
30 Dec The Psychopath
âThe Psychopathâ
Written by Shannon Higdon Edited by N/A Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek Narrated by N/ACopyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on CreepypastaStories.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed, adapted to film, television or audio mediums, republished in a print or electronic book, reposted on any other website, blog, or online platform, or otherwise monetized without the express written consent of its author(s).
đ§ Available Audio Adaptations: None Available
â° ESTIMATED READING TIME â 8 minutes
Mena had been in the shower for nearly an hour when the water-heater spit out the last drops having any semblance of warmth to them, prompting her to quickly shut off the flow before that damn chill re-attached itself to her. It was honestly the first time she had felt warm in a week. There were only two towels and they wereâŚsuspect, at best, but she made do nonetheless. The odds of her winning the lottery were probably higher than the odds of finding anything clean in this place. Two weeks ago something like that would have driven her crazy.
In a race against the cold, Mena dried off and put on the only clothes she could find that stood any chance of staying on her frame. Obviously, there would be nothing that would fit her, but with creative use of a belt, a red-flannel shirt acted as a dress and a pair of long-underwear were turned into baggy leggings. She placed three pairs of socks on each foot to act as shoes; avoiding the bathroom mirror at all costs.
The prospects in the kitchen were just as bleak. An extensive search turned up a half a loaf of stale, but fortunately mold-free, bread, unopened cans of green beans and corn and some ketchup. There was a large, meat-freezer in the corner of the filthy kitchen butâŚshe wasnât that hungry yet. She opened the cans at the table and put the ketchup on the bread; it was Thanksgiving dinner! She ate like a wild animal, lips-smacking, mouth open, and giggling uncontrollably while she did.
Mena had never known such hunger existed. Despite that, she had to stop half-way through her feast; her stomach had shrunk and it was painfully evident that if she continued to shove it in, it would just come right back out.  Her stomach gurgled in unsettled agreement and she washed it down with a glass of ruddy tap-water. Leaving her mess on the table, she stood, stretched and yawned loudly; she was exhausted. She could sleep for a weekâŚif only.
Meandering to the living room, stepping over a deconstructed lawn-mower and small stack of plastic, Christmas reindeer lawn ornaments on the way, she finally collapsed on the couch. It was the only piece of furniture in the room that hadnât disappeared beneath a pile of crap in this hoarderâs wet-dream of a house. The television remote was on the floor next to the well-worn couch and Mena flipped on the old tube-style RCA across the room.
After a couple seconds of flickering, the picture came to life and the colorized version of âItâs a Wonderful Lifeâ began to play. Mena sighed; was it close to Christmas? She couldnât remember. It seemed there was quite a bit that she couldnât remember. She flipped through the channels before stopping at her own face. It was her cheerleading picture.  She loved that picture. Smiling, Mena turned up the volume.
ââŚagain Jane, authorities are asking for any information that anyone might have that could aid the investigation, please call the number at the bottom of the screen. Mena Renee Metzler, seventeen, was last seen at the Hardwick Exxon on Claymore and Forty-ninth Avenue eight days ago. Her twenty-eleven Subaru WRX, was found deserted on Mishway Road and authorities do believe there were signs of a struggle. Police do believe there is a strong possibility that Mena may still be in the area and,â they changed the picture to one of her at the beach last summer with her mom and dad.  That was a good day. ââŚthey are asking everyone to please keep their eyes open andâŚâ Mena turned the volume back down.
She looked at the picture on the television and then at her own greasy, stringy blonde hair;Â so many damn split-ends!
âFuck it,â she said to no one as she got back up and made her way back down the hall to the bathroom. She didnât want to see before, but nowâŚnow she did. Using one of the wet towels she had tossed on the floor, Mena scrubbed away as much of the crud from the mirror as she could and took a good, long look.  Wow. She knew it was going to be bad, but thisâŚcould this have really happened in one week? It had felt like a month at the time and nowâŚnow it kind of looked that way as well. Mena was a shadow of herself.
