Serial Killer Club Rule #2 - Fellow members of the club are not to be judged or discriminated against for their killing methods.
"Ok. Take your seats, ladies and gents!" As he picked his arm up off my shoulder and headed for the table.
Andromeda patted the side of her chair signalling me to go over to her. The room seemed like your average hotel room, except the fact that the area where the beds usually are was replace by a large round table that somewhat resembled a poker table. And odd aroma struck my nose as I took my seat, though I couldn't what it was.... maybe fresh paint or something.
Andromeda stood up. "Here. Sit with me."
I nodded and sat, followed by her instantly sitting on my lap. Now I know that this isn't something to get worked up about... but like... just imagine for a second. Imagine being a quiet, basically invisible guy your entire life then one day a ridiculously attractive girl takes interest in you. Keep in mind you've barely even talked to girls except when required.... and suddenly you've got this beauty squished up against your -ahem-. Nevermind.
Everyone had taken their seats and the meeting began. My heart pounded furiously, not just because of Andromeda but also because everything felt so surreal. Here I am in some hotel room in California with a bunch of people I've never met before. Excited would probably be to simple of a word to describe how I was feeling.
"Alright then." The man that had entered with me announced. His voice sounded like it belonged on the news channel. Enthusiastic and charming.
"We'll start with introductions. Now I know some of you are already acquainted but we're gonna quickly this part out of the way. So please state your code names. I'll start and we'll go clockwise."
Everyone seemed so calm. It was like I was child sitting at the adult table for the first time.
"I'm your admin and founder of the SKC, 'Endless Laughing Inferno', but you guys can call me Eli"
My attention peaked. So, that's him. The leader of the SKC. He didn't look anything like I'd imagined, though taking another look around none of them resembled my expectations.
Eli was about average height for a guy. Despite him wearing a leather jacket you could tell he worked out. His broad shoulders and overall robust figure made him look taller than he was. Judging by his style I'd guess he was into motorcycles and stuff like that but his demeanor seemed more like that of a nerdy teacher.
Next up was Doctor. An equally charming and empathetic figure. He kept his red hair slicked back and had peculiarly high pitch voice for a guy. He kind of looked like a warrior of off "Braveheart".
Sitting to his left, kneeling on the chair was Squealer. His massive eyes and messy hair made him look like he'd just escaped a mental asylum. He also had quite an annoying whistle in his voice and whenever he pronounced the letter "s" it lasted like longer than it should've.
Daddy and Greyskull followed up. One look at those guys and you'd think twice about throwing a punch in their direction. Daddy looked about 7 feet tall and must've weighed a tonne. The guy was huge, like some man-bear hybrid. His face on the other hand hadn't even gone through puberty yet. Greyskull was also quite tall, maybe 6'4 or something around that. Even for his height his arms seemed abnormally long and his finger nails were practically nonexistent. He'd chewed them up to the point of almost having none.
Introductions moved by steadily. Shini Gami, Bluebird and Andromeda were the only females in the group. They seemed pretty normal, personality wise. Andromeda kindness and motherly nature stood out, whereas Bluebird's most defining feature was a electric blue hair and sharp facial features. She would've been perfect for an acting role as superhero. At least that's what comes to mind when I look at her.
Then there's Shini Gami. Not to be mean or anything, but something about her just really rubbed me the wrong way. Unlike Squealer who just looked weird, her presence was... how should I say... "off-putting". After every thing she said she'd glance over at me and snicker. Not to mention it took her an eternity to find her words. Draped in all black with pentagram t-shirt, black nails and two nose piercings on each side, her appearance was anything but inviting. The fringe of her hot pink that half covered her eyes was also oddly unnerving. Felt like I couldn't see her face properly.
Abyss and Moonhorn were the only normal looking ones. And by normal I mean, there simply wasn't anything worth mentioning about them. They both seemed quite young as well. Definitely not older than 20. Abyss did keep playing with a yoyo nonstop, though I wouldn't necessarily consider that odd. Maybe he was just a fidgety person.
27 on the other hand was eratic and excessively flamboyant. His flailed all over the place whenever he spoke and he'd purposely change the tone of his voice at almost every new sentence, like he was being possessed over and over again by different people.
