Posted by Sawney Beane on July 13, 2006 at 22:38:20:
This story drew a lot of criticism from the god-fearing cannibals over at Dolcettgirls, so let me apologize for it up front. I think some people missed the point of it (ie the difference between a Christ fixation and a messiah), but all I can say is if you don't like it, don't read it.
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The Collected Works of Sawney Beane: Volume #38
JESUS CHRIST: SERIAL KILLER
by Judith Isaacs
as told to Sawney Beane
Fall 1991
9-11, 16-19, 24 June; 5 August; 6, 9, 11 September 1996
11,697 words
DISTRIBUTION NOTICE and DISCLAIMER: Sawney Beane requests that any distribution of this work of fiction remain within the realm of social responsibility. This story is suitable neither for minors nor for the seeming majority of adults who have difficulty distinguishing fantasy from reality. It is pure fantasy, which means that, for whatever reason, someone has found it interesting to think about the events depicted herein. It does not in any way mean that the author would like to see this fantasy become reality, so if you are the type of person who might be swayed into doing something irrational by reading a work of fiction, the author respectfully requests that you decline to read further.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Sawney Beane, originally a native of Edinburgh, lived for twenty-five years in a cave on the coast of County Galloway, subsisting on the flesh of unfortunate travellers, roughly a thousand of them all told. He and his wife raised a large family of eight sons, six daughters, eighteen grandsons, and fourteen granddaughters. Eventually, the family was captured, and the whole lot was brutally and unjustifiably tortured and executed without trial. Since his death in the early 17th century, Beane has reformed his ways and now confines his atrocities to his literary endeavours.
WARNING: This story contains scenes of non-consensual female snuff and cannibalism, as well as tortures that are too gruesome for Sawney Beane's own stomach. If you find such things offensive, please steer clear; you have been warned.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is unquestionably my least favourite of all my stories. Aside from being too long, it is brutal and sick in a way that disturbs me more than a little bit. It is, in fact, one of my oldest stories, having been started about the time I was writing SB2, but it was so terrible that it took me a very long time to finish it. It began mainly with the tortures endured by Miss October and Miss September and with the idea of a serial killer with a monthly schedule. I do like the progressiveness of the story and one other thing that I don't want to point out too explicitly, but overall it is just too awful. I hope I don't find myself writing any more stories like this and SB36. Still, I'm sure someone out there will like this story a lot; I just hope he or she is not a psychopath.
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Prologue
There is no God. I know this with certainty because I met Jesus Christ. No respectable God would allow the existence of such a monstrous creature. This might seem to be an odd statement, but most of you will understand what I mean. My ordeal was widely publicized, mostly against my will.
Ever since my salvation, I have been pummelled with six and seven figure offers for the rights to my story. They want my life in feature films, in novels, in mini-series, on talk shows, in magazine interviews, and even in a Broadway musical production. I will accept as many of these proposals as I can, partly because all of the damage that can be done by my over-exposure has long been done. More importantly, I'm not fool enough to turn down the cash that will allow me to retire, build a mansion somewhere far from everybody and everything, and hide out for the rest of my natural life in as much comfort as can be humanly desired.
However, before I turn myself over to the exploiters and allow my story to be distorted as it inevitably will be, I must undertake this miserable project. Partly because I am a friend of the truth but mostly because I feel a certain responsibility to those less fortunate than myself, whose tragedies I am now benefiting from, I must set forth on paper the true story, as far as I can know, of the most horrible massacre of the last year of the Twentieth Century.
Of course, I was not present while most of the events that I will herein relate were occurring. I as not abducted until October 31, 2000. However, I have good sources. I knew most of the victims, with varying degrees of familiarity, and I have read the diaries of the monster himself. In addition, I was forced throughout my two month captivity to view videotapes made by the man who called himself Jesus Christ. These videotapes recorded his most unpleasant work. In the interests of clarity, I will relate the story in chronological order, despite the fact that I became aware of the events in a somewhat more disjointed manner.
I should probably apologize up front for the dissatisfaction many will have with my work. But I won't do that. This is not intended to be entertaining. If you want to be entertained, go read something else. This is truth, eulogy, sorrow, and warning. My story will lack suspense, because everyone knows how it ends. You've seen bits and pieces of this story already on the network news, in newspapers and in magazines. Live with it.
