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In the quiet little town of Bible Hill, there are predators. One of them is going to learn the terror of being the prey.

Dave Murray
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In the quiet little town of Bible Hill, there are predators.

Even now, one of them was prowling. Driving along the darkened streets in the black SUV that had been his gateway to many tasty adventures. His body thrilled with the chill night air through the open window, and the suite by Mahler playing quietly on the stereo. Joey Pound was no ordinary predator though. He was a hunter of a different, more malevolent sort. He had always fancied himself as the pleasurable face of merciful compassion, as well as the ultimate judge and tool of destruction.

He even had his own special tool, nestled lovingly in his lap. It was nothing more than an iron pipe crammed deep into a rubber bicycle handle, but the fact that the sharp end of it was sawn off at a wicked looking angle and buffed to razor perfection made it all the more precious to him. Because no matter how young or old his prey, no matter how unwilling, Johnny could always make his own holes to play with.

Sometimes he sat, silent and staring, outside of the chain link fence surrounding The Yard, where the children of Sefton Elementary school played with wild recess abandon. So close, those innocent little pigtails and bright frilly dresses, but so out of reach. No one seemed to notice him on those occasions, and he imagined himself to be the perfect predator, a chameleon even in this bustling daylight town. He would sit and watch, until it became too much for him, and he had to return home, unsatisfied and angry.

But tonight was different. Tonight he was letting the beast in him out to play.

Joey needs his pound of flesh…

He giggled at his own pun, as he turned the large but economical vehicle down a side street he had come to know all too well.

In the small university district on the other side of the Jericho River from Bible Hill, so tantalizingly close to the gated community of affluent families called Riverside, there lay a street that teemed with life after dark. College kids out for a thrill, a drunk or a grope in the clubs and bars along Hawthorne, barely a cop to be found, and what thrilled Johnny the most were the girls. Not the bubbly co-eds in their short skirts and tube tops, with their tight bodies and ample pleasures. No. They thrilled him, but not on a night like tonight. Tonight he only had eyes for the special girls. The ones who would do anything for the sweaty wad of bills he always kept in his pants pocket.

On nights that were very rare, it would be young boys. But for the most part it was girls. Most of them that walked the street either looked too old, or were in fact too old, to suit his tastes. He hungered for younger fare, fodder for the beast that seethed and yearned for his schoolyard fantasies. He must have driven this street over a thousand times, and it was usually the same crowd of girls, predators like himself, hustlers in the trade of flesh and fleeting satisfaction. Tonight he made three passes, looping around the block to take look after look, before he found her.

She caught his attention immediately, despite the deep well of shadow that she stood in, leaning against a wall holding herself tightly. She looked far younger than she must have been, he thought. What was odd was her posture, innocent and almost terrified to be out here on the street on a chilly October night. He was already attracted, captivated, but when he saw her eyes, he was hers.

She had eyes the colour of a winter sky, a light blue fading almost imperceptibly into white. Even from the shadow, her large, doe-like eyes stared out at him and drew him in. He barely needed to say a word as he rolled down the window, and she was walking to his car. Without a word she was inside and sitting next to him, still staring at him with those innocent eyes. He thought for a moment that he saw a hint of fright in them, but she smiled sweetly at him. This was all too easy. Joey had always been easy to look at, which was one of the things that added to his skill as a hunter.

He asked her name. Krimsyn, she said, with a K. She even spelled it for him. Such a gorgeous name. Such an odd little creature where she sat next to him, breathing sweetly from between her chilled and pouting lips. She looked like she was about twelve years old, although he knew she must be older than that. Maybe a runaway or a pro, he had no idea, and she offered none. She was small and slight, dressed in a very tiny shirt revealing tantalizingly small breasts, and a pleated grey skirt that barely covered her small legs when she sat down. Her feet didn’t touch the floor, but rather rocked to and fro as she swung her crossed ankles.

The beast in him was building, and Joey licked his lips in anticipation, reaching down beside his seat to finger the sharp edge of his tool with loving familiarity.

When he suggested a hotel, she sweetly whispered in the darkness of the car that his place would be perfect.

It was all too easy.

It was a short drive, only ten minutes outside of town, off of a dirt road along the highway to Oakdale. Another mile in stygian darkness and soon they reached the welcoming lights of the home of Joey Pound. There was not a neighbor for miles around, which was just the way a man like Joey wanted it.

When he stopped the SUV and got out, she waited quietly in the darkness for him to open the door for her. She hadn’t said a word for the entire drive, and if he hadn’t been thrilling as to what was in store for the night, he would have been uneasy. Opening the door, he offered his hand to her, and she took. Her fingers were so small in his hand. A shiver ran through him.

