A Future Serial Killer
by Lance Nally
The headboard slammed against the wall as Janet wailed her way toward her third orgasm of the night.
Johnny sat in his room trying not to listen but finding it impossible to tune out his mother’s orgasmic cries in the next room. She had insisted he go to his room early that night even though he was not the least bit sleepy. But, he knew it wasn’t because she thought he needed sleep; it was because she wanted him out of the way when Stan came over.
He couldn’t have slept if he had wanted to, though, with all the racket she was making. So he sat in his room staring out the window at the darkness.
“Shut up,” he thought. “Please just shut up!”
Suddenly a light came on in the window of the bedroom in the house next door. He had been waiting for that light, he watched for it every night about this time. The girl next door, Brittany, was sixteen, the same age as Johnny, and they went to the same school. Johnny had never talked to her though; she was a snooty bitch. One of those voluptuous blond cheerleader types who would never notice a guy like him.
Johnny watched as the silhouette in the window pulled a T-shirt over its head and
reached behind its back to unlatch its bra. He had watched this show every night for two weeks: ever since he had woke up to go to the bathroom one night and accidentally discovered it. Every night Brittany went to her room about eleven o’clock and undressed in precisely the same spot in front of the window.
Tonight he leaned his head against the window screen and watched with his hands over his ears trying to muffle the sounds of his mother’s sex play. He concentrated on Brittany’s silhouette and began getting turned on as he always did. But, tonight his mother’s screams mingled with the images in his head of Brittany rubbing herself and moaning softly.
“Oh my god, no.” He thought. The image of Brittany and the sound of his mother’s screams mingled together morphing into one fantasy. He tried to resist the image but it seemed he was powerless to stop it.
Suddenly, the window screen popped out and fell to the ground outside. He jumped back in surprise, then stuck his head out the window and looked around. The night was warm, it was still summer even though school had started back up a couple of weeks ago. He felt himself being drawn outside.
Johnny slipped out the window into the night air. The warm darkness and the relative quiet outside lured from his depths a feeling of secret adventure, of anonymity, and a compulsion to prowl and see what he could find. No one was around as far as he could see, and it seemed he could do whatever came to mind and no one would know.
“No one can see me,” he thought. “No one can see me, but I can see them.”
He had an urge to get close to people in their houses without them knowing he was there. The idea of being close and unseen was exciting; it was powerful. It was his power; the power of invisibility.
The light in Brittany’s window was still burning and he could see her shadow moving around inside. He climbed the fence and moved quietly toward the window. When he reached the wall of the house he stopped to catch his breath. His heart was thumping loudly in his ears and his breath was rasping from his throat in quick gasps. He stood for a few moments consciously working to control his excited nerves. When he had calmed himself sufficiently he slid along the wall to the window.
Johnny peeked in the window of girl’s bedroom. He could see nothing though, except the curtain and shadows inside. He moved to the center of the window. The curtains were slightly parted; just enough for him to peek inside.
“Holy shit,” he almost said out loud, as he viewed the girl inside the lighted room.
She was wearing nothing but red, silky thong panties. He leered at her pristine young body and an overwhelming longing began to grow inside him. He could almost feel her breasts in his hands, the size of teacups. He wanted to run his fingers over the smooth skin of her neck and delicate earlobes. He hungered for the flat, tanned stomach and the curve of her hips as they blended into her light brown thighs.
Brittany was looking at herself in the vanity mirror, checking for blemishes on her face. Then she moved her hands down and cupped her breasts, lifting them admiringly toward the mirror. She was oblivious to the young man standing at her window, watching with an intense and hungry stare.
Johnny had never seen a real, live naked woman before, except for his mother of course. She saw nothing wrong with walking around the house nude except for a pair of skimpy panties and she did so daily. He didn’t want to think about his mother the way he was now thinking of the girl, but in spite of his conscious objection he could not control his physical response. Sometimes he was so aroused he thought his balls would burst. Other times he was revolted. Either reaction, though, filled him with guilt.
Sometimes it seemed his mother did this to him on purpose. She would come into his room in nothing but a thong, and prance around, straightening and arranging his things as if he were not there. He tried not to look, but sometimes he could not help it. Sometimes he wished she was ugly and fat so he wouldn’t have the nasty thoughts he had. But she was not ugly and she was not fat. She was an attractive woman, and it seemed his gonads did not care that she was his mother in spite of his mind screaming it at him emphatically.