And then there was Headhunter. If I had to describe him in as few words as possible I'd say.... surfer boy. And although he looked like the spitting image of Zach Morris, and kind of acted like him as well, he was probably the most approachable one, even moreso than Eli, Doctor and Andromeda. Calm and down-to-earth are the adjectives I'd use for him.
I was up last. With a little push from Andromeda and the encouragement of Doctor, I managed introduced myself. I didn't mention anything personal about myself as the others had done tge same as well. Which I found kind of strange. I mean, this was a social meeting after all, right? Isn't talking about one's self kind of the point?
And why did we all use our code names? Wouldn't it be better to use our real names when getting to know each other?
I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but as the meeting progressed and the night grew older things began to take a turn. That's when my body froze.
"All right. Enough with the chit chat, it's time to get down to business, boys and girls." Eli's voice shifted from playful to serious.
I hadn't noticed at first but lying beneath everyone's chair was a black bag. In fact, now that I think about it that strange smell got worse as the night went on.
"You okay?" Abyss asked me.
My eyes refused to turn to him. The bile in my throat wouldn't allow me my words.
Heads. Severed heads. All placed on top of the table.
"Has everyone brought their entrance fee?" Eli questioned looking at counting the severed heads under his breath.
"Hey!" The obnoxiously sudden shout slammed against my right ear, waking up my muscles.
"Why doesn't Grimm have to pay the fucking entrance fee! THE FUCK IS WITH THE SPECIAL TREATMENT."
Shit. Greyskull went absolutely berserk at me. Legitimately one of the last guys I'd want to get mad.
"Is it because he's pretty. I bet it's because he's pretty. I fuckin' hate pretty boys!!" The anger in his voice kept elevating and soon everyone was in a frenzy. Andromeda got up to confront him and more back and forward shouting commenced.
"ENOUGH!" Eli's hand struck the table like a gunshot.
Silence. Complete silence. Everyone sat back downa and we continued. Andromeda explained that she'd forgotten to tell me about the entrance fee and all was forgiven. Though Greyskull didn't seem too ecstatic about me being let off the hook.
The atmosphere in the room changed as I kind to a cruel realization. All those stories, all those fantasies... well, they simply weren't stories and fantasies. Serial Killer Club. Yes, that's right, even her. Even my dear, sweet Andromeda.
I was in open water circled by sharks. Serial Killer Club? This wasn't some random social group. These people, they were actual murderers. They'd actual taken the lives of others.
Sick to my stomach with a looming headache, if weren't for Andromeda's soft hands wrapping around mine I would've bolted. How could they all be so cheerful and act so normal with a bunch a freakin' severed heads on the table!?!
And then Eli had Doctor lay out the basic "Hunting Rules".
Every month 3 targets are announced to all members of the SKC. Gold, Silver and Bronze. Each target was worth a certain amount of points relative to the estimated difficulty of the kill. "Gold Stags", as they were referred to, ranged in between the point range of 70-100. Silver stags were worth anywhere between 20-70 points, whereas the max you could get for a bronze was 20 points. After 6 hunts, which would be the equivalent of 6 months, a meeting like this would be held, here in the Kruger Hotel in room 333.
Everyone's points would be tallied and the final leaderboard scores would be put to paper. All of this may sound absolutely insane and inhuman, but that wasn't even the worst of it. There was no reward for third, second or even first place. Maybe bragging rights and a pat on the shoulder as Doctor so eloquently put it. However, last place wouldn't be so fortunate as the rest. Whoever placed last by the time the final leaderboard stood, would become the "The Green Hare". And as nice as that moniker sounds, you'd be damned to have it bestowed upon you.
"For one week, all members of the SKC are tasked with capturing and killing 'The Green Hare'. Whichever member accomplishes the task will be given a 100-point advance for the next Hunt." Doctor's words left his mouth without hesitation. And while cowered, sweating uncontrollably under my clothing, the others were like kids at a candy shop.
"Of course, if the Green Hare manages to survive the week, he or she will be awarded the 100 points instead."
Leaving the building and finally being back out in the open felt like I'd just escaped captivity. The many sounds of night time happenings in the city brought to center stage by the warm lights of all its attractions set me at ease. The meeting was over and I was free again.
