Nightly Stalker

Nightly Stalker

*The weak of mind and body do not read.*

He held the blood stained envelope in his shaking hand. His thick fingers traced the edges over and over, debating if he should open it or not. He had been handling the worn paper for days trying to bring himself to gently pull it open and read its contents. His fingers smoothed over the many creases, almost loving the mystery behind the unread letter.

He plopped down on his plush bed and stared at the object of his most recent obsession. His life was beginning to revolve around the small white envelope. His mind refused to concentrate on anything else. He had memorized every spot of blood, every curve of the ink that spelled out his name, every crease, and every fold. Insanity had never been this close before.

With a heavy sigh he finally slid his muscular finger under the glue held seal and pulled it open. His mind brought back the memories of the day he had found the letter clutched in the cold dead hand of his best friend. The pale gray of the flesh, the putrid smell of slowly decaying skin, the congealed and crusting pool of dark crimson that surrounded the gapping hole in the back of his shattered head, and the fleeting smell of gun powder all seemed so surreal, so fake, and yet predictable.

His steely blue eyes scanned the fading letter, his fingers tracing his name at the top, John. So simple, so short, so bland but when it sprung from the other’s mouth it held a passion, a meaning that no other could bring to it. The husky voice of the other made his name sound like the most important name in the world, no more than that in past, in the present, in the future, in any time conceivable.

It was not love, it never could have been and never would have been. It was merely a friendship, one of deep trust and loyalty. Perhaps that is why the final words of Craig’s short life were to him. Or maybe it was because Craig had no one else, no family, no other friends, no wife, just him. Just John W. Winslow. Just a simple man from a simple town with a simple, mundane, dead end job.

It was in that fact of simplicity that they found each other. Working side by side in a small cubical for a corporate corrupt. For a man so sinister that it made the acts of Satan himself look pure and modest. It was their that their friendship had started and it was shortly there after that their friendship had ended. Had ended with the single tug on the trigger of a .45 aimed into the mouth of one half of the relationship.

John let his eyes wonder over the neat and precise print of his lost friend. His eyes blurred over as the words sank in. His body froze, his mind’s functions stopped all together as the pages drifted silently to the cream colored carpet of his large bedroom.

John,

So many times I wanted to tell you. So many things made so little sense. You don’t know how many times I crept into you room while you slept. I watched your angelic features twist in dream and longed to touch you. Feel the heat of your flesh, but I knew it was wrong.

Tonight was no different. I slid my ID badge in the crease of your front door and with a slight twist of my wrist opened it on its well oiled hinges. I slipped in unnoticed by your sleeping neighbors and smelt you. Tasted you in the air. It is one of the few times that I am at a peace, when I am near you.

I crept across your spotless living room and entered your kitchen. I drank from a half empty beer bottle that you had placed on the counter after your lonely dinner. A dinner that you never even bothered to ask me too, but I was there. I was always there. I never missed a meal with you.

I loved to watch you gently bring the food to your mouth and let it slide over your tongue. I loved to watch you slowly chew your food and swallow, your Adams Apple bobbing with the movement. How I longed to taste that tender neck, Adams Apple and all. To devour your savory flesh and drink from the sweet blood wine that pours through your veins.

But I digress. I gently sat down the bottle and crept up the stairs, your quiet un-creaking stairs. Everything in your home is so clean, so perfect. If it hadn’t been maybe you would have heard me. Waited for me to enter your bed chamber and claim me as your own. Or maybe you would have sent me out into the cold winter air, away from my sanity, away from the heat, away from you.

But you didn’t hear me, you never do and like so many nights before I sat there. I sat in you plush oversized chair and watched you breath, dream, moan, pant, twist, shiver, and still. Every night I watched you and every night you give me those same movements to feed from, to live on.

And tonight like all the nights before it, I gently slid my hand down my chest and under the waist band of my flannel night pants. My breath caught in my throat at the first tug. The tug that brought me from a half life to a full one. I couldn’t help myself. I pulled hard and fast, not wanting it to end but longing for the roughness to come from you. My body jerked and I had to grit my teeth to keep from moaning, moaning your name John.

And when I came it was fierce and powerful and yet unfulfilling. It was tonight I finally realized that I was truly alone. Unloved by the only one who could bring me true joy, true euphoria. I knew what I had to do. I pulled the cushion off the chair and crept over to your bed. If you would not give me what I needed I would take it from everyone else. I would make sure no one else could find happiness in you.

The pillow so white, so pure, the embodiment of what you were to me. There I was holding it inches from your face and you so blissfully unaware of what was about it happen. It was sweet truly sweet, the victory I was about it have, the lose everyone else was about to suffer, I could taste just like I could taste you. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t take you from this world and make so many people suffer the way I had been. I couldn’t allow myself to destroy such beauty. So I just looked at you a moment longer before I left. I left your spotless home, your beauty, and my sanity.

I suppose, John, if you see this then you have seen me. You know what I did. I could not live that life anymore. That pain, that suffering, that constant agony was just to much for me to bare. I am so sorry.


It was you that brought to life and it was you who killed.

Craig.


John brushed the tears from his eyes. His whole body shivered with distain. He should tell someone. He should let someone know that Craig was dead, but who would really care but him? He was all the man had and that man was all he had. No one would understand that. No one.

He slowly removed his cloths and crawled naked into bed. His hand trailing down his bare chest and bringing to life the last bit of sanity he had.

“I loved you Craig.” He laid a gentle kiss on the rotting flesh of his nightly stalker and screamed his devotion into the night before curling up next to the lost half of his friendship.