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Shawn Oetzel

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Member Since: May, 2006

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His First Time
By Shawn Oetzel
Monday, June 19, 2006

Rated "PG13" by the Author.

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A glimpse into a fledgling serial killer's mind as he experiences his first taste of murder.

This story will appear in the August 2006 Writer's Post Journal.

The soft light from the moon’s glow drifting through the bedroom window glinted off the blade as he methodically drew the knife across her throat. Blood immediately began to well up around the cut. His eyes grew as large as the full moon shining brightly outside the bedroom window as the knife bit into the carotid artery, and blood began pumping and spraying all over his neck and chest. A few stray drops of the precious red rain hit him along the cheek, and he shivered involuntarily with ecstasy.

He smiled inwardly at himself knowing he had chosen correctly to straddle his victim across her chest to deliver the coup de grace blow. The look of sheer terror in her eyes was priceless, and the warm sensation of the spraying blood was indescribable. This moment was everything he dreamed it would be, and infinitely more exhilarating than he could have ever imagined.

He watched as his victim’s eyes slowly rolled up into her head so only the milky whites showed. The blood that just seconds before had been spraying in a magnificent crimson arc, slowed to a dribble as this first sacrifice bled out. Her body gave one last slight spasm as her heart stopped. He let out a moan of pleasure as if he just experienced a sexual release.

He smiled again, this time excitedly, as he lifted his head and caught his reflection in the glass of a picture that hung on the wall above the head board of the bed. He could make out the red drops shining brightly on his skin. For the first time in his life he felt complete. He knew without a shadow of a doubt this was his true calling. This was his new religion, and he had just been baptized in the holy red water of his first victim. Tears actually sprang to his eyes, and he reveled in the moment for as long as he dared.

He had always known he was different. Even at an early age he knew his personal thoughts would have been considered strange or maybe even frightening for someone so young. He simply viewed people and the world around him differently than most. People were merely objects or playthings. They were something he could use to help satisfy his growing curiosities. He never acted on his thoughts, but he knew deep down in his soul he was meant for more than an ordinary existence. He was special, gifted, and his life was meant for greatness.

He chuckled quietly to himself as he thought about how he would be analyzed or what was the new word…ah yes, profiled. Try as the so called experts might, they were never going to be able to explain his behavior. Oh sure, they would make their educated guesses about him, and they may feel secure their knowledge would lead to his eventual capture, but he knew the truth. Fate had dealt him this gift. He had found his calling, and no amount of profiling would be enough to stop him from achieving his destiny.

He had grown up as the youngest of three children. His parents were wealthy, and he had never really wanted for anything. He spent his childhood living in the upper class suburbs of Chicago. He had been fairly popular in school with many friends. There were no glaring incidents of abuse the experts could point to explain his actions. By all accounts his childhood was normal, happy, and relatively ordinary. They would never be able to understand he had been touched by God. He had been chosen for greatness. This murderous calling was nothing short of divine intervention.

His adolescence and early adulthood had been just as uneventful. He graduated high school in the top ten percent of his class, he remained popular, and had even been voted prom king his senior year. He had gone on to college where he was active in many clubs. He dated frequently, and even maintained a relationship for most of his senior year though it fizzled out shortly after graduation. There were no signs or any evidence that showed the slow simmering brutality that was bubbling just under the surface.

He graduated with his degree in communications, but with his family’s wealth, he did not need to find a job and start a career right away. If one word would be used to describe his life up to this point, it would be normal. He had set himself up in an apartment down town when fate finally decided to step in.

His moods began to change. He felt as if his blood was on fire while it was flowing through his veins. He began to feel feverish and disorientated. He had no idea what was happening to his body or that he was beginning to go through a metamorphosis that would lead to his eventual salvation. He knew he was different in some important way, and eventually, he would be told why.

He thought about the description of drug addicts going through withdrawal he had read in one of his college classes. This was the only way he could describe what he was feeling, and what he was going through. He would tremble and his body would ache. He was physically ill and would black out for short periods of time. Like the drug addicts, his body was missing something it desperately needed. He was jonesing for a fix, but of what he did not know.

