Posted by Megaton on August 06, 2000 at 19:51:35:
The blonde woman slammed the basketball to the asphalt of the court, caught it on the rebound, slammed it again and
dribbled to the right. She gathered herself for an instant, jumped and threw the ball. It balanced on the rim, then dropped
through the net. She sprinted to the basket, grabbed the ball as it bounced, turned, jumped and released a soft hook shot
that bounced off the backboard and fell through the net. A triumphant smile crossed her features; her blue eyes bright
with the joy of accomplishment. Six foot one, in perfect physical condition, Danielle Ramplin was in her element.
Dani, who had just turned nineteen, was the number one player in her division in the state. Her strength, skill, and
stature had propelled the Pine Grove Wildcats to the top position in girls’ basketball. Now, as the evening crept toward
night, she was practicing on the court on the hill behind the Westside Community Church. The big game was a week
away, and she had to be in top form. She had even turned down a date with Mitchell, but he understood. He was the
only one of her boyfriends who had ever understood; their relationship had quickly changed from friendship to
something deeper and more lasting. They were already talking about marriage, as soon as they graduated.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw someone standing beneath the nearby trees, leaning on a cane or staff, watching.
She didn’t mind; in fact, having an audience inspired her to even more flamboyant moves. Jumping, running, never
missing a shot. For some reason, though, she thought of the girl who used to sit on the bleachers in school, the thin,
mousy girl who never dressed for p.e. Meg something, she recalled. They all used to make fun of her; most of them
thought she was gay.
Meg had graduated the year before and dropped out of sight; Danielle had heard that the law was looking for her. No
wonder. She was a weirdo. Dani thought about the way Meg used to watch her every move, her face blank,
emotionless. Creepy. She missed a shot, swore under her breath, recovered the ball and ran the length of the court.
Jumped with all her might, turned in the air and dunked the ball. Perfect.
When she hit the ground, the watcher beneath the trees was gone.
She stopped in her tracks, looked around. No one in sight. It was getting dark, and Dani was getting nervous. She
decided she’d done enough for the evening. She’d go home, get a shower, maybe call Mitchell. They could probably
still catch a movie or something. Ball under her arm, she turned and walked to the edge of the court.
From behind a tree someone sprang out, holding a long branch, broken off at one end. Before Danielle could react,
Meg brought the stick up with the speed of a cobra, jamming the sharp broken end into the soft hollow at the base of
Dani’s long white neck, driving it through larynx and trachea and the back of her neck, just missing her spine.
The basketball bounced, rolled, came to rest in the grass just beyond the court.
And time stood still.
Meg, both hands still clutching the stick, dark eyes burning as she stared expectantly at her victim.
Danielle, blue eyes wide, mouth open, arms outstretched as if to embrace her killer. Fingers slightly twitching.
Then, with a strange gurgling cry, Danielle lurched clumsily backward, pulling herself off the stick, a stream of blood
spurting from her throat like crimson champagne from a uncorked bottle. The beautiful blonde staggered, caught her
balance, arms waving as if she were walking a tightrope. She stared at Meg in frightened disbelief, like a deer caught in
the headlights, still trying to understand what had just happened, what was happening now. Blood foamed and bubbled
from her neck, soaking her Wildcats t-shirt, revealing the ripe fullness of her breasts, the hardness of her nipples.
Meg dropped the ensanguined branch, stepped forward, her plain features frozen in that cold, emotionless stare that
Dani had remembered. Drinking in the dying young athlete’s agonies like a heady wine.
Stumbling backward a step, Dani brought her big hands to her throat, plugging the wet, pulpy hole with her long, strong
fingers, trying somehow to stop the pain, stop the blood, stop the sickness that was sweeping over her lithe, sexy body in
waves. She panted for breath, but breath wouldn’t come. Instead her mouth filled with hot blood that trickled past her
lips, down her chin, dripped to the ground. Tears rolling down her cheeks, she sobbed, a liquid bubbling, unable to
speak, unable to scream. Her long legs crumpled beneath her.
Meg looked around quickly; no one was nearby. She knelt beside the fallen woman, her breath coming in hard, heavy
gasps, her pulse pounding. It had been a while since she’d killed anyone; the last one was in a mall in Texas, and that
seemed like an eternity ago. That woman had been nearly forty years old; it had been good, but she liked it better when
they were closer to her age. And, of course, she had been watching Dani for a long time. Since high school.
That was why she had come back here.
Danielle lay on her back, big breasts heaving. She turned her head slowly from side to side, made soft, moist noises in
her ravaged throat. She tried to sit up, but couldn’t; tried to raise her arms, but her hands were suddenly, strangely so
heavy that she couldn’t do anything but spread her fingers. Her long lovely legs moved weakly, spastically. Futilely.
Blood bubbled from her throat and nostrils; she felt as if someone had piled sandbags on her chest.
Meg put her thin little hand tenderly on Danielle’s shoulder; with a sob she flinched away, rolled half over, lay on her
side breathing blood, eyes half-lidded, seductive. Meg reached out, drew the dying woman to her, sat there on the
basketball court rocking gently, holding Danielle’s soft, strong, warm body to her, cradling her. She kissed her cheek,
kissed her neck. Whispered to her, softly: “Don’t be afraid, honey.”
A kiss.
“Just let go. Let it happen.” Another kiss, long and tender.
“Don’t be afraid. I love you.”
Between sweet, gentle kisses, she lapped at the blood that defiled Dani’s flawless white flesh. Danielle’s chest barely
moved now, and when Meg licked the blood away, no more spilled to replace it. She shivered, more from shock than
from the light touch of Meg’s tongue. It didn’t matter, the effect was the same.
Meg reached under the blood-soaked t-shirt, caressed Dani’s soft, warm breast. She remembered the woman she’d
killed in Texas and the way her heart had pounded strongly,violently in her chest until, without warning, it had just
stopped. Dani’s heart, on the other hand, was beating weakly, languidly beneath her breast, barely keeping a rhythm.
Meg had killed five people now, two men and three women, and death was different for each of them. Sometimes she
wondered how it would come to her.
Night had fallen; Meg cuddled her former classmate, there in the darkness. Finally, when Meg could no longer feel any
heartbeat in the warm, round breast, when she was certain that Danielle was dead, she laid the woman tenderly down on
the court. Pulled her own pants down, yanked down her panties, began to masturbate while Danielle’s dead blue eyes
looked on. And even as orgasm began to build up within her, tears spilled from her eyes. One day, maybe, she would
master this strange compulsion. Until then, she would continue to weep for the ones she loved.
The next morning some children found Danielle Ramplin lying on the court, skin pale, eyes closed, her features
composed. The basketball rested on her chest; her dead, cold hands had been placed on the ball. It was the least Meg
could do for her latest lover.