He showed her into his house, this beautiful little girl who stared with passive wonder at everything she saw, who touched every surface that was near to her as if memorizing the house. Joey licked his dry lips again. She had come willingly, without any need for histrionics or messy violence. That part could wait.

As they walked through the house, he noticed how small she really was, as his large frame towered over her, casting the same kind of shadow over her body as the night had on that downtown street. He followed behind her down the short stairs to the lower level of the house. She was walking right into his recreation room. His playroom for the girls that he took home.

Joey turned on the lights in the basement, filling the room with a soft red glow that created more shadow than illumination. And into this blood-tinged predator’s paradise Krimsyn walked, slowly and with languid grace. Joey was mesmerized by the way her body moved, the sway of her childlike form and the swing of her tiny hips underneath the skirt that was barely there. He barely managed to croak the words out of his tightening throat.

“Take off your clothes.”

She looked shyly once over her shoulder, smiling at him in perfect innocence, the pout of her lips driving him insane. With delicate fingers she undid the paper-thin blouse she wore, dropping it to reveal her bare, slight back. Her perfectly white skin glowed red in the light filling the room as she reached behind her and unzipped the skirt, which soon dropped to the floor, grey on top of the white of the forgotten shirt. She stood there, small and beautiful, in only her tiny underwear which barely covered anything.

As her hands moved, slowly, softly, to remove those as well, Joey started to undress too, shedding his clothes in record time. He was hard and ready, his once dry mouth now salivating at the red and painful fun to come. He never took his eyes off of her, as she slowly slid her underwear down. Her body was so tiny, he imagined that she must be the very young age that she appeared to be. He stood behind her, fully naked, fondling his tool in his hands behind his back. He caressed the cold steel of the shaft that would soon be plunging into her body. He hoped she’d scream. He always liked it better when they screamed.

When she turned around, her head was down and her eyes closed, her delicate hands covering her small breasts in a coy pose of shyness. Now was the perfect time, Joey thought. Now came the fun. Now came the blood and the sweet taste of young flesh.

When Krimsyn opened her eyes, and smiled widely, almost wickedly at him, he forgot all about his own fun. He forgot everything. His precious tool fell with a hard metallic clank against the floor, dropped from numb and nerveless fingers.

Her eyes were no longer the light blue of an infant Husky. They were now dark pools of red shadow, and her once wide and innocent pupils were filled with the dark red splash of violently spilled blood. They stared at him, impossibly huge in her small grinning face. And just as suddenly, her face wasn’t so small anymore.

Krimsyn opened her mouth, and laughed. It was a laugh that Joey could have imagined sprang from the depths of hell’s darkest pit, if he had had the sense to notice. Instead what he saw was hell itself, and with his excitement forgotten, he pissed all over himself and onto the hard stone floor.

Her mouth was a gaping chasm of nightmare shape and size. While her jaw elongated and her mouth grew, her small perfectly white teeth slid from her gums in a rush of gore, tearing through the gums to fill her cavernous maw with what looked like hundreds of razor sharp fangs. And past her hellish laugh, in the back of her throat, what was once a tongue wriggled and writhed in a mass of fleshy worms, hungry and wanting.

Her small body, gone deathly white and grotesque in the soft red light, crossed the short distance to Joey’s prone and blubbering form in the space of a single breath. And as she wrapped her strong arms around him, and he breathed in the stench of hellfire and much fouler things from her slavering, bloody mouth, her voiced breathed itself into his head like a lover’s whisper.

I’ll take Joey’s pound of flesh. I’ll take it in spades!”

And as her mantrap jaws closed over his head and she bathed and drank in the gush of gore and blood, Joey Pound twitched his last bit of a hateful life, his skull cracking open and releasing all of his diseased dreams and deeds, a monster undone by another he could never have imagined. Krimsyn consumed all of this too, because finally over the course of centuries she had found evil strong enough to take as her own.

In the warm darkness of the basement, the light was tinged red with more than just the hue of the soft bulbs. The creature sat in a pile of gore she had let loose from the body of the wicked man, surrounded by a healthy supply of carefully frozen body parts of all shapes and sizes and tastes. She sat and played with the steel tool of the killer, stabbing at errant pieces of man flesh, running it longingly along her skin until that itself split open and her blood mixed with that of her kill. She was sated, comfortable, and safe here. She had found more than an easy meal on the streets of this small vulnerable town of Bible Hill.Krimsyn had found a home.

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