Author: dhsully
Company: US Army

Sample
Secrets of a Psycho

Alfred Jenkins was on his way home from his wife’s funeral.  He looked at the passenger seat and began to chuckle.  “I wonder if your ghost is sitting there, Irene.  Are you watching my driving, angry because you have no voice to nag me now?”  He was laughing aloud now, so hard that he was banging his hands against the steering wheel.
“Y’know. I had to grit my teeth to keep from laughing and dancing at your funeral. I wanted to bust out singing 'Good Night Irene."  I did giggle through my handkerchief, but they thought I was crying.”
He stopped for a red light, still laughing.  He looked around and saw that the woman in the car next to his was staring at him. 
Stupid bitch.  What the hell is she staring at.  If  I pulled my switchblade and waved it at her she would have something to stare at.  Hey, how would she like it if I cut her damn throat.
 He looked at her and smiled.  “Something funny I heard on the radio,” he said.  She nodded and smiled.
The light changed and he continued.  “Oh, it’s so funny, Irene.  They think you fell from the step ladder while changing a light bulb.  Only you and I know the truth.  Oh, I know you disapprove of my putting you out of your misery.  But there ain’t a damn thing you can do about it ‘cause you’re just a spirit now.  
"No body, no voice, no nothing.  Just your spirit.  Now all you can do is just sit there and behave yourself."  He burst into a fit of laughter. "Betcha wish that you could do me some mischief." 
Hey, that reminds me.  I got a couple of secrets that nobody knows but me, and now I‘m gonna share them with you.”
~~*~~
He pulled into the driveway of the small frame house.  “You always complained about. this little house, Irene.  Only two bedrooms wasn’t enough for you?  Look, we never had any kids, so what did we need another room for?  Well, it don’t matter to you now, does it?” 
"Hey, looky there, Irene.  Our lawn is mowed, probably the airhead slut next door. And looks like she watered the ugly  flowers that you planted.  Damn busybody.  But don't you worry, she'll soon be outta her misery.  Like you."  He playfully punched the "spirit" in the passenger's seat.  "Ain't ya glad, Sweetie?" 
He entered the house, and after locking the door behind him, he jumped up on the couch.  He began jumping up and down on the couch like a child, all the while whooping with laughter.  He jumped down and started dancing, and then fell rolling on the floor.  
The doorbell rang.  He jumped up, straightened his clothes, and went to the door.  It was Michelle Fletcher from next door.  She was carrying a covered tray.  “Hi Mr. Jenkins.  Mom and I are so sorry we couldn’t make it to the funeral, but you know, Mom was feeling ill, and her being in a wheelchair and all.  Anyway, we brought you a little something.  There’s roast chicken and the trimmings.”
“I understand,” he said,  “and thanks for the food.  I really appreciate it. And I want to thank you for mowing my lawn and taking care of Irene's prized flowers.  You are so kind, and I'm  really grateful.”
“I'm glad to be of help in any way I can, Mr. Jenkins.  I’d like to say once more that if there is anything we can do, just let us know.”  She gave him a hug and left.
“You see that, Irene?  That gal’s got the hots for me.  Oh boy, she rubbed them little boobs against me.  And wow, them skimpy white shorts she was wearing, showing off them sexy legs.  Wheee!  Wanted to give me a show with those legs and the firm little boobies..  So she ain’t even half my age, but who cares?  Well, anyways, one of the secrets I'm gonna tell you is how I'm gonna put little Miss Boobie and her stupid wheelchair mom out of their misery.”
He turned on the TV, placed the tray with the chicken on the coffee table, then sat down to watch a rerun of  The Andy Griffith Show.    
“Yummy, this chicken’s good.  Wanna piece?  Oops, I forgot, you can’t eat it. Well, I’ll eat it for you.  Hey, I almost forgot about the secrets.  I’m gonna take you out into the hills tonight and show you one of 'em.  Something real nice.  You’ll love it”
~~*~~
After nightfall, Alfred left the house and drove out of town.  About a mile out of town, he turned off on an unpaved, winding  gravel road leading into hilly country.  “You never been out here before, Irene.  This is part of my rural mail route.  Know it like the back of my hand.”
Presently he stopped and got out of the car.  The full moon made the night almost as bright as daylight.  “See that hill?  Just follow me and I’ll show you something.  He trudged about halfway up the hill and stopped near a large boulder protruding from the ground.
“Just a few paces from the left of that boulder there’s two graves, and in those graves lies two lovely girls.”  He giggled and danced a little jig.  “Couple of real lookers, too. Whee!   Now didn‘t I tell you you‘d love it?   See, now you got company, ain’t that nice?  Irene, this here is Candice and Barbara.”  He did a little bow and gestured toward the graves.
“Course you do remember the girls being in the news?  One about three years back and the other just last summer.  Seems they disappeared and was never found.”  He giggled.    “Lovers come up here and park sometimes, but who’d ever guess what’s here?  But I keep a map of the place and an account of what happened to the girls, because I’m gonna be famous after I’m gone.  I keep it in that little gray strongbox that you always thought was where I kept important papers and records of my mail deliveries.  Well, now ya know.”
