Chapter 3 The Angelmaker
The icy wind whips against my bare face, the cold chill biting straight into my bones as I scour the quiet neighbourhood for the next perfect victim.
I’m pushing the boat out tonight by doing two kills.
I usually stick to one every year, but this year I’m in a giving mood, and it just so happens that I enjoy bringing the gift of death to unwilling participants.
Soft specks of snow begin to fall from the sky, landing gently on my heated skin then quickly melting into my pores.
Soon after leaving Frank and Nancy, I ripped the mask away from my face and inhaled the freezing cold air, filling my lungs with much needed oxygen.
Even now as I walk the silent streets, I inhale deeply whilst brushing my black hair away from my face, feeling the strands speckled with blood and body matter.
The urge to scrub my skin clean is almost enough to derail my second kill but my body is pulsing with unfinished need and adrenaline.
I’ve never needed to do a second kill, but something feels different this year, something magnetic that I can’t explain pulls me to an unknown destination, feet moving on their own accord.
I wasn’t always this way, if that’s what you’re thinking.
I don’t know how I became the monster that I am today.
Something snapped in me during my childhood years, an elastic band pulled too tightly, a coil turned too much before exploding into smithereens under the pressure.
That’s what happened to me, I was pushed too far I think and now I’ve fully exploded into this creature of the night.
A man with no conscience and an even emptier heart.
But this isn’t a fucking trauma dumping story, you didn’t come here for that. You came here for a good fucking time, and if you’re a good girl, I’ll give you that. Won’t I, angel?
Heavy branches from the trees overhead sway in the wind, the leaves rustling together to break up the silence that surrounds me as I continue on through the street, my boots scraping across the concrete pavement.
Little matchstick houses line both sides of the road, all of them looking like they’ve been copied and pasted next to one another, all of them filled with sickening bright lights and festive decorations lining the small front gardens.
Various signs are propped up in the damp grass, all of them with one thing in common. Santa please stop here.
I scoff at the words, wondering why that fat man is always welcome into their homes, but when I enter, they throw a fit?
It’s not like I expect to see a sign saying ‘The Angelmaker please stop here.’ That would be ridiculous but still, feeling welcome would be nice sometimes.
I guess I’m just all up in my feels right now, I’ll be fine after I crack someone’s skull open and maybe pop a bone out of a joint like a Christmas cracker.
Electricity fires through my nervous system at the thought of getting my hands dirty again, to feel the skeleton of others slipping through my fingers like rib bones from a summer BBQ.
My stomach grumbles at the thought of devouring some spicy, succulent meat. I knew I should have raided the fridge before leaving Frank and Nancy’s house, maybe the next house will have some goodies for me to taste.
The streetlights overhead flicker with the heavy downpour of snow as I continue my travel down the street before coming to a stop outside of a house, it’s nothing special by any means, in fact it looks exactly like the others, all of them made by the same cookie cutter shape.
But something feels different about this one, something darker lies inside of it, waiting for me to grace it with my presence.
A subtle glow flickers through the window from the Christmas tree lights, warm and welcoming and for the first time, I don’t hate it.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
It’s because I’m hungry, it must be. I don’t feel feelings like this, not the cosy kind anyway. It’s making me itch.
Stepping towards the small fence that lines the front garden, I carefully lift the latch on the gate and let myself inside before slipping the plastic Santa mask back over my face.
I haven’t been caught yet and I refuse to let my streak end because I didn’t cover my identity.
The wooden gate creaks lightly as I close it behind me and I wince at the sound, praying that everyone in this street is too busy to notice the sound.
Everything remains the same as I latch the gate again and take careful steps towards the house that’s pulling me into its embrace.
I feel like I have no control over my own feet, I’m simply a vessel right now, allowing this strange pull to guide me up the small pathway that lines the grass garden.
Step by step I go until I reach the front door.
There’s a small wreath that hangs on a hook in front of me, the black petals of the roses that make up the small circle twinkle from the snow that’s landed on them.
It doesn’t scream Christmas at all, it’s not full of cheap plastic tinsel or over the top green lights, no, this is dark and beautiful.
Slipping away from the front door, I walk around the back to see if I can make my way inside.
The garden is neat and tidy, the grass cut evenly across the small space with potted plants lining the wooden fence that closes the garden off, there’s also a wooden porch that covers the back door, a door that looks far too easy to crack open.
With determination in my steps, I cross over the grass and remove the small pocket knife from my jeans and get to work on picking the simple lock, it only takes me a couple of seconds to crack the mechanism inside and I’m in, ready to cause more fucking chaos.
I wrap my hand around the door knob and allow myself inside, immediately I’m hit with a warm vanilla scent like sweet sugar cookies that causes my stomach to grumble even more in protest for food.
Fuck, I came to kill, not to have dinner with the in-laws.
I push the nagging thoughts aside and step into the small kitchen that’s nothing like I’ve ever seen before.
The cupboards that line the walls are painted in a rich black with white tiles, there’s also a black fridge and potted plants hanging from the ceiling, all of them varying in bright shades of green.
Holy shit, this is nice. It’s a shame that it will become a blood bath in a few hours.
Keeping my steps silent, I round the small kitchen table that sits in the centre of the room and make my way into the connected living room, finding the decor very similar to the kitchen.
Rich blacks and bright whites fill the space, horror prints and spooky decor hang in perfect symmetry on the walls along with a black Christmas tree in the corner with warm, glowing lights wrapped around it.
In every home I’ve been in, it’s always been boring beige and pristine creams with horrendously tacky decorations but this house couldn’t be more different, it’s sexy and dark and I’m kinda bummed about ruining it with the homeowners blood but, needs must and all that.
You won’t find me growing a conscience over a nicely decorated living room. I ain’t that much of a pussy.
Before investigating the rest of the home, I quickly realise that I came unarmed except for the shitty little knife I keep in my pocket.
I’m gonna’ need something to overpower those living here.
I knew I should have brought that electric turkey knife with me but it was pretty battered after slicing and dicing Frank and Nancy, so instead I scour the kitchen again, looking for anything that will either chop or slice.
After opening a couple of random cupboards and finding nothing of use, something catches my eye at the side of the fridge and low and behold, the festive Gods have blessed me.
There, sitting before me is a fucking axe.
My eyes widen like a kid in a candy store and my grabby hands quickly wrap around the smooth handle, my blood fills with excitement at finding this new shiny toy.
I pull it from its home at the side of the fridge and give it a quick swing in a circle, feeling the familiar weight in my hands.
She’s perfect.
The blade gleams under the low lights of the kitchen and I can already envision the damage I’ll do with it, tasting the blood that will spray across the white walls, staining them with my darkness.
A giddiness takes over me and I rest the axe on my shoulder before entering back into the living room and round towards the stairs.
Silence envelops the home as I plant my foot on the bottom step, then just like every other year, I make my way up towards my final destination.
Let’s fuck shit up gang.