Twelve Feet Under

serial murder

So, you want to hear a story, huh? Let me tell you one you will never believe, then I want you to look me in the eye and tell me I lied to you. The thing about people is that you never know what kind of shit they have been through do you? That hooker you see coming home on the subway every so often, for instance. You just assume she is selling her beaten up hole for drug money, right? And that those black eyes were from her holding out on her pimp, or talking back. What if I told you that she ended up working the streets after she lost her license to practice law, and that tonight she fought off and killed a serial rapist in that random alley where she thought she was going to earn another forty bucks? Would you believe it?

What if I told you that the guy you pass in the hall of your building every day when you are leaving for work was keeping seven children captive in his apartment? That he uses those kids in ways that would horrify even the hooker on the subway? What about the old lady who lives a block down, in the old co-op building? Would you believe that she has poisoned all seven of her dead husbands, and two of her sons? You may or may not believe these things, only you can tell me that. I just bring it up so you will listen to what I have to say with an open mind. Sure, we are sitting here, drinking this whiskey, two men who have never met one another. And while you may not know who I am, you should know that I have no reason to lie. Not to you. New York is full of over twenty million stories, and all of them could be true.

I know what you see when you look at me, pal. A guy who has had a hard run of luck, a guy who may or may not be drinking up the last thirty dollars in his wallet. A guy who works shit day labor jobs just to have a bite to eat or a drink to wash away the aches and pains of a man going on middle age. But none of that matters, see? What you think of when you look at me means jack shit. I was not always the guy you see now, drinking whiskey that I probably couldn’t afford. As far as you know anyway. At one time, I had a good job. I had a wife and two kids. At one point, I had hope. And for the longest time, I believed that what is dead will stay that way. Buddy, let me tell you, I was fucking wrong.

My story is as long as anyone’s. I was born, I grew up, I met a girl, blah, blah, blah. You don’t want to hear about any of that shit, right? The part you will want to hear about begins back in Maryland, in a small town called Salsberg. You ever see any of those old postcards? The ones with a picture of some sleepy little town out in the middle of nowhere on the front? The kind of place where you imagine they only need three cops, the mayor serves for life, and everyone leaves their doors unlocked at night. That was Salsberg.

I moved there, planning to retire early. I had made a good chunk of change in the stock market, here in good old Fun City. The wife says that New York is no place to raise kids. I didn’t argue that point with her. We all know what a shit hole this city can be right? So after doing some research, I found Salsberg. A small quiet town, like I told you before. It seemed perfect. Low crime rate, decent schools, and from all accounts a friendly place. So fast forward a month and we are moving into this old house just off of Rose Drive. All these old manor houses and small mansions were unoccupied and going for a little bit of nothing. We got a great deal on this place, and Sandy and the kids are excited. I am sure you know how moving goes, the pains in the ass that spring up and the pains in your back from loading and unloading the truck. So I’ll skip that.

So we moved in. The kids start school. The wife and I open a small shop downtown, selling little pieces of the big city to the townies. We did alright, the investment seemed to be paying off and we were settling into the groove of small town life. That slow, mellow, and relaxed way that people have in rural areas. No one is ever in a hurry, everyone you pass on the street says hello and smiles, and you finish up most of your days sharing a beer or two with the neighbors on the porch. Well when the weather is nice enough, and over there the weather is damn fine in the spring, summer, and fall.

That is how everything went for a while. We were all as happy as pigs in shit. Then came the 25th of October, 2003. I had gotten home from the shop early, we had closed in expectation of snow. Sandy had dinner going, the kids were chasing each other around and shouting at the top of their lungs while they played. I hung my coat on the rack beside the door, and forgot to lock it. I kissed Sandy for what would turn out to be the last time, unless you count the one I placed on her dead lips during the private viewing at Lunsford’s Funeral Parlor. She was making pot roast, the smell of the beef, potatoes, and other vegetables coming out of the oven was making my stomach growl.

We sat down to eat as a family, like we always did. Sandy was adamant about that. She believed family dinners were the cornerstone of building a strong bond with the kids. She didn’t know that the kids hated pot roast, or that I had been with the town slut Sasha Grey the night before. Everything in our little world was perfect. All the lies were the cornerstone of my bond with the wife and kids. The secrets. Some were of course worse secrets than others. I am not saying I was the perfect husband and father, obviously. But I was mostly happy. And I did love my family.