But seeing this girl caused him no such conflict. He wanted her without reservation. He didn’t only want her: he needed her. She provoked in him a deep, profound longing that seemed to override every other aspect of his existence.
But, regardless of how much he wanted them to, girls paid no attention to Johnny; especially girls like Brittany. He was big for his age, and had a dumpy appearance. His face was covered with big red blemishes; many with white puss nodules. He was shy and would never have the courage to approach a girl and initiate a conversation. He knew he was unattractive, and he was sure his need to be with a girl would never be fulfilled. And, he was positive he would never be fortunate enough to be with a girl as beautiful as Brittany.
As he stood at the window gazing in, his penis grew hard as cast iron and it screamed to be touched. He had to relieve himself or stop looking, and to stop looking was out of the question. He unbuttoned the front of his shorts and released his raging hard-on, then tugged on it a few times. In a matter of seconds he had reached orgasm and shot his jism on the stucco wall as he peered at the girl sitting naked at the vanity. Before he had known it was coming, a little grunt of pleasure escaped his lips, and he instinctively ducked below the windowsill. He heard footsteps coming in his direction inside the house and he quickly sidled away from the window. The curtains were pulled apart slightly and an eye peeked out, then the curtains closed again and the footsteps retreated.
Johnny retreated back to his room but couldn’t go to sleep. His mother was quiet now; most likely asleep, but he could not stop thinking about the girl next door and how much the sight of her body had aroused him. The longing deep inside him and the need in his groin grew as the minutes ticked by in the dark. He watched her window until the light went out, and it seemed the whole world was asleep except him.
An hour passed and he was still thinking about her. She was a bitch, he thought. She had never so much as looked him in the eye and said hello. It was as if he was invisible to her. He hated her for that. But, he wanted her more than anything. What he really wanted was to make her notice him; maybe she would even like him. He wanted to grab her by the chin and push his face into hers and make her see him for what he was: a man, with a heart and a raging desire for her. He wanted to hold her down and make her feel him inside her so she would know what a man he was. Then she would notice him, yes she would, and she would respect him.
He took a penlight from his desk and shoved it in his pocket. Then he took the hunting knife in the leather sheath he had hidden on the top shelf of his closet and strapped it on his belt. He slipped back out the window into the anonymity of darkness.
Johnny scaled the fence once again, and crept to the house next door. The back door was locked, but he had seen Brittany take the key from under the rock many times. He unlocked the door and put the key back under the rock, then silently opened the door and entered the laundry room at the end of the hall. His heart was beating so loudly in his ears that he was sure he wouldn’t be able to hear if someone was moving around in the house. He calmed himself as much as he could. But, complete calm was out of the question: the anticipation and the illicitness of what he was about to do were intensely erotic.
He took the penlight out of his pocket and turned it on. It was surprisingly bright in the near pitch darkness, and it nearly blinded him for a moment. He covered it with his hand allowing some light to escape from between his fingers. Johnny moved down the hall very slowly. His heart was still beating loudly in his ears.
Suddenly a cat was at his feet. It looked up and meowed at him. The sound seemed riotous in the silent house. A bolt of fear shot through him and he knelt without a second thought and grabbed the cat by the throat. He had to shut that cat up before it gave him away. As his hand closed around the cat’s throat it brought its front paws up and clawed at him desperately. The sharp claws dug into Johnny’s skin and it was all he could do to resist screaming in pain. He gritted his teeth and squeezed even harder. The cat rolled over and brought its back feet up and began to tear at Johnny’s hand with all four paws. Rage filled Johnny’s head connecting with the panic that had already begun to rise in his chest. He put both hands on the cat’s throat and squeezed with all his strength. The cat struggled with all its reserves and tore at Johnny’s hands in terror. Johnny raised the cat in the air and brought it down hard on the floor, but the cat still clawed him. He dared not risk slamming the cat again, the noise was negligible, but in the silent house it seemed to boom. Instead he stepped on the cat’s middle and squashed it as he pulled and squeezed its neck. Johnny felt the bones in the cat’s body crack and pop, and suddenly it lost all strength and relaxed in his grasp.
