Posted by Her niece on May 04, 2000 at 18:01:59:
I had never learned the entire truth about my Aunt Sonya.
Not before she vanished. And even now most of her story remains mysterious.
Her demise had been quite a singular affair. During the total eclipse of the sun ten years ago, she had ministered a ceremony of her cult group at a deserted location in the Smoky Mountains. In the course of the ceremony, something horrid and bizarre happened; and still to this day no one really knows exactly what occurred. There were no witnesses--at least none who were able to make an account. All the members of her group were found at the location where the ritual had taken place, or more accurately their remains were found there.
According to the policemen who had collected the corpses, they had never seen such a gory massacre before; twenty three corpses - mutilated, some of them burned, some of them with bite wounds which matched no type of bite wound any known animal would cause. Whatever had happened that night, one thing was for sure, this had not been one of those mass suicides of a bunch of nutty cultists. It took a long time until all the corpses were identified, but finally they came to the conclusion that none were Sonya.
She had plainly disappeared. Dissolved like a cloud of smoke in a blast. And, by the way, Dahmer, her dog, had vanished, too.
After ten years without any further sign of life, she was officially declared dead.
I was her sole heir, and I found a lot of strange things when I examined my inheritance, amongst them a rich library of ancient books on metaphysical topics, some of them written in languages that I couldn't even identify.
Just by happenstance I found the scariest thing; when I paged through one of these old folio volumes, a thin stack of paper fell out of it. Thirty-seven sheets of ancient paper, yellowed with age. Apparently, someone had typed a story on them, using an ancient typewriter. I guess it must have been written at least half a century ago, maybe it even originated from the end of the twentieth century.
After I had read the story, I was shocked. I've always known that Aunty Sonya was a special person, but never had I imagined something like this!
I felt obliged to show this manuscript to the police, but after studying it they told me, that this case was barred by the statute of limitations; and she had been declared dead anyway. So they would not do anything about it.
She got away with it.
And if you ask me, I believe she also got away with a lot of other things... among others with this Smoky Mountain incident. I do not really believe she is dead and gone. Yet I also don't think she's still alive in a normal manner. Actually I don't want to think about her any longer... It always gives me a sleepless night when I muse about Sonya's fate and let my fantasy run free in speculations... The shadows in my house seem to come alive, and all the little noises of the night sound like creepy voices.
Anyway, this is the story of the old manuscript, told by an unknown and long dead man, who apparently had witnessed the beginning of the process my Aunt had finished ten years ago.
***
Midnight
About 10 hours left. 10 hours till the postman will ring.
You've been surprisingly generous... under the circumstances. You've left me enough cigarettes and four bottles of wine to get me through this night. It's not the precious St. Emilion, of course... well, you might have thought that I don't deserve it. Not even on my last night. But I really hate to drink out of this plastic cup. Did you really think that if you gave me a glass I would break it and snuff myself with the shards? After I spent so much time working on my brilliant plan?
What will you do tomorrow morning at ten? Whatever you'll decide, I won't complain; after all it was my own fucking idea. And I've been so fucking clever... You will see how clever I've been. No, you will have already seen it when you read this.
You've also given me this stack of paper to write my last story. What did you think I'd write this night? Well, of course I'll write down our story - unfortunately you already know most of it.... Except for the meanest parts... And I don't think you will allow anyone else to read this story! Lol. Hey, you won't burn this manuscript after reading it, will you? Let this last remnant of me survive!
Why do I have to write it on this old typewriter? Why didn't you give me my laptop with the online dictionaries and spell checkers and the thesaurus? Now you have to read it in my poor English with all the mistakes; although you have to admit that I've improved a lot during the last seven month since I came over from Sweden.
Where are you now? I heard you leaving the house hours ago. You wouldn't cheat on me this special night, would you? No, not even you could be that heartless. Or could you? I've never really looked through you... you've always remained mysterious and contradictory to me. Well, I myself am not so mysterious, but I'm a bit contradictory too. Pretty contradictory, actually... Lol... you will see!