If you are doubting that now, wait until you hear the rest of my secrets. I wish I could tell you that my affair was the worst of them, but that would be a lie. You see I had this…. let’s call it a hobby. Every so often, I just have to kill someone. I have been doing it for years. It started when I was thirteen or so. My parents had taken me on vacation to some lake or other upstate. Where doesn’t matter. I was trying to come on to this girl, and she slapped me. Before I knew what was going on, I was holding her down, her clothes were torn off, and I was raping her. I know, fucked up right? But hey, when we are kids, we all make mistakes. The realization of what I was doing excited me, and I finished all at once. She was crying and screaming at me, screaming for help. Like anyone would hear us this far out in the boonies.
So I kind of panicked. I pulled out the pocket knife my dad had given me for my birthday a month earlier. I clamped my free hand over her mouth, and slit her fucking throat. The blood gushed and squirted out all over the place. It covered my hands, face, and chest. I was still inside of her, and the sight of the blood got me all hot and bothered again. She was still warm, so I went for round two. When I was done, I cut her open and started stuffing rocks into her, then tied her shirt and pants around the body to hold them inside. Then I dragged her out into the lake, and gave her a push. She sank down into the water, and was swallowed by the cold, muddy muck at the bottom. They never found that one. She was my first, in more ways than one.

I didn’t do it again for years. Like I said, it’s just a hobby. I was grown before I killed the next one. Some wetback who was offering to shine my shoes for a dollar. The third was a few months later, a hot little thing of about fifteen. She was upset because some asshole had mugged her. She ran to me crying for help, because I was so well dressed I guess. They found her in pieces all over the Bronx. Yeah, that was me pal. The Five Boroughs Slasher. I always hated that name. So unoriginal. Like I was the only asshole to ever take a knife to people in this city. But like I said, my family never had a clue. I was good at what I did.

Unlike what you may think of as my brethren however, guys like Dhamer, Gacy, and Bundy, I had a heart. I feel love, sadness, anger, compassion, all those emotions denied to the typical psychopath. And I treasured my wife and kids. They were the living example of the better part of me, understand? What I never felt in my life though was guilt and remorse. I could rape, torture, and dismember a ten year old kid, then go home and kiss my children good night and crawl in bed with Sandy like nothing ever happened. It’s a sick dichotomy, I know, but these are the facts.

I am only telling you all of this, so you will understand what happened. The whole time I had been living in Salsberg, which by this point was about eight months, I had only killed two people. The first one was a woman. I always prefer women. We have tastes like anyone else, you know? It was a real nice evening for me, her husband was gone for the night and she had no kids. We had the house to ourselves, and I could take my time with her. It was great, very intimate and meaningful. I had my eye on her for a month or more. I had seen her on our second day in town. She was a slender blonde, tall, with an amazingly athletic figure. They said after her “disappearance” she had been Miss Salsberg a few years ago.

I will spare you the details, let’s just say that it was not pleasant or quick for her. I carried her out the back in pieces. These pieces I threw into the river east of town. I was looking forward to more of Sandy’s trips with the kids to see her mother up in Yonkers. It gave me the time to do it right. So fast forward again a few weeks. The husband, Perry Combs, is crazy with grief and all that. He knows that his wife is dead, even though I had left no trace in the house, that she would never run off and leave him. So he starts poking around after the cops refuse to treat it as a homicide. Who would want to kill Amy they ask? Everyone in town loved Amy. She taught Sunday School at the Methodist church, she was a volunteer at the adult literacy program at the high school, she was everyone’s favorite nurse at the hospital. No one knew that the new guy in town, the guy with the perfect family and that great new shop, was a serial killer.

What I didn’t know was how goddamned nosy people can be in a small town. There is someone on every street who spends their nights staring out of their windows spying on their neighbors, hoping to be the one to get the scoop on some juicy gossip. Gossip like how the new guy in town had dropped by to pay a visit to Amy while her husband was away. I never did find out which one of them told him, if I had my body count in Salsberg would have been much higher. But anyway, let me cut to the chase.

It’s about six weeks after I had my One night in Amy, and I am about to close up shop. We had just gotten in a new shipment of personal air conditioners. It was the kind of thing no one in New York would actually use, but at City Image, we sell it all like it’s just another thing for folks in the big apple these days. I expected them to sell like hotcakes, and I was right. They flew off of the shelves. I had set up the display, and put up the stock in the back room. I was tired as hell, it had been just one in a series of long days, so I closed up. Sandy was making some old fashioned New York style pizza for dinner. You will never know how much I missed the pizza here when I was living in Maryland.