My tormentor was the most cruel and heartless man I can ever imagine. I hope that the world will learn from what I have to tell.
This story is not pleasant. I can hardly bear to write it. However, before the world sees a fictionalised account of the Judith Isaacs story on the silver screen or reads my story in a trashy novel or attends a performance of the tragicomedy adaptation of my life, it must be exposed to the truth, in my own words, without sensationalism or commercialism. It's an unrealistic goal, I know, but I must try.
Miss January
I didn't know Petra very well at all. I had seen her around, but her career as a prostitute was barely two weeks old on January 1, 2000. She was a pretty nineteen-year-old runaway, perhaps the most attractive of Jesus Christ's victims. Her long dark hair and piercing blue eyes complemented her flawless skin and shapely figure perfectly. She had the air of someone who had been rather well-off before her fall, and I have no idea why she ended up on the streets with the rest of us. Perhaps all of this contributed to her naiveté, which made her such an easy target.
He drove up to her in a car, which no one to this day had made an adequate description of. She got in and was prepared for a night of professional bumping and grinding, but she was in for much more. She went with him to his house way out in the woods, which was probably a big mistake, but she looked only a little bit nervous when she arrived. He kept waving money at her, which helped her to overcome most of her worries.
So they went inside and did their thing. Aside from the fact that the act was videotaped, there was nothing kinky about it. The man was a kind and gentle lover, and he seemed genuinely concerned that his professional mate was as pleased as he was. She was so inexperienced that she probably enjoyed it rather a lot. When it was done, they rested for a while, and she started making indications that she wanted to go back.
But he explained to her that he wanted her to stay with him for a month. At first she was against the idea, but I think the money finally got to her. I don't know how much he promised her, but it must have been a lot, because you could see in her eyes that she was hooked. She became his Miss January.
They lived in the house for the month in relative harmony. They had videotaped sex every night, and both seemed to enjoy it. He was never the least bit unkind to her, and the only thing that might have tipped her off that something was amiss was that he insisted upon calling himself Jesus Christ. But he showed her his driver's license, and there wasn't much she could argue with about it.
So her term of employment was set to end on January 31, and you could tell she was not looking forward to that date. Having a single john and one screw a day, probably for similar wages as she could make on the street, was not a bad way to live. But end it did. He paid her the money and gave her a glass of wine to commemorate her last day. It didn't take more than five minutes after he had drained the glass for her eyes to droop shut and her face to flop down upon the table, her whole body limp in slumber.
I don't know what he put in the drink, but it really knocked her out. She was even snoring as he dragged her flaccid body to the bathroom and undressed it. He then gently placed her nude form in the bathtub and slit open her throat with a large knife. She never woke up, the only one of Christ's victims to never know that she was being murdered. I swear I saw tears in his eyes as he was doing it.
So he had a dead teenage beauty in his bathtub, and what do you think he did with it? He cut her gorgeous body up into lots and lots of small pieces, at least fifty of them. Each of her bits, whether a foot, knee, slice of thigh, forearm, or head, was wrapped in meat paper and stacked in a large empty freezer. Over the course of the next month, this Jesus Christ ate little or nothing other than Petra's body, and by the end of February, there was very little left of her besides bones. No one missed her in the least.
Miss February
Andrea was probably abducted in much the same way. She disappeared on February 1, but no one could describe the car or her abductor. I knew Andrea better than I had Petra. She was a regular in my part of town, and we'd worked together on occasion when we found a guy with entirely too much money and time on his hands. She was a small girl with blonde hair, a nice figure, and the kind of tits that really raked in the johns.
She was experienced enough that the monster couldn't have trapped her by the same scheme he used to hold Andrea for a month. He probably drugged her in the car, as he later did to me; otherwise, I don't think he'd have gotten her to his house so far away from the strip.
Once there, however, she was cooperative more or less. She probably was hoping that he was just a harmless nutcase who wanted to fuck her for a while and maybe she'd get away with a wad of money. She surely believed that struggling would only piss him off and probably get her hurt. After all, we didn't know at the time that there was a serial killer on the loose.
