The Berserk Murders

Day 1 - Sunday

“Jason, can you put the potatoes on?” Chamilla was whipping cream for the peach cobbler. “We’ve only got an hour before guests start showing up.”

Jason Arden felt irritation, fiery red bubbles of it. He’d been feeling this sort of detached rage lately. It surprised him, and now it was growing worse. Maybe he needed to see a doctor. He scratched his nose. Some sort of pollen in the air, despite the long summer days and the world way past blooms and on the brink of decay.

“Yeah babe. I’ll get the potatoes as soon as I turn the ribs.” Jason prided himself on his ribs. He’d spent a few years in Kansas City and had learned the proper BBQ techniques of making ‘fall off the bone’ KC-style ribs. He went outside and lifted the lid on the smoker, poked at the meat, and turned the ribs, then gently set the lid back down. Their first neighborhood BBQ. The last one had been in Colorado last year on Labor Day. Jason and Chamilla always loved having people over. They’d moved to Chicago just a few months ago, and this would be the first time meeting their neighbors. Jason went back inside to cut and peel the potatoes for the potato salad. His daughter flitted by, heading for her room. He called to her, “Emily, can I see you for a moment?”

Emily stopped mid-stride and rolled her eyes. “What?”

“Did you invite any of your friends for dinner tonight?”

“All my friends are back in Colorado,” she said, arms crossed, her teenage parent-hatred clear. Emily was tall for her fifteen years. She had soft facial features like her mother. Her skin tone was light cocoa, and she had eyes that were normally friendly and cheerful, but not today. Emily had been the co-founder and leader of the LGBTQ Club (she hated it when Jason called it a club) back in Colorado, and being new to Chicago, she felt violated and ripped from her roots.

Emily scratched her nose. That disconcerted him. “You having allergic reactions?” he asked her. “My nose keeps itching too.”

“Whatever Dad, can I go now?”

“Shoo, go.” Jason waved a hand as if he didn’t care. He supposed he was pretty normal in the dad department, but he wished that the teenage years would move more quickly out of his life. He and Chamilla had talked about having other children, but it just never happened. Once Emily had gotten to be school age, they decided it was for the best not to have any more, and Jason had gotten a vasectomy. Too many people in the world, they rationalized. We don’t need to be adding more than one.

The doorbell rang, and Jason answered the door. It was the Indian couple from next door. Amala and Hardeep had no children yet. Amala was a doctor and interning at the local hospital. Jason wasn’t sure what Hardeep did for a living, but that was why they had these shindigs, to get to know their neighbors.

Soon, three more couples arrived, some with children. One boy looked to be about fifteen, and Jason caught him eyeing his daughter. He smiled at what he knew was going to be the boy’s disappointment.

Then a picture flashed in his head. Jason burying a knife in the boy’s chest. He frowned and nearly dropped the potato salad on his way out to the patio. What was that?

The evening went well, but Jason felt his nose itching more than usual. He felt the growing heat of anger rising as well. More flashes of homicidal acts appeared when he looked at any of his neighbors. Once or twice, he caught both Chamilla and Emily scratching their noses, too. There must be something in the air.

That night, after everyone had left and everything was cleaned up, Emily fighting them every inch of the way, Jason waited until he was sure his wife and daughter were asleep, and then he went out prowling. He told himself he just needed to take a walk. He often took walks at night, with nothing but crickets chirping or the sounds of traffic. It was soothing. He didn’t let himself think about the six-inch blade he had folded in his pocket. The night air would do him good. It would quench the roiling, white-hot rage that seemed to be building in him.

Jason spotted a late-night walker. He slowed down, staying quiet and unnoticed, doing his best to not alarm his prey. Ahead of him, walking under a streetlight, was an overweight man in jogging clothes. Jason figured maybe the guy was too ashamed of his body to jog during the day. Or maybe he just worked a lot, and this was the only time he had to exercise. Whatever his excuse, this man was soon to be scratching the large itch Jason felt right now. The itch in his nose was maddening now. Maybe it was a physical symptom of his inner turmoil. Turmoil being a soft word for the raging, red, molten compulsion taking over his body and his mind.