Then one evening during the last full moon phase, with a moment of pristine clarity, he understood. It was as if the moon was shining the light of glory on him; illuminating his path to righteousness. He knew and understood what he was supposed to do. He had been chosen to cleanse those that were unworthy. This was the sojourn fate had chosen for him, and he was going to embrace his mission with all the passion he could muster. This was the very reason for his existence, and he was going to dedicate his life to the cause. He would see this important quest through to the end. It was time for him to write his own history book, and the pages would be filled with words inked in blood.

The very next morning, fate decided to intervene in his life once again. While sitting at his favorite coffee shop eating breakfast, she walked in. He knew at once she was meant for him. He felt as if his body was alive with electricity. He began to feel a heat building in the pit of his stomach, and then began to spread throughout the rest of his body. He was on fire. He never knew he could be so alive. He was transfixed by her as she stood at the counter and waited for her order to be taken. He swore he could smell her unclean, impure body. She was in desperate need of purification. It was all he could do from jumping up, pushing the tables out of his way, and bleeding her right there on the counter. He decided discretion was the better part of valor however, and fought to control the fury he so desperately wanted to unleash.

He left his breakfast on the table barely touched, his physical hunger now forgotten as he watched his prey. A new hunger had taken hold of him, and it was one that could only be sated by purification. He got up slowly, and casually walked to the counter where she stood. He waited right behind her as if he was waiting to pay his bill. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Her unclean odor filled his nostrils. The scent was so pungent and foul it was all he could do to keep from retching. He actually raised his hand to his mouth to stifle a gag.

She paid for her order, and left the quaint little coffee shop. He watched her closely through the front window as he paid his own bill. A feral grin slowly spread across his face as he watched her cross the street, and enter the office building directly across from where he now stood paying for the breakfast he had no intention of finishing. This was going to be far easier than he could have possibly hoped for. Oh, he was indeed blessed. She would be the initial step in his sacred quest to rid the world of those that were vile and impure.

He spent the rest of the morning staking out the office building in hopes of learning as much about his intended victim as he possibly could. The office was home to a small brokerage firm. He toyed with the idea of making an appointment under the guise of wanting help to invest some of his trust fund. He quickly dismissed this notion however; as he knew it would be dangerous in case someone would happen to remember his face later. His mission called for patience and caution. He planned on utilizing these two traits to the best of his ability.

He walked around the building three separate times that morning. He was pleasantly surprised at the lack of security. Things truly appeared to be going his way, and he took this as another sign of how blessed his calling truly was. He was also quite pleased on discovering the employee parking garage that was located under the office building. It too was fairly unprotected, and he was able to walk right down into the garage unhindered. He decided he would return later in the day in hopes of spotting his prey and her vehicle. In the mean time, he had one more piece he needed if he was going to fulfill his vow. A true artist needs the correct tool if they are going to create a masterpiece after all.

He left the underground garage and hailed the first taxi he saw. Once inside, he gave the cabbie the address to his parents’ house out in the suburbs, promising the driver a hefty bonus if they arrived at his destination quickly. With the promise of extra cash, the cabbie sped off with the full intention of earning the bonus. He arrived at his parents’ home a half an hour later. He quickly paid his cab fare, and, as good as his word, he tipped the cab driver fifty dollars.

After the taxi sped off, he turned to take a quick survey of the house. His parents were not at home. Since he had moved out on his own, they had taken to traveling extensively. They were gone on one of their many excursions, so the house was dark and empty. He let himself in with his key. Knowing the object of his desire would be found in his Father’s study, he made his way to the room without delay.

His father had an extensive collection of military memorabilia. He was only interested in one piece of this collection however. After entering the study, it did not take him long to locate the object. The WWI bayonet was in the display case just as he remembered. With a kind of reverent awe, he lifted the lid, and drew out the heavy blade. He imagined that this must be the way Arthur felt when he first pulled Excalibur free from the stone, only he had far more important plans for his new weapon than King Arthur ever could have dreamed to use his own sword for.