I was thinking of how good that greasy, magnificent pizza was going to taste and about how Amy had struggled under me when I had started to cut her as I walked out the back door where I kept my Audi parked. I had set the alarm, like normal. I had also locked the door from the outside, just as I always did. But when I turned around, my routine was derailed like a passenger train slamming into a station wagon full of Mormons. I was looking at a man. He was staring daggers at me, tears welling up in his eyes. ‘Where is she, you bastard’ he said. His voice was breaking like he was trying to hold back sobs and screams both. I looked at him with my best puzzled expression.

‘Where is who Perry? What the hell are you on about?’ I asked him. He moved fast. He grabbed my shirt and slammed me against the door. I was not expecting it, the son of a bitch had caught me off guard. With his free hand, he pulled a cheap looking semi-automatic pistol from under his jacket. It looked like a .32 caliber, or thereabouts. I have seen guys selling those here in bar rooms for as little as fifty bucks. I looked down at the slide, and noticed the serial number had been filed off. I thought I was fucked for sure.

‘MY WIFE!’ he screamed at me. Luckily, I had been working later than most of the shops stayed open, and I knew the chances for anyone hearing this little exchange were about one in two hundred. ‘AMY! I know you were there the night she disappeared! What did you do to her? TELL ME WHERE SHE IS!’ he shouted again. I knew if I didn’t say something, I was as dead as his wife. Of course this guy had me dead to rights, so I figured I would have to throw him off.

I looked him in the eye as I said ‘Well, Perry, that’s hard to say. You see, any piece of her could be in any number of rivers or lakes by this point.’ He began to cry, his eyes now spilling their freight of welled tears. His body was trembling, but the gun didn’t. I had lowered my hands now, he didn’t seem to be paying attention to anything but my face. I slowly dipped my hand into my pocket, where I kept my knife clipped. He pulled me from the door and slammed me into it again. My head smacked the door hard, and I felt pain explode across my skull. He had pressed the gun against the side of my nose now. He didn’t notice I had the knife out and was slowly opening the blade.

‘Tell me…… tell me what you did to her you sick fuck! TELL ME!’ he bellowed. I knew this had to end soon, one way or another. If he kept shouting, someone was going to hear. Or if he pulled the fucking trigger. Then the headache I was going to have would be the least of my problems. I let out a sigh.

‘I got her to let me inside Perry. She was trusting, your wife. Then I blitzed her as she turned around. I knocked her down, ripped off her clothes, and raped her. Then I started to cut, and I cut her for over four hours. When she finally died, I chopped her up and dumped her in the river. Would you like me to tell you how many times she begged for mercy? How about how many times she called out for you, Perry? How she begged me not to kill her, because she had finally gotten pregnant? She said she was going to tell you when you got back. Would you like to hear that too?’ I asked him in a sympathetic voice. He began to make an inarticulate sound then, something between a scream, a moan, and a sob. It just rose from his throat as his finger tightened on the trigger………. and the gun only clicked. A misfire.

He looked stupidly at the gun and I made my move. I drove the knife into his leg, severing his femoral artery with my right hand. With my left I grabbed the gun. He made that clicking sound in his throat I have heard before when I cut people. I wrestled the gun away, and swung it in a wide arc that terminated at his temple. He went down to the ground, bleeding and twitching. I dropped the gun in front of his face as I straddled him. I wrenched his head back and stuck the knife to his throat. ‘Perry, old boy, you should have left well enough alone. But, on the plus side, you are probably about to see Amy again.’ I said as I buried the blade in the left side of his neck. I leaned down and looked into his eyes again as I pulled the sharp little blade through the meat, gristle, and veins and out the other side. I heard him gasping through the cut as he bled out, and I watched the light go out of Perry’s insanely angry and sad eyes.

I stood up and looked down at myself. I was a fucking mess, covered in blood. Perry was making quite the mess on the concrete. I dropped the knife and ran my fingers through my hair, clutching it as they reached the back of my head. I had to clean this mess up. ‘You really are an asshole, you know that Perry. I am going to miss pizza night because of you.’ I said to the already cooling corpse. I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out my phone. I called the house, and Sandy answered.

‘Hey handsome, you on your way?’ she asked. I sighed into the phone.

‘I am afraid not baby. I made a hell of a mess here at the shop, and I will probably be here most of the night cleaning it up.’ I lied.