She recognized her eyes, but that was about it. Her skin looked sickly pale and was pulled taut against her bony frame. There were large, black circles around her eyes and her cheek-bones seemed to poke out at a sharp angles that never existed before. It was like someoneâs sick Photoshop joke; a skeletonized version of her former self. She sighed, immediately regretting the decision to look but in no way letting kill her amazing mood.
âOh well,â she said before spinning on her socked heels and heading back to the couch. âI was wanting to lose a few pounds anyway.â Giggling to herself, Mena pulled the dingy blanket from the back of the couch over her shoulders and, using her arm as a pillow, proceeded to drift away into a very well-deserved sleep. Her last thought before REM took her completely being, maybe I should call someone first.
She was awoken some time later by a banging from downstairs. Mena cursed that it woke her and, sitting upright and stretching, tried to figure out just how long she might have been asleep. There were many, many windows in the old estate but they did her no good as they were all boarded shut with hammer and nails, not even allowing the thinnest streams of sunlight to enter; if it were daytime.  Was it daytime? Another series of bangs from the basement caused Mena to pick up a shovel from next to the couch and smash it against the floor several times.
âI SAID SHUT UP!â She screamed with all her lungs would offer.  WellâŚshe was awake now, and she was getting hungry again. There was no way round two in that kitchen would be as appealing as it was the first time. It was getting to be about time to get the hell out of here and get some real foodâŚtacosâŚoh yea, tacos. Her stomach began to roil from the thought.
The front door was sealed with no less than eight key-entry locksâŚon both sides. Cursing to herself, Mena tried to remember where she had seen the keys. She had become so conditioned to hate and fear the jingling of that damn key-ring it was genuinely surprising that she couldnât remember where it was. She would have liked to been able to pace while she thoughtâŚshe was a pacerâŚbut the house didnât really offer a great area to do so, so instead she carefully hiked around the first floor searching for it and trying to avoid the debris and scurrying rats.  There were rats everywhere.  When the next series of banging came it hit her:  of course, they were in the basementâŚwith him.
Just as well, she needed to end this anyway and say her goodbyes; kill two birds with one stone. Stopping in the bathroom first to pee and grab the fire axe from the bathtub, Mena made her way down the rickety steps to the stone-walled basement. In a striking dichotomy to the upstairs, the basement was free of clutter and trash; exactly opposite what one would expect. The torture chamber Edward, whom the media had dubbed âThe High-School Killerâ, had built down there was one of precision. Everything had a place and everything had a purpose.
Tools and blades hung from one wall which could, at first glance, look like any manâs workshopâŚuntil you starting taking a good look at what he liked to work with. The opposite wall, lined with shelves, held jar after jar of body parts in formaldehyde and even then one could be forgiven for thinking it might just be a mortuary. However, when the mounted hand-cuffs, leather strapped beds and variety of harnesses and hooks come into view it becomes painfully clear that one is in the belly of the beast. Mena still couldnât bring herself to look at the butcherâs corner of the room despite her lengthy stay in it.
âHow in the hell are you making that much noise?â She was genuinely curious since he was chained to a stone wall. Of course, he couldnât answer with ball-gag in his mouth, but he certainly tried; spittle and snot flying off to the side. âHold onâŚhold on,â she made her way over to him, âthatâs disgusting. Just stop.â Mena didnât want to touch the ball-gag at all; it was gross, but they needed to talk and it wasnât going to work this way. She reached around to the back of his head and unsnapped the S&M device.
âI have to pee!â he screamed at her.
âSo pee.â She replied.
âYou bitch,â he hissed at her and lunged forward as far as he could, snapping his teeth together. Mena did not flinch and he seemed to change his tune quickly. âPleeeaase? I have to pee.â Mena smiled.