After procuring his weapon of choice, he knew he needed to return to his surveillance. He went to the kitchen where he found the spare keys to his Father’s car. From there he went to the garage where the Toyota Celica sat waiting. He often borrowed the car so he was pretty sure it would not be a missed if his parents happened to return before he was able to bring it back.

He backed out of the driveway and, with a restrained calm, drove back to the office building. He again was able to enter the parking garage without incident; he parked among the other automobiles, and waited. After a couple of hours, his wait began to bear fruit. The employees began to pour out of an elevator that was located off to his right. This gave him an unobstructed view through his passenger side window. He began to worry however when he did not see his target for purification.

The employees from the office building were talking and laughing with each other as they made their way to their respective vehicles. After a few minutes they filtered into their cars, and began leaving the garage. He had still not seen his unclean prey. There were still plenty of automobiles in the garage, but at least half were now gone.

A second wave of employees emerged from the elevator. A similar scene as before played itself out. The employees again laughed with each other, and drove off presumably on their way home. Still, he did not spot her. Anxiety began to creep up on him. The garage was almost empty now.

He was starting to rethink his strategy when the elevator door opened once more. She walked out alone. She paused as she dug through her purse to fish out her car keys. As soon as he spotted her, that same electrical jolt he had felt back at the coffee shop hit him. Once again he had an overwhelming feeling of nausea as he could smell her spoiled odor. She began walking to her vehicle completely unaware she was being watched.

He gripped the bayonet tightly in his hand. Now! He wanted to purify her now. He quickly looked around, and did not see any employees lingering. It would be so easy. But no, he knew he had to wait. He knew this purification was too important to waste in a parking garage. He had to do this right. He could only purify her on an evening of a full moon, an evening much like the one that had granted him his life changing epiphany. Then, and only then, would he be able to properly complete his purification ritual.

This would give him a full two weeks before the new moon. Two weeks to plan and prepare. It would be hard, but the things in life most important often were. He could wait, and he would bide his time accordingly. He grinned maniacally as he watched her drive away in her red Jeep Grand Cherokee.
The next two weeks seemed to crawl by, but he settled into a comfortable routine. After cautiously following his prey home that first night, he was able to learn her address, and from his two week surveillance was able to glean even more important details about her daily life. This was truly going to be a glorious moment.

His unknowing prey lived in a quiet suburb of Palos Hills right outside Oak Lawn. She had a nice little house that to his advantage was within sight of the Palos Forrest Preserve Park. He was able to sit quietly and comfortable, and most importantly, well hidden at the park while studying his intended victim’s every move.

The hours ticked by slowly, but his intimate knowledge grew with every passing minute. He knew she lived primarily alone, but a few nights a week she had a boyfriend that would stay over. He knew on Thursday she went back into the city to meet friends at one of the many clubs. She returned in the early morning hours alone and more than a little inebriated. He also knew from an overheard conversation at that club that this was a regular meeting. Lastly he learned she kept a spare key hidden under a large planter in her front yard. He had seen her use this key on one glorious occasion and then replace the key when she had finished.

That first week of watching had been pure hell for him. It had been torture, and his only salvation would be when the moment of purification arrived. He could feel his body preparing for this ultimate journey. He was sweating constantly as if he was burning up with a fever, he ate sparingly, and his body often trembled in his ever growing anticipation. It was all he could do to maintain control, but he knew he must. God had given him this gift and he meant to use it appropriately.

Feeling secure in the knowledge he gathered from his constant vigil, he spent the two days before his ultimate glory preparing. He gathered his sacred tools that would be needed for this holiest of events. The plastic pull ties he had seen used in numerous cop shows on television; they were small, lightweight, and easily concealed in his pocket. The plastic gloves he had taken from the ER room of University of Chicago Hospital. He despised the thought of having to don such mundane adornments, but he knew it was a necessary precaution. He so wanted to feel the warmth of the crimson life giving liquid as it poured over his hands, but he knew his calling was the important aspect of his mission not his personal desires. The silverfish gray duct tape that would stop any screams of pain and terror from his intended sacrifice once his ritual began.