She was kept in the house throughout the month of February. He didn't trust her as he had Petra. He kept her chained up all the time, but he was still a gentle lover and screwed her regularly every day. There is talk on the videotapes of money he owes her, but he didn't show off the actual cash as much as he had with Petra.
Interestingly enough, he was eating Petra's remains throughout Andrea's tour of duty. Sometimes he ate right in front of her, but he never let her taste and was careful to eat the identifiably human bits when she wasn't present. Thus, poor Andrea never knew what meat her captor was eating.
Andrea tried to be patient, but on February 28, her perseverance received its unjust reward. He led her to the bathroom after their daily intercourse, and she probably didn't know what hit her. Just as she stepped into the shower with him following close behind her, there was a flash of metal, and her throat began to spout blood from a gaping knife wound. She fell, turning to face the camera set up on the sink, and the video clearly caught the slow fading of her eyes as the life gradually drained from her body.
Andrea was butchered much as Petra had been a month earlier, and the dwindling supply of meat in the freezer was suddenly replenished. Her disappearance was reported, but no one takes too much notice of a missing whore.
Miss March
Jamie was a tall buxom redhead. I knew her, but she was no friend of mine. We were competitors for the same space, and many times I caught her in my territory draining away my business. Still, I had to pity her after Jesus Christ got done with her.
She was abducted on March 1, 2000, a cold rainy day when the inside of a car was infinitely preferable to the street. Maybe that's how he got her so easily. Jamie was no fool, and I'd never imagined she'd end her days the way she did. Her disappearance came as quite a shock to me, but I'm embarrassed to say that I was in no way unhappy about the fact at the time.
Her life in Jesus Christ's abode was not very different from Andrea's: daily sex, no liberty, but very little harsh treatment. There was one difference. About the 15th of March, he casually informed Jamie that she would be executed at the end of the month. Jamie's immediate protests started out demanding and arrogant and slowly faded to desperate and pleading. But there was not much she could do. He had her chained to a very heavy steel bed, so she was pretty much stuck.
She was much less cooperative for the last half of the month, but that didn't seem to faze him. He rather enjoyed her protestations and struggles. She was a quivering mass of terror by the time he left the house on the evening of March 31. She lay gagged and blindfolded in the dark for hours vainly struggling in her bonds and desperately hoping that he had changed his mind.
When he returned, she heard the voice of another woman chatting with him. An hour later, he came to her room and dragged her down the stairs to the basement. She struggled but to no avail, and he forced her to stand on a folding chair. The noose was looped around her neck, and she could feel the coarse rope abrading her soft shoulders and chin. He unfastened the gag and blindfold, and Jamie saw the terrifying scene for the first time.
The taut rope attached to her noose was looped over an exposed beam in the basement ceiling two feet above her head. Directly in front of her, gagged and chained by a strong bondage collar to a column support was a brunette hooker in a tight red skirt and half shirt. The new girl looked worried as she stared at the doomed Jamie.
The grinning captor said with a formal air, "My child, now is the moment of your reward; your sins will be forgiven, and you shall enter the Kingdom of Heaven. Have a nice trip." With that, he kicked the chair from under Jamie's bare feet, and she fell.
The noose tightened around her throat, and Jamie's legs kicked desperately in the air. Her eyes bulged in fear and pain, as her limbs began to take on a blue tinge. Her hands grasped at the rope in a vain effort to relieve the strangulation.
It didn't take all that long. Soon she was still, and Jesus Christ laughed hysterically. The new victim watched with wide terrified brown eyes.
Miss April
Jacqueline, the brown eyed brunette who had witnessed Jamie's death, was abducted on March 31. A half-hearted attempt had been made to prevent a fourth disappearance, but no one knew what kind of car to look for and had expected the attempt to take place on April 1. Jesus fooled everyone, however, by snatching Jackie on the day before.
Jackie was one of the best friends I had amongst Christ's victims. We'd actually shared an apartment a few years earlier and had been in the business for about the same length of time and dealt with the same associates. The day she disappeared was the first time I really began to take this serial killer threat seriously. We didn't know that the disappearances were the work of a murderer, since there had been no bodies recovered, but it didn't take a genius to guess as much.