Andromeda had left right after the announcement of the targets. A kiss on the cheek, a hug and she was gone. After that everyone else started leave as well and for some reason beyond my comprehension I ended up being one of the last ones to call it a night.
The targets - Jake Winks, Texas. Bronze Stag. 8 Points. Riley Henderson, Wisconsin. Silver Stag. 65 Points.
And finally. Susan Heming. Gold Stag. 99 points.
I couldn't really understand how they came to the decision of each target's worth, considering I blacked our for the latter half the meeting. But I didn't care all too much at this point. All I knew is that I didn't want to go back there. I didn't want to have to see those people ever again. And yet something in me kept telling me this wouldn't be resolved easily.
I didn't want to strain my mind on the matter, so I'd decided to just head to my motel and get a good night's sleep in preparation for the long drive that awaited the following morning. And then...
"Yo, Grimm!" A voice called, Headhunter's to be exact.
Fuck. I'll just pretend like I don't hear him and walk in a different direction. Of course, that didn't work.
"You already headin', grampa?" He joked, I wasn't amused. "You know, there's this really cool bar not far from here. Come grab a drink with. I'll pay!"
I couldn't refuse even if I'd tried. Headhunter's positive vibe was like a fish hook reeling me in. How the hell can such charming people exist?
Before I knew we'd downed a more than a couple shots of God knows what and were talking like a pair of reacquainted besties. He was so easy to talk to.
"You and Andromeda, huh. You guys an item or what?" Headhunter asked, his voice as sharp and happy as ever. Like the alcohol had no effect on him. "You guys seem to get along pretty well."
I shrugged. "I guess. We're just friend though, ya know?"
Headhunter laughed. "So, what's your reason? Why'd you join?"
"Why'd I join?" I responded perplexed by the sudden seriousness in his tone.
"Yeah. I mean everyone's got a reason, right?"
"Not sure. And you?"
"Me? Hmmm, I guess.... I guess you could say I like the rush of the hunt." He paused, staring at his now empty glass.
"Although, it's probably just 'cause I'm a fuckin' psycho." We both laugh at his out of the blue remark and I take another sip of my drink.
"However... at least I'm not as crazy as some of the others." He continues, almost relieved by the fact.
"Not as crazy?"
"Yeah. Some of the others are real nutcases." He stressed the enunciation of "real", letting me know this was no joke.
"How so I?" I asked, slightly curious.
"Well, for instance- Ok. Change of approach. What type of killer do you think I am?"
I take a good look at him, but I can't see it. Killer? The guy looks more like the kind of friend that would drive to a different state at 3 in the morning just to pick you up because you texted him that you'd lost your wallet.
"I don't know. I mean, no offense but you don't really strike me as the killing type."
Headhunter chuckles at my answer. "Hahaha. Right? But that's just it, you see. I'm what's known as the 'Charmer' or the 'Charming Killer'. Think Ted Bundy. In fact, I'm one of the most dangerous types. Hard to spot and even more difficult catch."
The passion with which Headhunter talked was proof of what he'd said and the more he talked and explained the more I began to understand. I'd never given any thought to the intricacies of serial killers. Mainly because that kind of thing never really played a role in my life. All the different types of killers, the various ways in which one could kill, hunting people down. All of it was so interesting. I had been introduced to a entirely new world. A world that overlapped with mine without me even being aware of it. I found myself being pulled into the depths of a crude yet hypnotising conversation.
He went on about how "hunting" was a process. Killing was no easy deed, it required not only careful planning and observation of one's target, but also a particular state of mind. Naturally, depending on the target preparation would vary. Observation and tactful wit were essential. Those that truly respected the art of the hunt, those that had a real and longing passion for it, were a special breed of human.
And that's what the SKC was. We weren't just a bunch of random killers, we were artists. Expressing our self in the most primal of art forms. Stalking, torture, killing, you name it. Those things were stricken with complexity.
"So, what would you say is the scariest type of killer?" I asked raising voice, so as not to be drowned out by the surrounding noise.
"Scariest?"
"Yeah. Or like most dangerous, ya know?"
Headhunter remained still for a moment in contemplation as he ran his finger around the edge of glass.
"Scariest, huh?" A wide smile lached onto his face.