One thing is for sure. With your nitro temperament one never knows what you will do next. And that might have been the main fire for my obsession--you were the first gal I couldn't control; but now, in the end, I do. Whatever you will do tomorrow after you've opened the package; I'll win in any case. Either you'll spare my life; or it will end the way I want it to.
Shit, I must slow down on the drinking, I don't want to fall asleep. Or even worse, run short with the wine while I'm waiting for the postman to ring. And then for you.
0.30 a.m.
If this was a normal story, I would describe the place I'm at... but I don't think I'll keep this story very straight. I'll just write it down as its going through my mind.
Well, one thing that is inevitably going through my mind now and then is the chain fixed to my left ankle. Best Swedish steel, reminiscent from my home country... Skol! Hahaha...
Apart from the chain, I have every comfort. The chair I'm sitting on right now, the desk, a bed, and a chemical toilet. The chain is just long enough to let me reach the bed and the toilet, but I can't reach the door. I don't even try, as you know I've planned all this by myself. Just as I've ensured that there is no chance to break this chain, no chance to destroy it or pull the anchor from the wall. Will I get through this night without a pathetic attempt at trying it though? SURE I WILL! I'm a tough guy! Hahaha.
0.50 a.m.
This old clock on the wall... these watch hands, moving slowly but constantly... hmmm.
Still I haven't heard you coming home. WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU? Won't you even grant me the thrill of knowing you're sleeping two floors above?
Speaking of the devil. Right now I'm hearing your car.
1.05 a.m.
Shit! I've wanted all this, I've killed a man for it, I even did something utterly mean to you to trap the both of us into it; and when just half an hour ago you came home I became weak. Where was all the arousal and fever that I felt when I fantasized about the very situation I'm experiencing now? Blown away! All I wanted was to save my lousy ass!
I shouted for you and after a while I heard the dry, hard clacking of your heels on the wooden stairs down to the basement and then the door swung open. You didn't come in but remained standing in the doorway. Glaring at me coldly without saying a single word. Like a dark personification of power and controlled rage. You looked stunning... this sexy, midnight blue evening dress, your dark, glowing eyes... you're not that huge, but the fire in your eyes made you look like an avenging angel.
I tried to talk you out of this game. I argued logically and explained that we should abort it before it was too late. You just kept on staring at me, and all my words didn't seem to have the least effect on you.
I became even weaker and reminded you of the good times we had. No reaction.
Finally I lost it totally and began pleading, asking you just to throw away the package as soon as it was delivered - without looking inside. Now I saw you frowning slightly. You thought you knew what was inside the package, didn't you? Surprise, surprise! But you didn't lose your composure for a second, you didn't ask, you didn't move, you said nothing, and while I humiliated myself more and more I saw a sparkling of amusement rising in your eyes, and your lips slightly writhed in despise.
What a ridiculous scene, if anyone had watched it. A huge, pale, naked, and heavily tattooed guy with a chain fixed to his left ankle, begging an elegantly dressed lady who was two heads shorter than him. He could have easily ripped her to pieces... if there hadn't been this steel chain. And the invisible chain inside his insane mind.
When I ended my pleadings, meanwhile standing as close to you as the chain allowed me, you waited a few moments before you spoke your only words.
"You're so clever, huh? You're such a big, tough guy, huh? You're a pathetic maggot! I'll see you at ten."
You turned around and left without a further look. When the door had slammed shut behind you, I knew that I had blown it. Definitely. If there had been any tiny chance left to save my ass, then I had ruined it. I know you too well. After this pathetic scene you will not come back until you have opened the package... and then... well.
1.30 a.m.
Eight and a half hours remaining.
Okay, I will calm down now. I owe you something, although you will have taken your revenge already when you read this. I owe you the whole story. I'll tell it now, as well as I can, while I'm in the middle of the second bottle of zinfandel.
Do you remember the night we first met in that bar in Atlanta? The scumbag who bothered you? After I had kicked his ass out, I sat down beside you at the bar; and my expectations were clear. I was looking for sex; and helping a hot looking girl against a molester seemed a very good start. To my surprise, you didn't seem all that thankful. You remained cool instead of admiring the big, strong man who had saved you. Looking at me with a little, ironic smile you told me, that my help had not been necessary and that you were perfectly able to take care of yourself.