Lastly, and most importantly, he had his tool of execution, the WWI bayonet, which he had sharpened to finely honed edge. This simple tool had already played a part in many deaths so many years ago would now take its place among the most sanctified and holiest of relics. He was this lovely blades Master, and together they would cleanse the impure of this world.

When the following Thursday, the night of the full moon, arrived, he was ready. He spent that morning in deep meditation, reflecting on his calling, and how touched by Grace he was. He had read somewhere the suicide bombers in the Middle Eastern countries often bathed themselves in a cleansing ceremony before carrying out their final gruesome mission. He wondered if he would feel cleansed as well once he bathed in the purified blood of the unclean. When the sun slipped down and the darkness began taking control, he gathered his holy implements, and departed to finalize his destiny and cement his place in history.

He arrived at the forest reserve right at 8pm. He waited a full hour to make sure the majority of his foul victim’s neighbors were asleep, and then he slowly and methodically made his way to the den of vileness. With every quiet and cautious step he began to feel invigorated with power. The anticipation of this moment was almost too much to bear. He looked to the night sky, and the moon shone down on him, bathing him in the magnificent ness of the impending moment. He drew power from the almost corporeal light and felt super human as he closed the last few feet to the dark empty lair of his victim.

He slipped on his gloves and, with confidence, he lifted the planter, and there shining in the moonlight was the key to salvation. He reached out his hand with reverent awe, and gently plucked the key from its hiding place. He quickly unlocked the door, and replaced the key to its quiet resting place beneath the planter. He returned his attention to the door of this unholy tomb, and took a deep breath before he let himself in.

The wave of nausea hit him immediately. The air of the house was so repugnant that he nearly passed out from its unholy stench. He quickly gathered his bearings, took strength in the fact he was the Chosen executioner. Trying hard to fight down the bile rising in his throat, he closed the door and awaited destiny.

He glared as he took in his surroundings. The house was a lie. He could see the flowers on the coffee table, and the family pictures hanging on the walls. Lies, they were all lies. This was the home of an unclean and impure vile demon, not the attractive young woman he had been following the past two weeks; that was just a mirror of what she really was. He was going to shatter that mirror and cleanse this hidden beast for the glory that had been his calling.

Off the living room, he saw the hallway he presumed would lead to what passed for this creature’s bedroom. He crept down the hall until he stood in the open doorway of what would become his alter. This room would see his emergence from his cocoon of mortality into the being that would bring salvation to the world. He nearly wept.

He gathered his emotions, and for the first time since his epiphany gave his life direction, was unsure how to proceed. He knew he would have to catch his prey off guard if he was going to subdue her quickly and quietly. He dismissed the idea of hiding under the bed as that would be clumsy, and too cliché for his liking. The closet was no good either. There would be too much time for the she demon to let out a scream before he would be able to take control. After taking another look around the room, he smiled knowingly.

The solution was so simple he actually let a small laugh slip through his other wise clenched teeth. The door to the bedroom was not open to the point where it was flush with the wall. There was just enough room where he could stand completely hidden from view behind it, and easily step out when the time came to overpower his soon to be helpless victim.

He glanced at the digital clock on the bedside table. It showed that it was just after 10pm. If the information he gathered was correct, she would be back around 1am. He took a deep breath to begin his calming exercise, and stepped behind the door. The wait would be long, all great men suffered to achieve their lofty status however, why should he be any different.

The wait was unbearable. He performed every calming and meditation exercise he knew, but still the time slowly crept by. He was beginning to feel claustrophobic, and was considering taking a quick tour of the house when he saw the headlights reflected through the bedroom window, and heard the tell tale sounds of a car crunching over gravel. She was home. He steeled his nerve, and clenched the sharpened bayonet with renewed energy. Destiny was calling.

He heard the front door open, and saw the flicker of light as a lamp was turned on. He began trembling with anticipation. This was it. His moment of supreme glory was upon him. After tonight he would be a God, and the world would never be the same .The reverberations of this night’s events would be felt by the masses for years to come. Tonight he would be reborn.

