It's your gal pal Amy! If you are my best friend, you already know what to do girl. Everyone else, I think you got the wrong number."
I laugh sadly. I remember laughing so hard when she would come up with different skits and intros to find the perfect voicemail. To think, one minute we were laughing about this and the next I was silent, watching as paramedics rolled her lifeless body on a stretcher, her pretty face covered by the white sheet as mine were flooded by tears. I watched the house go up in flames and blood everywhere.
All I remember after that was a blur of typical adult comfort when a kid goes through something traumatic. Its nauseating to think about. I blink back to the present and continue walking home.
"Goodbye Amy."
Where the only words I could speak before I feel those quiet tears fall from my eyes just like that cold, cold night.
