Killer (song-based short story)

You don’t see me. In the shadows, you have a feeling that I’m here, but you can’t see me. You think your imagining things – your mind letting the flickers of light, the rush of wind as the train hurtles through the tunnel, and the drip drip drip of water fool you into believing that someone’s here with you, when there isn’t. You know there isn’t. Still, you can’t shake that uneasy feeling, as if someone is watching you.

I am watching you. My eyes are burning a hole straight through your back.

You keep walking, and it’s time I had some more fun. You couldn’t hear me before, but I start to tread more heavily. You hear each step. You walk some more. You turn, but see nothing. You turn again, quicken your pace. That’s it. That’s it, keep walking. I’m getting closer. Closer and closer with every step and don’t you just know it. You can hear me. A train rushes past and you jump, scared. I can hear your thoughts – there’s no-one there, stop imagining things, there’s no-one there.

You walk through the subway, my eyes burn a hole in your back. A footstep behind you… my knife slips neatly into your left lung, a smile on my face. Fear and terror on yours. You try to turn, but only your head moves as I catch you, stop you from falling. Your eyes… magnificent. The first time I have seen them, and they show nothing but pure fear. Terror in its purest form. You scream for mercy as I push you down, laughing as I watch you bleed.

You aren’t the first. You won’t be the last. I have no need to kill. There’s a voice… compelling… fuelling my blood-lust.

I can see what a life’s meant to be.

I already know what the newspapers will say in the morning. SUBWAY KILLER STRIKES AGAIN. POLICE BAFFELED. There is no motive. I don’t hate any of them. I don’t hate you. I gain nothing material from this. But the excitement… shakes me. Whenever I see someone walking through the dimly lit tunnels, I feel a buzz, a rush of adrenaline as I stalk, and kill. Some have grabbed me, tried to pull themselves up by my white t-shirt, but I bury the knife in their throat, and they bleed to death in a much more painful manner than you will. You’ve been good. You deserve a quick death. I’ll slit your throat rather than puncture.

The papers will be wrong. The Sun will claim I hate everyone, and will probably call it a “mocking religion of hatred that burns through the night”. They’ll never know the truth. The police cannot figure out a motive, and they’re afraid. All of the public are afraid. That fear is electrifying.

Tell my next victim to walk in the light, in a crowd. That is your new job. For tomorrow night, I kill again.

I’m coming for you.