(Yet, I could swear I had seen a satisfied grin on your face while you had watched me beating the shit out of that guy.)
Very clearly, you were not like the girls I was used to play with; if anything, you were the perfect opposite of them.
"Interesting challenge," I thought, "Have to get this girl. I can tame every chick."
Well, I got you in the end, yet I'm not so sure about the taming part... lol.
We had drinks and talked, and apparently the chemistry between the both of us worked well; you even liked my heavy Swedish accent, and I found out that your ancestors also had come from Sweden. Yeah, you were the perfect bride for a Viking like me!
I just had come over from Europe a week before and was still living in a hotel, so we spent the night at your house in the suburbs of Atlanta. Do you remember the night? Lol... I bet you do! The earth moved several times that night in Georgia...
1.50 a.m.
Shit, I'm staring at the wall and I'm dreaming...
You didn't want me to move in with you, so I had to rent an apartment, but we spent most of the nights together.
As I found out, there was yet another thing we shared. Both of us were writing twisted erotic stories. I didn't really like that, I think chicks are basically made for fucking. If they can cook; well that's fine with me! But I don't see the point of a gal writing stories. However, your tales were pretty hot and most of all they made me assume that you were just as kinky as I am. After learning that, I made some allusions regarding the reasons, I had to leave Europe hastily... this little "accident", happening while I was playing with a girl... Actually this is not a part of our story, but since you never wanted to hear about it... read about it now!
Svenja was a cute chick, as Swedish as a girl could be. Almost as large as me, long, bright blond hair, shining blue eyes. Perfect, firm tits and ass, and her legs were as long as a French menu - and twice as delicious. She was as submissive as a lap doggy - and she could take more pain than an Indian fakir could! What a perfect little chick she was!
We used to spend the weekends in my cabin at the lake... a lonesome and discreet place. We played games all the weekend long... At the end of a game session, when she was sore and covered with blood, we used to fuck, and while I was pounding my cock into her cunt I usually strangled her a bit... she didn't really like this part, but she wasn't the girl to refuse anything. I loved it. Playing with her life, choking her longer and longer, then giving her a couple of breaths on a whim and to satisfy the needs of my dick. Her wriggling and the panic on her face when I didn't release her neck for what seemed an endless time... delicious! Best thing was chaining her hands behind her back, tying a choke collar around her neck, and choking her with the leash while fucking her ass. The closer she got to asphyxia the tighter her ass became... and the better my orgasm.
What a pleasant chick that had been... Gee, you should have see her mopping up all of her own blood after the fucking, still naked, covered with sweat, some last drops of blood dripping from her ass when she knelt down... I loved to watch her work while I relaxed in a chair, smoking a cigarette, and sipping the drink she had poured for me.
A typical session; I had played with her tits, using a razor blade, I had sucked some of her luscious, red juice... well, things like that. In the end, I wanted to spurt off and told her to lie down. I looked at her, hesitating for a moment. She looked somewhat used... well, the bruises would disappear, and some of the scars would fade, other scars would remain. She was perfect for my needs, but yet I felt somehow tired of her. There was nothing really new to do with her... suddenly I felt annoyed by her pathetic submission, her dull, obedient eyes looking up at me, her passive stare waiting for whatever I would do to her, and her willingness to take it all without any resistance.
I felt pissed at her... and at the same time I became even hornier.
"Turn on your belly!" I commanded her.
She obeyed, and I used handcuffs to shackle her hands behind her back. She groaned lowly, apparently she thought that once again her ass was my target. But not this time.
"Turn on your back again."
A bit uncomfortable for her, but of course she obeyed. Staring at me, anxiously waiting for what was to come. I took two leather strips and tied her ankles to the bedposts. Never before I had brought her into a position of total helplessness - due to her submissiveness it had never been necessary. She must have been wondering why I did it this time, but she didn't ask. She never asked questions, actually she never spoke at all, unless I told her to.
