Murder Anthology - Paul Weightman (best way to read e books .txt) 📗

The Participant

He waited, partially hidden by the twilight shadows, which were playfully dissolving day to night. The neat semi stood proudly in a street of almost identical houses, its small front garden decorated with a tidily pruned hedge. He lit another cigarette, the flame of his clipper briefly illuminating his twisted features and still he waited. The semi was still a hive of activity, lights illuminating each room, coloured walls proudly displayed to the outside world. He waited tirelessly and his patience was finally rewarded. Curtains were drawn and lights dimmed, children he knew lived there were put to bed. Time seemed to limp on for an eternity before the house was plunged entirely in to darkness, he licked his lips nervously, and the time had come.
Emily snuggled beneath her duck feather duvet with a wide yawn. It was barely 10.30pm and she was shattered, she looked longingly towards her trashy romance novel perched on the white iron bedside cabinet. She sighed with frustration knowing it was no use, within 5 minutes she would be asleep, it was pointless to even bother picking the book up. Instead she sensibly checked her alarm was set for the morning before flicking the lamp off, inviting night in to the room. She lay in the dark for a few minutes listening to her heart beating a steady pattern in her chest, before her breathing evened out and sleep consumed her. Next door her five year old twins slept easily in their matching beds, adorned with pink princess canopies, not even stirring when the security light blinked lazily in to action in the back yard.
He had expected the most difficult part of this whole excursion would be obtaining entry to the quaint semi detached and its heavy duty outer doors. Surprisingly this was by far the easiest; she had left the back door open. He was shocked when the handle clicked and the door swung open, ‘silly bitch’. He stepped silently in to the room he knew was the kitchen, a smell of food still lingered heavily in the air and moonlight from the small window cast an eerie glow on the linoleum.
‘Silence is golden.’
He whispered to himself, feeling a bubble of excitement rise up like a clot in his windpipe, threatening to jump out of his mouth as a noisy explosion. He stifled it with calm collective breaths, before continuing his journey. The kitchen led to a still warm living room, orange embers still murmuring on the coal fire, which was now dying out. He didn’t stop, purposely moving a little faster now, his black gloved hand on the door handle. He didn’t pause in the grandly decorated dining room just moved to the bottom of the carpeted staircase. He looked up to the head of the stairs, unsure for a moment, confused by what he was doing, and then he pushed on regardless. The stairs didn’t make a sound as he climbed them, easily reaching the top in seconds. Now he was here, it was time to get on with his plans. He paused outside Emily’s door, his ear pressed against the grained white wood, listening. No sounds came from within and he knew she was sleeping soundly.
He made a quick decision; he would slaughter the lambs first. No sense in their mother waking them from a sound slumber. The twins were sprawled comfortably across their pink and purple beds, their small cherubic faces, angelic and unblemished in sleep. He swallowed hard at the lump in his throat and steeled himself for the task he faced. Chloe was first; his gloved hand pulled back the voile canopy, the silky material whispering softly in the silence. He drew his knife, a trusty heavy object, rosewood handle, 10inch in length. Moonlight reflected from the blade, making it glint seductively. He softly smoothed Chloe’s golden honey coloured hair back from her face and with one deft movement, dragged the sharpened blade across her exposed throat. Her skin seemed to resist for a moment before it gave way and blood began to seep from the open wound. She never woke up and he hoped her dreams had been glorious. He gently laid her body back on the pillow, watching with morbid fascination as her neck bled out her life ebbing away. Then he turned to Amanda, again he stroked her hair away from her face before raking the knife across her small throat. Amanda was feistier than her sister and he almost panicked as her wide blue eyes opened and she began gurgling nosily from the exposed gash in her throat. Blood spurted out of the wound, seeping through his dark shirt. It turned cold quickly and the damp material clung to his bare chest. He held Amanda tightly feeling the life draining quickly from her small body. She emitted one last chilling gurgle and a bubble of blood popped out of her throat before her struggles ceased. He laid her small body down on the pink sheet.