He took a deep breath, and his mood seemed to grow melancholy.  “The girls was hitchhikers just passing through and I  picked ‘em up in the mail truck.  I put ‘em out of their misery just like I did for you.  Used a different method, though.  Sliced ‘em up with my switchblade.”
He  walked a little way farther up the hill, about ten paces past the boulder.  "Maria Sanchez is where I'm standing, and about three paces farther up is Connie Barker.  I put them out of their misery with my blade.  You probably don't remember Maria.  She was an itinerate fruit picker."  He laughed until he was gasping.  "Oh, she was so easy.  I promised her twenty bucks to help me deliver my mail, and the stupid bitch believed me."  
He pointed to the other grave.   "Connie loved her booze.  She was drunk, and was staggering to the liquor store to get more whiskey when  I picked her up and gave her a lift."
Tears were streaming down his cheeks now.  "It gets so lonesome up here, and they are always so glad to see me."  A smile came to his face.  "Look, Irene, they have risen from their graves to dance for me."  He clapped his hands.  "Yay...that's wonderful girls.  I love ya."  He threw kisses toward the graves.
"I promised them that I would bring more girls up here to keep them company.  And I will, too."
He got back in the car and started back toward town.   He looked in the back seat.  “Nobody there.  Well, looks like your new friends don’t want to go back with us.  They never leave the hill.  Like it there, I guess.  But don’t feel bad, ’cause we’ll come back to see ’em.  I sometimes stop by to visit while I’m driving the mail truck on my route.  If anybody sees me they figure I‘m just taking a pee.”
~~*~~
Soon after leaving the gravel road and turning onto the paved road, he noticed a pair of headlights pull up behind him.  He didn't like the glare of lights behind him at night.  He cursed, then slowed down a little to let the other car pass.  But it didn't.
"Now why the hell don't that idiot pass.  The road is clear and he has all the room in the world."
He slowed down a little more, but the car stayed with him.  He was considering pulling over to let the other driver pass when he saw flashing blue lights in his rear view mirror.
"Damn, a cop.  Out of the city limits, so probably a state trooper.  Now what could I have been doing?  Does he know something?"  He glanced at his speedometer.  Under the speed limit.  He never exceeded the speed limit so he knew that wasn't the reason.   
He fingered the switchblade in his pocket.  "If he tries to arrest me, I'll get close enough to stick this into his stupid heart.  I'll leave him here and nobody will know what happened."
He pulled over and waited.  A moment later the trooper appeared.
"Your driver's license, please sir?"  
He fished the license out and handed it to the trooper.  The trooper studied it a moment and handed it back to him.
"Mr. Jenkins, I just want to tell you that you have a burned out tail light on your right rear.  I won't write you up, but I would advise that you get it fixed as soon as possible."
"Thank you very much, Officer.  I certainly will take care of it."
~~*~~
The following morning was Sunday and Alfred slept late.  He crawled out of bed, went to the bathroom, and then went to the kitchen.  He made coffee and filled a bowl with frosted flakes.  He looked across the table as he ate.  “Ha,  thought I couldn’t make my own breakfast, didn’t ya.  Well, I can make it by myself, Dearie, and do lots of other things.  You‘ll see.”
It was after 10:AM when he finished breakfast.  He got up from the table and immediately went to the window in the living room.  He lifted a slat in the blinds and peered through the crack just in time to see Michelle spreading a blanket in her back yard.  She was wearing shorts with orange and white vertical stripes.  
She spread the blanket and turned on her portable radio.  “Whee!  Just look at that, Irene.  That girl’s putting on another show for me.  She’s just begging for it.  Wants to join you, Barbara, Maria, Connie, and Candice.  And you know what, Dearie?  It gets better each time I do it.  Bashing your head was fun, but the switchblade is better.”  
He watched as Mrs. Fletcher wheeled out to join her daughter, and moments later a young man joined the two women.
"Ha. That idiot of a boyfriend is there again.  What does she see in that moron?"
He closed the crack in the blind and reached into his pocket, drawing out an eight-inch switchblade. 
He pressed the button and the blade made a click as it sprang open.  He felt the razor sharp edge, thinking of the red gash one stroke of its thin bright blade would make on Michelle‘s throat.  “Oh the pleasure,” he said, “the ecstasy.”  He felt a stirring in his groin as his finger touched the razor-sharp edge.
“I’m gonna let you in on the other secret, Dearie.  Remember when Michelle and her mother were gone for two weeks and left their house keys with us?  Well guess what, I secretly had copies of the keys made for their security storm door and the standard door at the front entrance.”  He peeked through the blinds again.  “I know where your bedroom is, my Michelle.”   He then sang out in a hoarse, tuneless voice, “Michelle ma belle,” then stopped and went into a fit of giggling until he lay on the floor gasping.  “Yep, tonight’s gonna be the night.”
He watched their backyard picnic until they went back indoors and then watched Michelle's boyfriend leave.  
You won't have her tomorrow, you stupid turd.  She'll be mine.
~~*~~