I looked down at her and I tried to make up my mind.
I wanted to kill her.
I pondered whether I should do it. She was nothing but a chick and I was tired of her anyway, so if I could get the ultimate thrill by killing her I should do it - but would I get away with it? No one knew that she was here, no one knew of our relationship at all, but would I be able to dispose of her corpse without leaving trace?
Looking at my throbbing cock I realized, that the decision had already been made. Could I argue with my dick? No. Ah, fuck it, I thought, let's have fun - and think about the problems later.
"Okay, bitch, I'm tired of you. I will kill you now," I plainly told her.
Her eyes widened. For a moment, her face expressed confusion and doubts - but then, obviously, she remembered that I never used to make jokes. The truth sank in. The truth about the seriousness of my intention and about the fact that she had no hope of resisting it. She still didn't argue; she just began to cry. Sweet. I had always liked to see her crying. I licked a few of the salty tears from her cheeks.
Since this was a unique scene - I had never killed anyone before - I should have prolonged it to get as much fun as possible out of it, but I was too horny to act economically. I just jumped between her spread legs and tried to ram my dick up her cunt, but she struggled as much as she could, making it difficult for me. A blow with the back of my right hand into her face sent her down and quiet for a moment. My dick's head found the orifice, and yet for all her fear and desperation her cunt was still wet and hot - after all I had given her all she needed for hours. My boner invaded easily, and I started to fuck her rudely. She whined and pleaded quietly, which didn't disturb me in the least. On the contrary! It was a dirty and slippery fuck - she was covered with sweat all over, and on her breasts the sweat was merged with blood. Without interrupting my pounding strokes, I sucked on her tits. I loved the taste. Salty, rich, with a slight edge of metal.
I felt my climax drawing nearer. Time to get serious.
"Any last words, bitch?" I asked her.
"Wait, please! I love you so! Don't -"
"Thank you for this statement. Goodbye, Svenja," I replied, put my hands around her neck and silenced her easily with only little pressure of my thumbs.
I had choked her frequently, but this was the first time I knew that I wouldn't have to stop. Made a hell of a difference! Much, much better! I had to restrain myself - I didn't want to spurt off before she was at the verge of death. Her soft and tender neck felt wonderful in my hands, and I could feel the pressure building up in it.
Although she wasn't able to inhale a single atom of air, she still managed to exhale little quantities, producing funny, gurgling noises. Her face writhed in utter agony, her eyes ripped open widely in pain and horror - I really needed a Hell of a lot of self-restraint to hold my jism back! Then her skin turned somehow dark and I knew that it wouldn't take much longer. Some drops of blood were flowing out of her nose, running along her upper lip. I pounded even harder, giving up all self-control. And it was perfect. When I started to blast off and let myself fall down on her with all my 280 lb, her entire body winced with a couple of violent spasms, her strong legs pressing at my hips, her pussy becoming even tighter, and then, while I spurted and spurted and groaned and groaned, she became still.
When I came back to earth, she looked very dead. Eyes and mouth still ripped wide open, skin discolored, the entire face an ugly, swollen grimace. My hands had left dark marks on her neck.
Well, that was the affair with Svenja - don't wanna bore you with the details of how I disposed of her carcass... I guess, I didn't make any major mistake, but I worried that there still might be some tracks left, pointing at me. That's why I got me a new identity and came to the USA.
02.40 a.m.
Back to our affair. I tried to seduce you into some role-playing games, but you refused. As you said, you despised soft consensual games. You wouldn't enjoy power or submission unless it was real power and real, forced submission. You had a point there! All I could get you into was a little light asphyxia... I wonder whether you would have enjoyed my hands around your neck as much if you had known the story of Svenja at that time! Well, maybe you would have enjoyed it even more if you had known! Lol...nothing is impossible with you...
There were only two things about you that I didn't like.
