Jen Daiker's entry

I have some more great stories for you to read.

Again, these are entries from my October scary story contest...

I shall fade into the shadows again.

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His sixth victim and the pleasure had remained the same. Stroking the paint brushes preparing for his next masterpiece he thought of what she might look like. Blonde, blue eyes, long legs, his favorite, no matter how many he killed the longing seemed to become stronger. He’d told himself that his sixth would be his last but the hunger cried out every night for more.

Stepping away from his art room he walked along the pathway, staring at the lanky trees casting shadows over open land, portraits hung along the tree lines, memories of everyone that kept him visiting. Clearing his mind of all the things that didn’t matter, he was a killer. Nothing would change that, the urges would just become stronger and he needed to make plenty of room to allow him the freedom to fulfill his calling.

Her screams fueled his hunger, the little house was lit by candlelight, already waiting for him, her screams strengthened, he had the longing to holler back but refrained, the more distant he became the more frightened she would be, and that’s exactly what he wanted, fear.

He walked up to the house and shoved the porch door open, she lay on the rug bound against the door trying to work herself free. She hollered at him, he remained still. Frozen in place his gaze fell along her frail body. Struggling she only became weaker and the longer he caressed her body with his eyes the quieter she had became, shivers fell along her body only furthering his excitement. He never hurt them at the beginning, he only painted them. Why waste such beauty? First he wanted to marvel in it, painting a beautiful portrait to complete his gallery.

He neared her, his eyes focused; she backed away the closer he became, the more she moved the more he longed for her. He would have his way and when he was finished she would be begging for him to save her, but he wouldn’t, he never did. Untying her hands he watched her struggle to her feet, each attempt ended in failure, he’d planned it that way. Tightening a grip around her wrists he drug her outside the front door. Blood curdling screams left her mouth, he watched her struggle for her own life, a life that would never be the same, and each scream only solidified that fact.

The wind blew through the leaves, rustling noises and the brisk cool air filtered all the screams belted from those precious lungs. She was naïve, no one was within miles of them, she could scream as long as she wanted, at the end of it all she’d be buried in the backyard, underneath a tree, and a portrait hung in honor of his latest accomplishment.

No matter what, the portrait would be painted.