By Adam Gadomski
The sun began to set, sinking behind the edge of the known, and unknown, world. Darkness was ascending, coming out to play now that the light was tending to other matters.
The darkness had its own evil intentions, and I had mine.
I suppose that I should introduce myself. My name is Harlocke. Don’t bother looking me up; I change my name whenever I feel like it, and it’s always a different one. You’ve heard of me, no doubt. I’ve killed many people, done many unspeakable horrors. I’m the guy they blame every unsolved murder on. Their name for me is the “The Shaper”. I prefer Harlocke.
But I digress. We have much to do tonight, me and my unwilling friend. Yes, he’ll once again be joining me this night on one of my little–adventures.
Let’s see, where shall we do the wicked deed tonight? Night Club? I don’t feel like killing a drunken stripper-slut tonight. Maybe invade some one’s home? Or terrorize and torture some teens that are sneaking out at night? Hunting after human prey is sooo much more interesting–and unpredictable–than hunting animals. Animals are dumb, and oh-so-predictable.
What, does all of this make you uncomfortable? Why? You know, deep down inside of you, that you would simply love to have the freedom and courage to do these things, like me. Go ahead, admit it. No? Well, maybe after a few nights of this…
Well, you’ve watched me kill two teenagers who snuck out of their houses for a sweet, romantic rendezvous. You screamed at what I was doing to them? You disliked how I raped the girl after I crushed the boy’s skull with my boot? I suppose that I’m upset at that too; I now have to clean my boot. You are upset that the girl’s body is inside of a dumpster, contorted and dismembered almost beyond recognition? Why? Oh, your stupid morality. You have that still. Why? Why should I care about society? Whether or not it helps me isn’t the issue. If I can get away with it (and believe me, I always get away with it), then why should I worry? What does suppressing my desires for the sake of society, or “others”, do for me? Why should I benefit society unless it is also in my favor? I want to do what I want to do, so I do it. People get hurt, killed; why do I care? I owe them nothing, neither do you. Oh, now you’re crying. Sympathy for them? Let go of sympathy for anyone but yourself. It accomplishes nothing for you. Let’s try another…
I’ve killed a young man, trying to get home in time for–oh, what does it matter? He’s dead, and he never told me what he was running for. I used a serrated knife on him. I carved out his tongue, while still living. I think I may cut him up some more. A little insertion here, a little dismemberment there…
Oh, is something wrong? You’re yelling at me to stop? Why? What is so wrong with letting blood flow from dead veins? I already killed him; he’s safe from me now. What does it matter what I do to his carcass? He’s dead!
You really should have that moral compass thing checked. It hinders sooo much fun in life.
I’ve never felt as alive as I do when I take another’s life away. Have you ever read Dracula? The character Renfield, I believe he felt this way as well; although he merely killed animals and insects.
But, I once again digress. Let us move onward.
I killed a spider, but you don’t care. How interesting.
An old woman.
A police officer.
Two parents getting back from–again, what does it matter? They had three children with them too…
That will be my last kill for tonight; the police are coming now.
Well, I’ve tried tonight, with all of my strength, to convince you. You’ve weakened, but you’re still there. You’ve lost all hope in me, but I cannot lose you. No matter what I try, you are still there, begging me to stop. You won’t listen to reason, logic, anything. You insist that I follow you. What a stupid thing; I don’t even really believe you exist. Or, I at least didn’t. But…
No matter what I do, I cannot erase my conscience. I’ve–cried a few nights. I can’t believe the evil I’ve done. I blame everyone, and lash my hatred out at the world through my terror–and I am good at my terror. But the more I do it, the more that splinter known as my conscience prods at my mind. Oh, it gets weaker every time. But, that’s the problem. When it gets weaker, it annoys me more. The roar of disapproval is not what bothers me; it’s the whisper of shamed disappointment.
I’ve done all I can to thwart the menace that has killed my joy. No matter what I do–no, I cannot let it gain any ground. More killing. More rape. If I destroy enough of my soul (No! Souls do not exist!), I can relieve myself of this regret, and move forward to fulfill my lust for blood…
Who am I kidding? I hate this. Every emptied carcass, devoid of life, destroys my soul, my mind. I’m going insa–
No! We are having fun. Do you want to return to the life of a pathetic, no name cog in the wheel of society? We have a name! A reputation! A–
Yes! I would trade my freedom, my joy, everything in my existence, just to destroy the sorrow and regret from my heart–
You’re letting it win.
No, I’m letting you lose.
What did I ever do to wrong you?
What did your victims ever do to wrong you? Just think of yourself as my victim.
You need me! Where will you go without me?
To prison! Where a monster like me belongs!
Monsters don’t belong in cages. We need freedom to fulfill our potential.
May we never see the light of day
No!
Yes!
…
Sergeant Patterson stared at the audiotape. “Wow, that’s what he said?”
“Yes-sir, I think this, along with his official confession, is enough to convict him.” He smiled.
Patterson walked over to the padded cell. “Well, no, he’ll be declared insane, and put in a loony bin.” The Shaper was crying now, leaning his head against his knees. “That was some wild-eyed story, though. Just like that, 47 unsolved murders, all pretty much solved. We got our man. I wish that there was someone to thank for all of this.”
The officer shrugged. “I guess, maybe, his conscience?”
Adam Gadomski is a student at the State College of Florida.