After watching her predecessor's horrible demise, Jackie was in no mood to be cooperative. Jesus had to keep her tightly chained up for the whole month. She was a wild tiger of fear, desperation, and anger, but he still managed to fuck her daily for the whole month. He promised her that he would not kill her by any such mundane method as that which had taken Jamie's life, but this only infuriated her more.
Jackie was kept around for the longest time of any girl aside from myself. Perhaps he liked her, but more likely he had his timetable and she got lucky, relatively speaking anyway. Nonetheless, on May 2, Jesus Christ tied Jackie to a large board nailed to the basement wall. Her legs were spread far apart and her arms stretched out over her head to form an X-shape. Her wrists, ankles and neck were affixed with tight chains and metal cuffs, but he didn't do her in right away. He blindfolded and gagged her and left her that way as he left the house to pick up his next unfortunate.
When he returned with Phyllis in tow, he secured her as he had Jackie before her to the basement column by a collar and chain. Phyllis struggled and protested, but there was nothing to do but watch Jackie's fate unfold.
Christ removed Jackie's blindfold and gag, and she slowly regained a sense of her surroundings. She was vaguely acquainted with Phyllis, and her eyes plead for help that could not be given. My doomed friend's eyes widened as her captor pulled the cloth cover off of a row of throwing knives.
"Well, my child, it is time for you to have your sins cleansed in blood," said Christ seriously, "You are a fortunate one." With that he rocketed one of the knives toward Jackie, and it lodged itself in the wood fifteen inches from her left leg. Despite the miss, her screams filled the basement.
"Hush, hush, my child; I'll get better after a few warm-up throws."
The second knife came to rest between Jackie's legs, its razor-sharp blade less than a centimetre from her genitals. She screamed and begged for mercy, but he quickly released the third and fourth knives, which came to rest in her underarms, the latter scratching her slightly and drawing a drop of blood. She went wild with animal terror, but there was nowhere for her to go, and he had plenty of knives left over.
"Now, don't cry, child; it will be over soon enough." His imperturbable manner seemed to show genuine concern for her state of mind, but it didn't seem to stay his hand.
The fifth knife struck her directly in the right calf, and blood spouted forth from the deep gash. The bone had been missed by a few millimetres, and the flesh had been pierced through to the other side, the tip of the knife lodging itself in the wood. She sobbed pitifully between screams.
The sixth blade hit her in the left shoulder, causing a deep bloody gash and glancing off the bone to rattle noisily to the concrete floor. Some of the blood spotted her pale, terrified face. She seemed less and less able to muster the effort required for a really good scream. Hope was fading, and the end looked near.
The seventh blade pinned her left hand to the board, while the eighth cut a deep gash in her left thigh. The ninth was a direct hit on her navel, neatly bisecting her belly button and drawing forth a great mass of blood from her abdomen. Her screams were broken and gurgling. There wasn't much humanity left in her appearance and less in her voice.
"OK, you've done marvellously, my child," he said in an absurdly tender and loving voice, "one knife left."
He threw with a practiced arm, and the gleaming blade pierced the inside of her left breast to come to rest in the centre of her heart. Jackie let out a sigh-like moan, and her head drooped in such a way that she seemed a balloon slowly deflating. Death released her from her torture.
Miss May
Phyllis stared in utter horror at the death of Jackie. The two of them had once been close friends before Jackie had met me. I knew Phyllis only barely, mostly through Jackie's stories. Phyllis was a few years older than most of us but in very good shape. A slim blonde with a heavy accent and rapid speech patterns, she was a friendly and caring individual. Right now she was scared out of her wits.
Phyllis had been taken on May 2, just when we were beginning to hope that our neighbourhood kidnapper had taken the month off. He butchered Jackie's body in front of Phyllis. He didn't tell her what he was going to do with it, but she had to see the girl's flesh sectioned into dozens of pieces. She fainted halfway through the job.
When Phyllis woke up, she was naked and chained to a bed. She stayed that way all month, with Jesus Christ spending much time with her, including his daily intercourse with her. She was terrified all month, and he kept it no secret from her that he intended to kill her at the end of the month.