‘Oh honey, can’t it wait? I do believe I have made the best pizza yet. You sure you aren’t going to come have a slice?’ she asked. I was looking down at Perry, and I kicked him hard in the ribs. I fucking loved Sandy’s pizza.

‘Believe me, I would rather be eating your pie than dealing with this, if you know what I mean’ I told her, in my best flirty tone. She laughed into the phone.

‘You are a bad boy, oh husband of mine. Tell you what, I will leave you a few slices in the microwave. Eat that when you get home, then come to bed for the pie…’ she said this last bit in a sultry tone. I smiled.

‘You have a date gorgeous. See you later.’ I said, then hung up. I turned around and unlocked the door. I stepped inside, and went into the little storage locker I kept in the shop. I kept a few emergency supplies in there. Some plastic drop cloths, a saw, a few knives and some duct tape. The usual basic stuff for a guy of my trade. I grabbed some of the plastic, and went back outside. I opened the trunk of the Audi and began to line it. When I had it all taped up, I drug Perry over and loaded him inside. I went back inside to wash the blood off of me and change my clothes. I always kept a spare set or two in my office there. I chose the basic work clothes I had worn when doing the demolition and remodeling of the shop.

I stuffed my bloody clothes into a bag, and grabbed the shovel on my way out. I threw all of this into the trunk and closed the lid. I went back one more time to get some cleaning supplies and the water hose. I sprayed the blood pools until they washed down the sewer grate near the door, then scrubbed everything that had any blood on it with bleach. Took me over a fucking hour. With that done, I locked up again, and headed for the edge of town. The whole time I had been cleaning, I had been thinking of how to dispose of the body. I usually had a plan in place. I never kill without preparation. Then as I was driving it hit me.

There was this old place just outside of town. Some old ass mansion. The place was fucking huge. I had asked around about it, and most of the locals just knew it as the old Brickman place. They said no one ever went there, kind of a town ghost story or some shit like that. The long and short of it is that it is isolated, decrepit, and that as far as I could tell, no one had tried to go in there since the 1970’s. I thought it sounded like a perfect place to dispose of a body. So I drove out there.

The whole place was surrounded by this high wall, but the gate had fallen down who knew how many years ago. No one lived close by. When I tell you that everyone in this town was afraid of this place, you can truly believe me. Every old storefront, every house, even an old school that was around this place was abandoned. As far at the good people of Salsberg were concerned, this part of town had ceased to exist. So I knew no one would see me pull my car onto the property.

I pulled up the drive to the house, past this old ass ruined fountain, and parked near the west side of the place. I left the engine running, so I could have light to work by. Digging a grave takes a while when you do it by yourself. So I spent three hours digging, and digging, and fucking digging. I had unloaded Perry from the trunk before I started, I didn’t want to be too tired to lift him after I had the hole ready. I constantly reminded Perry of what a dick he was, for making me spend my night at this creepy ass old shithole. The whole time, I felt watched. That should have been a sign to just load him back up and throw his ass in the river with Amy, but I have rules. I never dump a body in the same place twice. I also never dispose of a corpse the same way twice in a row. That really throws the pigs off, you know that? I imagine if anyone were ever to put my crimes together it would drive a profiler nuts.

I am not superstitious though, so I kept on digging. Every so often, I would turn around. I almost expected to see a face watching me from the windows. I ignored it, and planted Perry’s sorry ass in the ground. I threw in the plastic, my knife, my dirty clothes, even the brush I had scrubbed the blood up with. Anything that could connect me to his death went into the ground with him. I didn’t like it, leaving all the evidence with the body, but I didn’t have time to make anymore drops. So I filled the hole, and tapped the dirt down with the spade. ‘Good night, you meddling mother fucker. Sleep well and enjoy your stay in hell.’ I said and tipped the patch of turned earth a salute before spitting on it. I went around the house, and found an old tool shed. I ripped the door open, and tossed the shovel in with the old, worn tools and shut it. I used a stone to beat the nails back in and walked around to my car.

I left the old mansion, and never looked back. I drove home, and went in through the garage. I stripped down to my boxers, and threw all the clothes I had been wearing into the washer. Then I went inside and warmed up my pizza. She had been right, even reheated, it was amazing. After I ate, I walked up the stairs to our bedroom, and crossed quietly to the bathroom. I took a long, hot shower., letting the hot water ease the ache that was already starting in my back and arms. After, I slipped quietly into bed with Sandy, and was asleep in five minutes.