First thing. Your interest in "magic". You were reading foolish books on ancient myths and rituals and all that crap, and you tried to get me into these things too; you tried to convince me that this was the way to gain real power; but I've never believed in that sort of mumbo-jumbo bullshit. Fine with me if you liked playing the witch, but I couldn't take it seriously. Not so fine with me was spending many nights alone in my apartment, when you were out meeting like-minded morons to bark at the full moon, or whatever the hell you were doing with them.
Second thing I didn't like. Both of us shared the same attitude regarding most humans. They are just a big herd of mostly brainless beings. Existing to be controlled and to be used. But your attitude regarding animals was far too emotional. You loved animals. Especially your horse and your Neapolitan mastiff named Bundy. An ugly monster; 120 pounds of pure muscle and viciousness.
I've always hated animals. Especially that stinking, aggressive bastard Bundy, who always stared at me with his cold and treacherous eyes as if he hated me from the bottom of his heart, and only waited for the right moment to attack. He was jealous, and he wanted all of his mistress' heart back for himself.
I suspect it was a mean little game you played when you always allowed him to stay in bedroom while we fucked. It was absolutely disturbing to expose my bare ass to a jealous monster, sitting behind me on the floor, while I was trying to focus on you. A monster that always produced to uttering deep grudging noises every few moments... I was always thinking; now he'll pounce and lacerate my poor ass.
3.05 a.m.
Not seven hours left. Have to hurry up to get this story done.
I had a hot time with you for several weeks, but then the old fever inside me flamed up again. I longed for some cruel action. I couldn't forget about my last session with Svenja... I fantasized about lethal strangling each time we had sex. Or about piercing a tender, slightly rounded belly with a knife.
Doing that to you was a thing I never really took into consideration; somehow I never could see you in the role of a victim, I saw you as a being of equal rank. A predator. And I hit on the idea to go hunting with you. Catching a girl and killing her together.
Soon I was obsessed with this idea. Killing together... I found this fantasy so hot that I even thought it wouldn't matter much whether the prey was a girl or a guy.
I decided the best time to suggest the idea was during sex, when you're hot and crazy.
I was wrong. You stared at me as if I had suddenly turned into a rhino. You didn't even comment my suggestion, you simply threw me out of your bed. And out of the house that night. (Did I see a furtive little glance of triumph in Bundy's eyes when I left cursing? I bet I saw it! He thought my time was running out; but he was wrong. I still had a couple of aces in my deck.)
Well, somehow I managed to make up with you, we still met after that, but you had become somewhat cold... I did not only want to keep fucking you; I was still obsessed with the idea of killing with you. After I had failed to convince you of my idea, I began thinking of ways I could trick you into it.
3.15 a.m.
One day I watched morning TV and they had a report on the horse ripper. A perv who stalked the farms around Atlanta. He seemed to get a kick out of killing horses with a machete. He usually ripped their bellies open and watched them bleed to death. On some occasions he would also chop off their tails or ears and had apparently taken them as souvenirs. Police didn't seem to care too much about it, they never caught him.
In the middle of the report I suddenly hit on an idea and my thoughts began running fast. If the ripper were to kill your mare... I saw you losing your mind... I saw the both of us going on a crusade... I saw you blooming in the fire of revenge... I saw you killing the guy... and I saw a lot of good sex for me.
Three days later your mare was found slaughtered. Her ears sliced off.
You almost went insane, and you were swept away between tears and glowing hatred.
Next day in the afternoon, I came to your place and I found you in the back yard of the house. You didn't notice me coming, as you were totally absorbed with hacking pieces of wood for the fireplace. You wore an old army shirt and it stuck tightly to your curvy frame with all the sweat you were spilling in the sweltering heat of the afternoon. When I saw you swinging the axe and smashing it down on the wood pieces, making them hurl aside for meters, and when I heard your furious cries with each stroke of the axe, I knew what you were thinking of. You were in the right spirit now.
I made a suggestion. Instead of just raving and crying, why not try to catch the bastard ourselves and make him pay? I would help you with it, I promised. The chances of catching him were slim, but, after all, it was better than just mourning.
You were instantly enthusiastic.