Phyllis' destiny engulfed her on June 1. She was tied on her back on a heavy board, and barely noticed Barbara cowering in the corner. The doom that Jesus had planned for Phyllis was nothing she was likely to enjoy. She begged for her life, but her unmoveable captor went about his business, ruthlessly readying the materials needed to end her life.
The killer took a scalpel in hand and gently pushed it into Phyllis' flesh just below the tip of her sternum. Phyllis squealed in mostly-psychological pain. The scratch rapidly swelled to a long red incision down the centre of her belly, from her breastbone to the upper border of her pubic hair. Her attractive and profitable navel lay in bisected ruins. Intense physical pain fuelled Phyllis' increasingly desperate shrieks.
The killer placed his hands in the fissure and roughly pulled Phyllis' sides apart. The thin red line became a gaping hole in her abdomen, and her murderer began a treasure hunt of sorts, pulling one thing after another from her belly and staring at each new piece of Phyllis with the fascination of a child. He seemed oblivious to her weakening screams as he pulled out her intestines, uterus, stomach, liver, and kidneys. She was panting and moaning as her hopes faded.
Christ cut a hole in her diaphragm and reached into her chest cavity, grasping her pounding heart in his hand and yanking it forcefully out of her. He smiled as he held up the extracted cardiac muscle for Phyllis to see as she gasped and choked through the last few moments of her life. Death's cold arms mercifully released her from her torments at the hands of the serial killer. Jesus Christ licked his fingers and set about the task of butchering his Miss May.
Miss June
Barbara was abducted on June 1, 2000 and had been chained in a corner of Christ's basement as he viciously vivisected the helpless Phyllis. Barbara was a tall slender brunette with a businesslike demeanour and very little use for emotions. We all knew her more or less, but she was somehow a psychologically distant individual. Nonetheless, no one particularly disliked her.
She was showing more emotion than I had ever seen in her as she sobbed in the corner of her captor's basement. The latter was busy carving up the corpse of the late Phyllis.
"Barbara, darling, do you know what I'm going to do with this poor sinner's body?"
"No," replied Barbara between sobs.
"I'm going to eat her, every last bit, and next month I will eat you."
"Why are you doing this?" Barbara blurted out.
"Someone has to save you girls from yourselves," he said in a sincerely reverent manner that contrasted dramatically with his demeanour of a moment earlier. "You will die for your sins, but the sacrifice of flesh and blood will allow you to enter the Kingdom of Heaven."
Barbara did not know what to say to this, so she resumed her weeping. She spent most of the month of June chained to her bed and enduring sexual relations with the man who had promised to kill her. She was the first victim to be informed of her killer's cannibalistic habits, but he did not eat in front of her. She would have been even more miserable if he had.
The month passed too slowly for her to avoid the daily torture of being raped by her murderer but not slowly enough to avoid her approaching doom. On June 30, he dragged her struggling body down the stairs to the basement and strapped her onto the blood-stained board on which Phyllis had met her end a month earlier. She stayed in that position for several hours while her captor went out to pick up his next victim. He had sex with Tammy upstairs for the first time and then led her downstairs and bound her in a corner with a good view of Barbara's trembling prone body.
Barbara did not know how she would meet her end, but she assumed it would be similar to Phyllis' execution. Instead, her captor brought out a hacksaw and chatted with her for a few minutes before placing the blade of the tool across the bridge of her nose. A leather strap across her forehead prevented Barbara from eluding her fate. She howled in terror instead.
The first pull on the saw hurt her horribly, the steel blade grating on the bone of her nose and vibrating her skull. Blood poured into her eyes, and she begged in vain for mercy. The serial killer dragged the saw back and forth, making a deep gorge in her nose. The blood-filled eye sockets failed to see the blade approaching closer and closer. When the blade finally sliced into both of Barbara's eyeballs, her shrieks raised an octave and several decibels. From there, the blade bisected both eyes and dug into Barbara's skull. Her thoughts were already incoherent when the blade first touched her brain. It continued its devastating path through Barbara's skull, nicking the tops of her ears and shearing through her brain. Eventually, the piercing screams were replaced with a silence broken only by the grating of the saw blade and by Tammy's weeping.