After that night, I tried not to think of Perry again. I just hoped that everyone would assume he left town after Amy disappeared. Hell, that might even take any heat off of me. As far as most people would think, he had done something to her then skipped town when the cops stopped looking. The night I buried Perry was October 23rd 2003. Two days before my girls were grabbed. We had put them to bed early for getting into a fight after dinner. Sandy and I had decided to go upstairs and fuck since it was so early. Needless to say, I was out like a light after that.


I woke up at around two AM. At first, I didn’t know if I had been dreaming when I heard the scream or not. I listened again, and heard one of the girls cry out followed by the sound of the front door slamming. I jumped up at once and ran down the stairs. I turned on the light in the hall and saw muddy footprints and blood on the floor in front of the front door. They were leading away from the girl’s rooms. I ran like hell down the hall and threw open the door to Kelly’s room.


Blood was on the floor, but nowhere else. I saw the prints had come in from Stacey’s room. My heart was beating loudly as I followed them and opened the door. Stacey, little nine year old Stacey, had been torn apart. Her organs were strewn across the bed and floor. Blood was running down the walls. Her limbs were broken and laying in separate corners. I screamed and ran back to the front door and threw it open. The street looked empty, and sounded quiet. I looked at the porch step and saw those bloody prints leading away from the house. I spun around and ran to my den. I typed in the code to my gun safe and pulled out my 9mm Beretta. I slipped on my shoes and grabbed my flashlight.


I ran out into the night, following that trail. I kept calling out Kelly’s name, but heard nothing.

I picked up speed, but noticed the bloody prints were thinning. I called out again. I heard nothing for a moment, then a high scream filled the air. I sprinted toward it, calling her name. All at once, the scream was cut off. I ran as fast as I ever have, I meant to catch this bastard and make him pay. My way.

I had been cutting through the overgrown yards of empty houses, moving west. All at once in that high, dieing unmown grass I came across Kelly. She had not been torn up like Stacey, but her throat had been slit to the bone. Her blood was everywhere, the wound was smoking in the frigid night air. I screamed again, then noticed that the footprints were leading back toward my house. They had faded away completely after the first fifteen or so steps as they headed east, but I knew that he was going back. He had gotten me to chase him just to get me away from the house.


By the time I had made it back home, my chest was on fire and I had stitches in both my sides. The front door was standing open, a muddy handprint was on the jamb. I ran for it as fast as I could. As I reached the door, I heard Sandy scream. I turned right when I came through the door, running for the stairs just off of the dining room. As I threw open the doors to the dining room though, I saw them. Sandy was being held from behind by the fucker, and he had a knife to her throat. She looked like she had taken a punch or two already, her eye was swelling and her upper lip was split open. The blood had ran down over her teeth, staining them red. I could see them while she screamed.


‘Let her go!’ I said. I couldn’t see the guy’s face, he was hiding behind Sandy using her as a

human shield. The knife started to draw blood on her throat. ‘Why are you doing this?’ I asked. A deep, evil laugh came from the man. The knife bit deeper.

‘Did she ask you that, before you cut her throat?’ it said in a deep, almost demonic voice. I knew that voice. It sounded like one I had heard recently even. It was when the smell finally hit me that the dots connected. It was Perry’s voice. Yeah, Perry, but different. As I said it was deeper and….. unnatural. Thats the only word that fits. The smell was that of a body that had just started to rot. That early stench of putrefying flesh, of rot just settling in to the internal organs. Perry moved his head from behind Sandy’s. His face was sagging on the bones. His eyes looked like white cataracts, and their gaze was as cold as a hooker’s pussy. His tongue was swollen and black in his mouth. He dug the blade deeper into Sandy’s neck. Blood was starting to run down onto her shoulders. She begged me to stop him.


‘This can’t fucking be! I killed you!’ I said in a faint, unbelieving voice. He smiled. He reached up and grabbed her hair, wrenching her head back. ‘’Don’t you fucking do it Perry! I swear I’ll..’ I was shouting when he cut me off.


‘You’ll what!? Kill me again?’ he asked in a mocking, insane tone then laughed. The sound was disturbing. You can never put into words the sound made when a dead man laughs. ‘You tried that once, how is it working out?’ he had asked. The mockery in the tone was driving me crazy.


‘Fuck you!’ I screamed at him. My hand was shaking now. I wanted to squeeze the trigger badly. Not to try and save Sandy, not at that moment, but to shut him the fuck up.