Emily’s door opened noiselessly and he slipped in from the hall. He could make out her petite sleeping form in the middle of the king size sleigh bed. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness and he could see her delicate features, relaxed and unwrinkled from any worries. Her long blonde hair fanned out on the pillow, framing her face like a halo and her pink lips were slightly parted. He stood in the resounding silence of her safe haven, watching her sleep. He felt frozen, his feet glued to the thick cream carpet like it was quicksand. Time seemed to stand still and his legs began to ache but still he couldn’t force himself to move. It was Emily that snapped him out the daydream, she stirred slightly in her sleep and he jumped as though a shotgun had cracked the nights calm. He moved forward quickly and began taking his tools from a small canvas rucksack. He unpacked them with the love of a mother for her child, laying them out neatly within reach of the bed.
Emily awoke suddenly, unsure why but knowing something wasn’t quite right. She lay still for a moment, her ears straining to hear anything unusual but silence reigned. She tried to turn, to find a more comfortable position for the night but discovered she couldn’t. A flutter of panic danced in her chest but she swallowed it down and tried to move again. She tugged her hands and realised they were tied by rope, maybe string. She attempted to kick her legs and realised they were also tied; her heart began to beat like a wild bird trying to escape from her chest. Her eyes were adjusting to the darkness of the room and that was when she saw him, crouching by the bottom of the bed. He was shrouded in shadow and she couldn’t quite make out his features but she knew he was there.
Her eyes flickered open when he had completed her bonds. He drew a small amount of satisfaction when he saw the luck of panic flitter across her face. It didn’t take her long to focus on him and as she drew in air and began to scream, he cut the sound off with a gag. A look of distaste crawled across his face, her scream had tainted the proceedings and he found it distasteful. She quietened quickly under the gag, concentrating on breathing instead of screaming. He had memorised her bedroom and now he moved over to where he knew her nightlight was and switched it on. The dim bulb cast an orange haze around the plainly decorated bedroom, making everything appear softer. He blinked rapidly as did Emily, their eyes adjusting to the new light source in the room. Her struggle resumed almost immediately and he watched her with pity in his eyes. There would be no escape for her tonight; it was far too late for that.
Emily tried to remain as calm as possible. When he turned on the lamp she tried focused on his face straight away, but the sudden light made her eyes squint. When she could see again she carefully looked him over, she didn’t recognise this man and that scared her more than anything else right now. He was crouching again, she kept her arms and legs working the bonds that held her prisoner, but it was to no avail. She saw him stand and the blood in her veins turned to ice as she saw the knife he wielded.
He saw her body freeze momentarily as he stood with the knife. He had fondly named it his trusty tool of torture and it was clearly having the desired effect. He gently caressed the inside of her exposed milky thigh with the curved blade. The knife was beautiful, a survival knife with a serrated edge, the tip curved upwards seductively. Emily was still, she appeared almost afraid to breathe as he stroked her thigh with the knife. He lifted the edge of her pale blue nightshirt and held it to the knife blade. The blade cut through it as easily as a hot knife through butter and she was exposed. She had on a small white thong, plain and modest. Her breasts were bare, small and pert the nipples erect in the sudden cool of the room. He circled them deftly with his fingertips and she tried to shrink away, pressing her shivering form further in to the mattress. He angered quickly, like a storm cloud moving over him suddenly.
Emily whimpered as she felt the knife blade cutting her tender flesh. She was ashamed to be half naked in front of this stranger and she felt dirty, violated by his actions. Now he cut her flesh, her abdomen split easily under the sharp edge of the blade. She felt only a slight sting but saw the blood on the blade as he lifted it, almost as if to taunt her. Tears began to fall freely down the sides of her face, trickling in to her ears and fresh panic consumed her. Her babies were asleep next door and she couldn’t bear the thought of this monster harming them, stealing their innocence. She bit down on her gag, she would be completely silent, show no emotion. A secret hope crept in to her head, maybe if she was as lifeless as a wax model he would become bored, leave the house. It was a hope she could only cling to like a drowning woman who sees a life boat. Only Emily didn’t realise it was only going to get much worse.
He was obsessed with her, her skin, her hair, her face. She was perfection personified and he had a need to destroy this goodness, like pulling the wings from a butterfly. He saw the blood well up in the shallow cut he had made and his lips twitched with and odd half smile, half grimace. Playtime was officially over it was time to get serious. He climbed on top