âMaybe I can help.â With the dull end of the fire axe still in her hand, she lunged it forward into his gut; a flood of wetness soaking his pants and spilling down into a puddle around his feet. After several long seconds of struggling to get his breath back, Edward began to release a string of creative profanities directed her way, many describing the violent ways he was going to desecrate her. Mena just listened and smiled.
She remembered a day when she was ten. Her parents had taken her to Disney World on the premise that they were visiting relatives. When they woke her up in the car, just in time to see the massive âWelcome to Disney Worldâ sign, it was, quite possibly, the happiest moment in her life. Sure there had been all kinds of great moments of happiness in her life, but that one had always stood out as the best. Until now.  Damned if she wasnât just giddy.
âDaddy?â she said in a baby voice, interrupting his tirade. âDaaaaddyâŚdaddy?â He finally stopped and stared at her, eyes wideâŚlips trembling. âWhatâs wong?â she stayed in her baby voice, âYou donât wike it when I call you âDaddyâ anymoe?â Silently, he shook his head ânoâ. âHow come, daddy? Itâs what you always wanted befow. Am I not sâposed to be your wittle baby any moe?â
âPlease stop.â There was something in his voice she had never heard before; something she loved hearing: fear. If it hadnât made her physically ill to do the voice she wouldnât have quit, but it had made her point well. âPlease let me go. I wonât say anything.â Mena fell over with laughter, using the axe to keep her upright. This was almost better than a comedy show.
âYou wonât say anythingâŚyou?â She shook her head. âWow Eddie, you really are a messed up dude. Arenât you worried that I would say something? Letâs suppose I let you go, Edward, what would you do then?â He shook his head. The conversation was going in a direction he wasnât prepared for but needed for it to go, regardless.
âIâŚI donâtâŚIâll move. Iâll leave. Youâll never see or hear from me again. And moneyâŚIâve got some money. I can pay you. Please?â He was pleading. It was pathetic.  It was wonderful.
âEddie,â she sighed, âyou didnât say the one thing you should have said.â
âWhat? What? AnythingâŚwhat? Just tell me.â
âWhat you should have said is, âI wonât kill and eat people anymoreâ. Thatâs what you should have said.â
âI wonâtâŚI wonâtâ he was frantic. âI swear I wonâtâŚnever again. Iâve learned my lesson.â His cadence slowed as he tried to express sincerity. âI know Iâm sick, Mena. I want to get help. I want to get better.â Mena nodded in agreement.
âWellâŚyouâre right about one thing. You are sick. I tell you what Eddie, Iâll think about it.â  Mena eyed the key-ring on a metal shelf and went to retrieve it. âIn the meantime, you just hang out.â She giggled again and headed back to the stairs.
âWhaâŚWhat? Youâre just going to leave me here?â He seemed outraged. âFine bitchâŚjust call the cops then!â This stopped Mena in her tracks and she turned back around.
âEdwardâŚdo you know how long a person can go without food and water?â He said nothing and after a pause she continued. âI mean, you should knowâŚright? Youâre kind of an expert on keeping people alive on the smallest amount of each as possible. SoâŚdo you know?â He hung his head down, still silent. âOkayâŚitâs fine, Iâll just Google it when I get home; I know it can be difficult to remember in stressful situations.â
Dropping the axe on the floor with a clank, Mena went to the wall of tools and selected a small, sharp utility knife before going back to Edward and quickly lashing out at his chest, slicing it nearly five inches across. It wasnât deep at all; hardly life-threatening, but he blood began to flow down his chest, soaking in to his pants. Edward didnât give her the satisfaction of a scream and she tossed the knife aside and began to head back to the stairs again.
âTwo things Edward. First: you have a real rat problem here; and second,â she said as she reached the first step. âWhy would I call the cops?â
đ§ Available Audio Adaptations: None Available
đ More stories from author: Shannon Higdon
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Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on CreepypastaStories.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed, adapted to film, television or audio mediums, republished in a print or electronic book, reposted on any other website, blog, or online platform, or otherwise monetized without the express written consent of its author(s).