He could make out the sounds of footsteps as the foul demon made her way down the hall. She must have slipped her shoes off because he heard the sound of her bare feet scraping along the hallway carpet. He waited, and nodded knowingly when instead of entering his alter, she slipped into the room across the hall.

He had anticipated this. He heard the sound of water as it is flushed down into the depths, and the even more common sound of water being run from the sink. When the water shut off, he tensed. The time had come.

He listened as his prey walked across the hall. Then just like that she was there. He could not see her through the door, but he felt her presence as sure as he felt his own. The light switched on, and he was momentarily blinded. He was so caught off guard that he nearly gasped. He quickly slammed his hand over his mouth to stifle any escaping sound. The flash of brightness quickly faded, and he was once more under the complete control of fate.

As he had foreseen, she had ignored the door, and moved to the dresser beside the closet. He ventured a quick glance around the door, and there she was. She was bent over looking through the bottom drawer for what he could only guess to be some sort of sleeping attire. She was naked except for her panties. This was so much the better. It was not sexual desire he felt creeping through his body, it was the flush of something far greater and powerful. His desire was not fueled by something as mundane as pleasure of the flesh. It was the pleasure of the soul that was guiding his actions.

As his moment in time descended into reality, he let fate guide his hand. In the blink of an eye, he leapt from behind the door, and with the instrument of purification solidly in his hand he answered destiny’s call. He slammed the pommel of the bayonet into the base of his prey’s neck. She let out a quiet mewling sound and slumped silently to the floor. He stood over her shaking with nervous tension and with immense pride. It had been almost too easy.

He had to act quickly before she was able to regain consciousness. He grabbed her by the waist and hauled her to a standing position. She was heavier than he thought, but he was able to get her upright enough that he slung her over his shoulder. He crossed the room, switched off the light so the room was once again bathed in only the purest of moon light, and tossed his victim onto the bed. He reached inside his pants pocket and pulled out the plastic pull ties. He quickly immobilized this unclean demon whore buy tying her spread eagle to the bedposts on the bed. He also placed a small piece of the duct tape across her vile spewing mouth to stop any cries for help.

When he was finished securing his prey he took a moment to collect himself. He was unsure on how to deliver his cleansing blow. Should it be a sharp blow to the heart of this beast or should he be more tortuous, and start by violating her disgusting womanhood?

He knew time was of the essence, and quickly dismissed the first foolish notions. This was a sacred event, and he would not spoil it my being foolish and clumsy.

He stood and reveled in the moment. He watched as she began to stir and slowly regain consciousness. He wanted this moment to last as long as possible. He wanted to stare into her dirty unclean eyes and savor every second. In a moment of inspiration he climbed on top of her chest and straddled her body. He leaned in close enough that he could feel the warm putrid air from her nose on his face. The imagined stench was horrible, but he was focused on what was about to happen.

Her eyes began to flicker and then, to his exhilaration, she opened them. He stared straight through into her soul and watched as the terror of her situation slowly sunk in. A feral smile spread across his face, and, in one swift, quick motion, he purified her. The bayonet sliced through the soft tissue like a hot knife through butter. It was joyous.

His baptism over, he climbed off, and slid to the floor, spent. The nervous tension and immense thrill of the moment had left him exhausted. He was now complete. He was the righteous soldier that had been touched by Grace. He was the paladin and champion that would cleanse the world in blood.

With one look back at his now clean victim, he got up and walked out of the house. He paused to wash himself in the pure moonlight of the predawn sky. He was exhausted and wanted so badly to rest, but he knew he still had work to do. There were just a few short weeks until the moon would rise full again, and another victim would be cleansed.

This may have been his first time, but he had a taste for it now, and the world was full of the unclean. It was time to go. He had a destiny to fulfill.
   


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Reviewed by Sandra Mushi 6/19/2006
Great gripping write, Shawn!

God bless,

Sandie.
Reviewed by April Smith 6/19/2006
Creepy! I was enthralled to the end! Thanks for sharing, April

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