Johnny dropped the cat on the floor and looked down at its mangled form. A little bubble of guilt formed in his mind, but he shot it down.
“If the little piece of shit had just kept its mouth shut this wouldn’t have happened.” He thought.
His hands hurt badly and he was suddenly angry with the cat all over again. He put his foot on its head and began applying weight to it slowly.
“You fucking little piece of garbage,” he thought. “You shouldn’t have fucked with me.”
After a moment he felt the cat’s skull pop like an oversized grape and it flattened under his foot.
“The mangy little bastard got what it deserved.” He thought.
Johnny left the dead cat and moved further down the dark hall. When he came to the door that he was sure was that of Brittany’s bedroom, he silently turned the knob and pushed it open. He had figured correctly; he could tell by the vanity and the little princess four-poster bed that this was Brittany’s room.
He stood silently for several moments staring at the lump under the blankets on the bed. He scanned the rest of the room and saw the red thong she had been wearing laying on the floor next to the bed. He suddenly wanted it very badly, and began to move quietly toward it. As he stepped toward the bed, the lump under the blankets moved and groaned. Johnny quietly dived to the floor, snatching the red underwear as he did. Brittany rolled over, slinging her arm to her side and throwing the blanket off. Johnny lay still for several minutes until he was sure she had not awakened; then he raised his head and peeked at the bed. She was asleep, breathing rhythmically.
Johnny brought the red thong to his nose and drew in the musky aroma he had heard so much about but had never known first hand. It was not an odor he would have called sweet before tonight. It was a smell that aroused a deep primal emotion in him. It made him feel strong and vital. It made him want to fuck this girl hard.
He crammed the thong in his pocket and stood to look at Brittany. She was wearing a big T-shirt that had ridden up above her waist. In the light from the window he could clearly see the little V of light pubic hair below the hem. He stood staring down at her, his penis so hard it hurt. He wanted more than life itself to touch her. He wanted to slam his dick into her over and over until she screamed.
Johnny unbuckled his belt and quietly dropped his shorts to the floor. He took the knife out of its sheath and held it close to Brittany’s throat and prepared to force himself on her. He would hold her still and make her submit to him. She might object at first, but he was sure once he was in her and pumping her hard she would like it. She would like it just as his mother liked it: hard and fast until she blew her top.
As he looked at her sleeping face and held the knife to her throat, he saw the scratches on his hand. He suddenly remembered the fight the cat had made against him. He remembered its bones crunching in his fist and the feel of its claws digging into his flesh, and a premonition flashed before him. He saw Brittany scream as he pushed himself into her; not in pleasure but in pain. Then he saw her under his body with her throat cut open and blood squirting out onto the bed, and onto him. He saw her looking up at him with hatred in her eyes as she lay there dying, unable to speak. He saw his mother screaming at him, shaking her finger in his face.
“You dirty little prick. I knew you were sick, I knew it.” She screamed in his face.
He saw a puddle of his semen and Brittany’s blood collecting on the girl’s flat stomach as his mother scolded him.
“Go to Hell Mother. Leave me alone. Can’t you see I don’t need you? Can’t you see that now?” Johnny screamed back at her.
Then he saw himself cutting his own wrists with his hunting knife and dying there on top of Brittany as his mother cried over him. And he saw her standing over his grave, crying as they lowered his casket into the cold, wet earth.
“I didn’t mean to,” he screamed inside his head as his mother’s face faded into the sky above. “I didn’t mean to kill her. She wouldn’t shut up. She just wouldn’t shut up.”
Johnny snapped back to reality as he heard Brittany say, “Get away from me.” She squirmed and threw her arm over her head.
His heart jumped in his chest and he nearly bolted out the door leaving his shorts behind before he realized she had not woken up; she was merely talking in her sleep.
Johnny slowly reached down, never taking his eyes off the girl’s face, and pulled his shorts back up, buckled the belt and put the knife back in the sheath. He pulled the thong out of his pocket and sniffed it. Then he left the room, slipped out the back door, over the fence and back in the window of his own room.
He heard a low moan in the room next door as the headboard began to bang on the wall. His mother was going again. Johnny held the red panties to his nose and rubbed his penis. He ejaculated to the sounds of his mother’s orgasm.