Jason wanted to get this done and then get home. He had beer chilling in the garage refrigerator. But first, he had to satisfy this urge before it drove him completely insane. Jason was, by profession, a software coder and trainer, a desk jockey. Just another cog in the giant wheel of humanity. But lately he had felt a growing darkness in him. He had no idea where it came from, or why it was now threatening to engulf him with a rage that was so strong it left no room for much else. The evening breeze smelled nice. Jason and his family lived near enough to Lake Michigan that the water freshened breeze cooled the summer evenings. Jason stopped when he heard a pebble rolling on asphalt, but that was all he heard. He continued on, following the late-night walker. This growing need in him had finally gotten to the point that if he didn’t find a release, he was likely to wake up one night, grab a cleaver out of the kitchen, and butcher his wife or daughter. Or maybe both. He scratched his nose again and continued following the overweight guy.

The man jogged on, Bluetooth headphones lodged in his ears, making it a pleasant experience for the jogger but easier for Jason. He moved closer, caressing the knife in his pocket. His breath quickened, his heartbeat faster. He felt like he’d just got the prom queen naked and realized that he was about to get laid. He pulled the blade out and carefully opened it.

Closer, just a few more steps now. He couldn’t help salivating. He slid the knife out of his pocket and felt his anticipation build to a near intolerable level. The feeling of the blade’s cold steel felt sexual to him and made him instantly hard as a rock. He glanced around and made sure there was no one close. He’d chosen this spot carefully. The walker was headed towards the freeway. There were no homes near there with inconvenient cameras pointed towards the road. Just an empty baseball field on one side and tall concrete pillars holding up a freeway on the other.

Jason had patiently prowled this neighborhood, looking for this exact circumstance, this type of person who would be easy prey. It made him feel like a predator, maybe a big cat. Part of him felt nauseated at the urge to spill blood, but only a small part.

He crept a little closer. He could hear an Offspring song coming from the man’s earpieces. He raised the knife just as they were about to pass under the freeway, getting ready to thrust the cold steel into the warm human flesh, when something crashed into Jason’s victim, sending the large man sprawling and instantly igniting a rage in Jason.

He’d been denied his kill, and he was not going to let this moment pass. His mind and body were consumed with need, but when he saw the person who had attacked his prey look up at him, he stopped in shock. It was his daughter.

“Emily?” he said in surprise.

“Dad? What are you doing here?”

Before he could answer, there was another voice. “What are you both doing here?”

From the darkness, Chamilla appeared, knife in hand.

His urge grew even stronger when Emelia sank her knife into the fat man. The prey’s gurgling was too much for Jason, and despite the presence of his wife and daughter, he came in his pants. He looked down and saw red bubbling out of the man’s stomach wound.

“You should go for the heart, sweetheart,” Chamilla told her daughter. “It makes less mess.” “I like mess,” Emily told her, then stabbed the man again. Jason was still breathing hard. Watching his daughter kill had alleviated his burning need a little, but it still had a hold on him. He could feel it growing hotter and stronger again. He looked at his daughter and then his wife. From his small cage deep inside his mind, the Jason trapped in there wondered how this had happened to them. They had been just another fucked-up but still fairly normal family before this. Chamilla obsessed with working out, Emelia obsessed with her phone and social apps. Something had happened to them. Something had crept into them. The urge to kill. The same urge he saw in his wife’s eyes as he looked at her ‘let’s do it’ smile. Her hand was raised, and Jason didn’t register what was in it at first. By the time he did, it was too late for Jason. The urge didn’t matter, its origin didn’t matter, the only thing that mattered for the rest of his life was the knife sticking out of his chest and lungs that could not get air. He fell with a look of total surprise aimed at his wife. His world grew dim, and the last thing he heard was his wife say to his daughter, “We need to start hunting in different areas.”