From that day on everything changed. All of your coldness was gone and you vibrated with anticipation. You were hot again, and I was back in the game. To Bundy's dismay...
Before we went on our first hunting night, we took a map, marked all places where the ripper had been active, and added the dates of his assaults. We wanted to see whether there was a pattern - but there was none. He went on his slaughtering parties roughly each second weekend, but there were no identifiable patterns regarding the places he picked. So we had to decide on a random place for our first stake out.
When we prepared for the night, the moment of truth came. I asked you what we would do if we actually caught the asshole. We looked into each other's eyes for few moments in silence. The expression of sternness, hatred, and mercilessness on your face gave me an instant hard-on.
"We won't hand him over to the cops, will we?" you finally asked.
"No. And we won't let him go either."
"And he will pay for what he's done..."
"... and he will never hurt an animal again."
"No. He will never again do anything at all."
We didn't exactly plan what to do with him if we caught him, but when we left the house we were equipped with guns, handcuffs, a ball-gag, and knives. You also wanted to take Bundy along, but I talked you out of that.
Of course that first night was a waste of time. He didn't appear.
Nevertheless it had been a nice night. After hiding the car we walked about a mile, then we found a little hiding place between bushes from where we could observe a fenced meadow with horses grazing on it. It was mid of July, it was hot, and both of us were pretty aroused while we waited. I couldn't resist grabbing at you the whole time... When daylight rose and we knew the hunt was over for this night, we fucked between the bushes... you were even hotter than ever before.
3.40 a.m.
My time is running out...
Why do I spend the last hours of my life writing a story? What else can I do?! Scream at the walls? Ha!
Okay. We went on a lot of hunting expeditions that summer but we were never at the right place at the right time. We had some exciting nigh though. While we were peering over the grounds, we used to have little picnics, took some drinks, and when the sun was rising we had sex amidst the bucolic scenery. As much as I was concerned, we could have kept up with that forever, even my urge to kill had somewhat eased down, but after two months of futile efforts to catch the bastard, your mood beclouded again. No more fucking in the end of the stalking nights, just frustration and complaints.
You wanted to give it up, and, as I suspected, give me the axe at the same time. Once again time for me to make plans. Sorry dear. You won't like the next bit.
I wondered if there was any realistic chance of finding the ripper on our last attempt? Nope. What a pity, since killing him together would not only have been a Hell of fun for me, but it would also have given me some power over you. When we had shed blood together for the first time; how could you resist to do it again? Probably you'd even begin to like it... and then it was my turn to choose the next victim. A girl!
How could we find the damned ripper?... or was there a chance to arrange that he found us??? Could one somehow draw him to a place where we were waiting for him? I had no idea.
Then I had a flash of genius; from my point of view it didn't matter a bit whether we killed the real ripper... or someone else. It was only necessary that YOU believed it was him. The only thing I needed, was any dopey fuck who would arrive at dead of night with a machete in his hand at a place where, "just by chance", we were lying in wait!
04.05 a.m.
I needed time to make some arrangements, so I told you I had to go on a business trip for ten days and talked you into going on one last night of stalking afterwards.
I spent a lot of time cruising the area around Atlanta in search of the perfect place. Finally I found the perfect location for my little staging. A very large ranch, mostly consisting of maize fields, and on the verge of it, about a mile away from the farmhouse, a small, fenced area with a small stable and about ten horses grazing freely. The place was easy to monitor for us; there were shrubs to hide, and no one around to disturb us. Yeah, that was the perfect place to meet the "ripper"!
It was much more difficult to find the victim I needed. The basic plan was simple. Engaging any simple-minded thug to kill some horses with a machete at a certain place, at a certain time. Letting him think the matter was some kind of insurance fraud or revenge or whatever.
My drug habits had resulted in some contacts with guys from the darker side of town, but I wanted someone special and I didn't want him to recognize me when we met in that special night. It had to be someone special because of this. I thought, after I defrauded you so bad I should at least consider your aesthetic claims. If you killed a guy, he should at least be good looking. I hope you do appreciate that! Lol!