"Well, that's easy." His slow responses had me clinging to my seat in anticipation. He'd mentioned and even gone into detail about a bunch of different types killers, some of them disturbingly gruesome. And so, I couldn't help but be curious as to which he personally considered the worst of the worst.
"I'd have to say - and this without second thought - the scariest and most lethal is the Yandere. Those fuckers are the purest form of crazy, I tell ya."
"Yandere? What's a Yandere?"
"It's a Japanese term. Don't ask me for the literal translation. Though, it roughly translates to 'messed up mega-psycho you most definitely do not want the misfortune of encountering'."
Headhunter's genuinely scared expression made laugh. To think this guy who could explain all the things he did would be so afraid of something.
"What do they do that's got you so freaked?" I giggled in response.
"Well, for starters they're absolutely demented. And when I say absolutely demented, what I mean is, there's a special floor in hell exclusively for them."
"Do they have a cruel method of killing?"
Headhunter chuckles as if to point out my innocence.
"Killing? The killing ain't the worst part, brother. That's what makes them so fucked up and so terribly unique even amongst us serial killers. A Yandere isn't a killer like how say me or you are killers."
Well, just you actually.
"Yandere's are become obsessed with a specific person. I won't go into detail about how their obsession develops, we'd be here for the rest of the year. However, what I fo know is that once they've lached on, they don't let go. They do not let go."
That last sentence sent an uneasy chill through bones. I could feel the goosebumps rising as my skin tightened.
"I'm guessing you're speaking from personal experience."
"OH, GOD, NO." he interrupts before I can even think to take my next breath.
"I wouldn't be hear if one of those freaks ended up in my life. Word to the wise, if you ever see one, run for the fuckin' hills, brother."
"How would I know if they're are Yandree or yeah... a-" I messed up the pronunciation in my curiosity and impatience to sate said curiosity.
"Pretty obvious to recognize. You have to remember those fuckers are obsessed. Like seriously obsessed. They'd be jealous and would do whatever they could to make sure their 'beloved' doesn't give too much attention to anyone else. Of course, what's worse is if you're their 'beloved'."
"How so?"
"Because. If it's you then you can kiss freedom good-the-fuck-bye, my dear child"
There was no humor in Headhunter's tone of voice. No passion, no sparkling charm when he spoke about that type. What's more, even I was now nervous. The effects of the alcohol seemed to wear out sluggishly. The bright-eyed was gone.
Headhunter paid the tab and we headed out. I checked my phone to see the time. 2:57 AM.
"Well. Thanks for the drinks, Headhunter."
"Ahh, no problem, man. And call me Hunter. It's what everyone else calls me."
We both shook hands and turned to head on our respective ways. Before I could get, however, Hunter stopped me.
"Oh. One more thing."
"What's up?" I said as I turned back around to him, continuing to walk backwards.
"You know, Shini Gami? The goth looking chick."
"Yeah, what about her? She's pretty hot if you take a closer look. Got a really nice rack as well." I answered louder than needed to be. Though probably due to the alcohol making taking a second swing at me.
"She's one." He said.
"Okey dokey!" I joked and turned back around, too drunk to for seriousness.
From that point on I remember nothing. I jolted out of bed drenched in cold sweat.
Fuck, How much time has passed? That was the first question popped in my head. I quickly jumped out of bed and raced to my car. The drive home was going to be long and I really didn't want to stay in here any longer. Plus, my feet were killing me for some reason. Probably a side effect of drinking too much. I can't really hold my liquor, if I'm being honest. It's the main reason why I rarely go out for a drink.
I got to my car and reached in my pockets for the keys. All I grabbed was skin. The skin of my thigh. It was then that I saw my reflection in the car window.
Where the hell are my clothes? Why am I only wearing underwear?
I turned around to the motel but the motel wasn't there. Instead I was looking at my small two-story apartment complex.
My legs began to tremble but not because of the cold. The pores in my skin closed up and insides dropped. My brain couldn't keep up. I couldn't even force myself to think of a possible answer. Of reasonable answer. A rational explanation. There simply wasn't one...
"How the fuck did I get home?"
Submitted September 30, 2018 at 04:38AM by ochyspaton https://ift.tt/2NbA8hc
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