Christ sighed in pleasure as the upper half of Barbara's skull dropped into his hand. Tammy stared in silent horror as he held the detached skull upside down and began to attack its contents with a spoon, greedily scooping the brain tissue into his mouth and chewing noisily. Long brown locks of hair flowed down the killer's arms from the bottom of his supper bowl. Tammy had fainted before he finished the snack and set about carving up the corpse for future meals.
Miss July
Tammy was a small girl with quickly moving eyes and dark hair and complexion. She was only a passing acquaintance of mine, but we got along reasonably well. She was taken on June 30, 2000 by a man in an unidentified car; some said it was a van.
As might be expected, we were getting pretty nervous about the beginning of the months by then, and there were a few girls who took the week off. But most of us had to eat and couldn't afford to stay home so long. If he'd been consistent and taken his captives on the same day every week, we might have boycotted the street, but it wasn't that easy. Nonetheless, we were all on the lookout for anything suspicious, and I myself turned down at least five johns that night whom I would have taken without blinking an eye under more normal circumstances. We half considered it a symptom of Tammy's foolishness that she was picked off so easily that night.
Tammy was well aware of what her captor was doing with Barbara's body, but he never ate in front of her after that awful first night. She was much relieved by this, but not so much that she could avoid thinking of the fate he promised her. She struggled with him every night during sex, but he seemed to enjoy it all the more for her protestations. Eventually, the fateful day arrived.
On July 31, Tammy found herself strapped spread-eagled on her back on that blood-stained board that had seen the deaths of several other girls. He spoke to her in a gentle, soothing voice and seemed to intend no harm to his trembling captive. He began by stroking her genitals in a tender, tentative motion. He asked her if she enjoyed it, but she was too terrified to reply. The vagina began to moisten, and he slipped a finger gently into the warmth inside her. A second finger followed and then a third. She was not fooled, however, by his care. Tammy's taut body shivered, and her throat produced pleading moans.
The killer removed his hand momentarily, made a fist, and gently inserted his whole hand into her vagina. She shuddered with the abrupt invasion and jerked in horror as his fist passed painfully through her cervix and into her uterus. Once inside, Christ smiled evilly and unclenched his fist. The gentleness was gone, and things moved rapidly now. The sharp blades the killer had attached to his fingertips tore through the unfortunate girl's uterine wall, and the ruthless hand passed into the abdominal cavity. Tammy's tormentor pushed his arm into her up to the elbow, devastatingly tearing her internal organs. The bladed fingers ripped through Tammy's diaphragm, and the hand grabbed her pounding heart as the arm passed into her almost to the shoulder. Tammy's breath was disrupted, and worse followed as her captor jerked his hand out of her body. She jerked uncontrollably, and her eyes fluttered. The smiling Jesus Christ held her bloody heart in his claw. Tammy passed beyond caring.
"That was great, wasn't it!" exclaimed the excited killer to the girl cowering in the corner. He pressed the warm cardiac muscle to his face and took a large bite. He consumed Tammy's whole heart before getting to the work at hand. It took him less than an hour to completely dismantle Tammy's contorted corpse.
Miss August
Mattie wept and stared in horror at the evil before her. How could anyone be so purely terrible? She was young, only nineteen, and a busty blonde beauty. I never met her, so I assume she was new to the area when she was taken on July 31 and forced to watch the horrible spectacle of Tammy's death.
Mattie's tenure as Jesus Christ's sex slave was especially trying for her, as she was forced to watch her tormentor's daily meals. Twice every day, poor Mattie was strapped into a chair at the dinner table and unable to avoid seeing her captor's jubilant consumption of the flesh that had once been Tammy's body. Some days were not too bad, those on which an unidentifiable steak was prepared. Mattie could usually fool herself into believing it was beef. But on those days when a hand or foot or internal organ appeared on Jesus' dinner plate, Mattie had to fight back the urge to vomit. She'd failed a few times with consequences dire enough that she knew she didn't want to throw up again.
Aside from the grotesque meals, Mattie's sex life was a horrible torment unto itself. Christ was hated enough by her to make the daily intercourse objectionable, but the forcefulness and brutality he displayed made things almost unbearable. Unfortunately for Mattie, she had no real choice in the matter.