‘Is this how you did it to Amy? Is this how you killed her?’ he asked. I said nothing. ‘Oh if you could have seen how I raped the girl I left in the bedroom! I hope it was worse than what you did to my wife!’ I screamed as I pulled the trigger. The bullet punched a hole in the middle of his forehead. His head snapped back, but the bastard didn’t fall. He just uttered that mad, skin crawling laughter as he raised his head. He fixed me in that dead stare of his and ripped the knife across Sandy’s throat. Her screams were cut off and replaced wet, choking noises. He still held her up by the hair when her legs gave out, the weight pulled the wound open wider.


I screamed again as I emptied the gun into him. He just stood there, taking every bullet, his

body jerking from the force of the impacting slugs, but otherwise still. He was laughing louder than ever. ‘Now it’s YOUR turn! Let’s have some fun, shall we!?’ he asked in a gleeful, sinister tone. He came running toward me. I dropped the gun and ran down the hall to the study. I just had time to slam the door closed and turn the lock when he slammed into it. I looked around, trying to remember if I had any weapons in here.

Blows began to hammer the surface of the door. It was shaking in it’s frame, and cracks were starting to splinter through the old oak. ‘Come on, let me in! I’ll make it painless, I promise…’ he was saying as he continued to beat the door down. The sounds of his knuckles slamming into the wood were disgusting. ‘Don’t you want to play with your old pal Perry again? You had sssoooo much fun with me and Amy, don’t you owe me one?’ he asked and laughed again.  I was looking around in a blind panic, then my eye caught sight of the old broadsword I had mounted over the mantle. I ran to it and jerked it off of the wall.


As I turned, the door finally gave way with a crashing sound, and splintered chunks of wood were flying across the room. I could see Perry’s rotting face peering in at me and smiling. ‘Ohhh my…. a sword huh? How fucking quaint!’ he said, in that same mocking tone. ‘I’M GOING TO FUCK YOU WITH IT!’ he shouted, now angry. He charged me with the knife, and I pulled back the sword. I took a swing at his ribs, and the blade dug deep. He stopped and looked down at the blade cleaved into his body, then looked up grinning.


‘That kind of tickles, let’s see how mine feels!’ he growled at me. He starts to move forward again, digging in the blade deeper, as he raises his arm. The knife came down and bit into my shoulder. The pain fucking ran down my arm just ahead of the blood. Something in me snapped. I pushed toward him, and knocked him off balance. I pulled the sword out, and just started chopping at him with everything I fucking had. His blood was flying everywhere, splattering the walls with black. He was still laughing, even when I cut off his fucking head.


‘Let’s see how this works out for me, you’re chopped into pieces.’ I told the head. It stopped laughing and fixed me in its stare again.


‘I’ll come back again! Sooner or later, I’ll pull myself together, so to speak, and come rape you to death with a rusty blade!’ Perry told me. I couldn’t stand the voice anymore, so I chopped at the head one last time, and severed its lower jaw. I dropped the sword, and stared at the pile of writhing body parts.


I went to the kitchen, and grabbed some trash bags. I had to disappear Perry’s still not dead ass from the house before I called the cops. I stuffed him into the bags, and dumped them into the trunk of the Audi. I drove back out to the old Brickman place, and put his ass right back into the same hole. I like things to stay where I put them. Well, everything but his fucking head. I threw that into the river. Kind of a funny thing isn’t it, having to bury a man twice?

So, after that I went back and called the cops. They came and I told em what happened, more or less. Perry’s prints were all over the place. I told em I had chased him out at the end, after he cut me and I got the knife away from him. Then I had passed out from blood loss and called them when I woke up. They seemed to buy it. It’s not like the cops there have fucking forensic teams. After that, I buried Sandy and the girls, then decided to run. I’ve been running ever since. I don’t know if he can come back again, but a guy like me can’t take chances, right?

So now you’re probably wondering how you have found yourself with me in your nice little apartment here, tied to a chair in a room wrapped in plastic. Hell, even a man on the run has to stop and smell the roses every so often right? And I am betting that one little double murder in Manhattan isn’t going to make too many waves. Oh yeah, that’s right. I said double, your daughter should be getting home about the time I finish with you. I’m probably going to make her look at you while I have my fun with her. Keep that in mind. Just do me a favor OK, don’t be a pain in my ass like Perry. Don’t make me put you twelve feet under.

By Lee Bishop

3 responses to “Twelve Feet Under

  1. Pingback: Twelve Feet Under | erickeys

  2. Wonderful stuff. I love how you subverted the whole “dead back for revenge” theme. I get so bored of the bad guys losing all the time.

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