It was no secret that Mattie herself would be executed at the end of the month, and when August 31 arrived, it was almost a relief for Mattie. And so she found herself strapped on her belly spread-eagled and waiting to see what dreadful fate Christ had in store for her. After she'd been lying in the dark for several hours, the lights were suddenly flipped on, and Mattie's eyes squinted in the bright glow of the unshielded light bulb hanging over her. Jean was led down the stairs and introduced to Mattie before being chained to the wall. Then Mattie's final tribulation began.
The serial killer showed the trembling blonde the scalpel he had specially sharpened for the occasion. Then he disappeared out of her line of sight. Mattie moaned, but the first sensation she had was of a thick liquid running down the side of her left foot. It was only then that she began to feel the sharp pain of the incision. But by that time, the Christian killer had sliced a straight line of blood from the tip of her big toe up the inside of her leg to the middle of her inner thigh. Mattie howled in agony, but this did not prevent the knife from continuing on its deadly path up her leg to pass across her crotch, just below her genitals. Then the killer slid the knife down her right inner thigh, calf, and the side of her foot to the other big toe.
The first incision complete and Mattie gurgling and screaming in pain, the murderer inspected his work. The thin red slit ran from one foot to the other and was uniformly deep enough to just pierce the skin without disrupting the muscles below. After a short breather, he started the second incision.
This time, Mattie's left hand fell victim, and an red rift began to appear running from the tip of her thumb, up the back of her arm to her shoulder, across the top of her shivering back, down her right arm, and ending at the tip of her right thumb. By this time, Mattie was frantic with pain and fear. She struggled in her bonds but could find no release. Alas, her murderer was starting a third incision!
This time, he placed the tip of the scalpel between Mattie's legs at the apex of the first incision just behind the helpless girl's genitals. A deft movement of the scalpel connected the first incision with the girl's anus. The scalpel then cut a small circle around the inner rim of the rectum and began to move again in a straight line up the rift between the girl's buttocks. The red line continued to grow, following Mattie's spine with practiced precision and reaching the second incision. Still the blade continued up her neck to the hairline and then through the parted golden locks to her scalp, ending just above her bangs.
After three such incisions, Mattie was squealing in terror. She'd not been long in figuring out what awaited her next. Her tormentor lost no time but unbound her left arm and began peeling the skin apart at the incision, eventually ungloving her hand and leaving the entire limb bare. She flailed about as much as possible, but there was not much strength left in her at this point and her abuser was easily able to restrain her. The right arm received a similar treatment.
Christ unstrapped Mattie's left leg and peeled the skin from her foot and leg, leaving the limb skinless nearly up to the hip. The right leg was similarly skinned, leaving all of her limbs bare. Then the evil man peeled the skin of her back and buttocks aside, flattening it out on the table beneath her, leaving her connected to her hide only in the front. At this point, Mattie passed out, the trauma of being flayed alive being too much for her.
The killer moved on, rolling the unconscious girl over onto her back. He slid the scalpel into her vagina and freed the skin, allowing him to peel her skin up her front. He lifted the covering from her pelvis, her external genitalia being carried along, and continued to peel her up her smooth belly and large, fleshy breasts. Mattie was skinless from the neck down, and her killer was not yet satisfied.
The scalpel flashed in skilled hands, scoring the insides of the girl's ears and nostrils, slicing along the insides of her lips, and even flitting along at the edge of her eyelids. The knife was set aside, and the skin of Mattie's face was removed in a matter of minutes. The severed hide was hung on the wall as a grotesque reminder of Mattie's former beauty. Now she lay barely alive and a quivering mass of muscle and fat.
The killer cruelly revived her from unconsciousness, and she awoke weak but aware of her state and able to see the skin she'd worn for so long hanging in the wall. Her eyes bulged eerily on her face, unrestrained by eyelids. She was too weak to scream, but she continued to tremble as fear and hopelessness overwhelmed her.
The killer took a hacksaw to her upper thigh and cut most of her leg off. The blood began to pour out in torrents, and Mattie expired soon thereafter. Christ dragged the severed leg over to Jean and handed her the hacksaw while explaining what to do with it. As the horrified new captive cut the leg into thick and uneven steaks, the killer butchered the rest of the body. Mattie was about to become the bill of fare for September, but she was beyond caring.
Miss September
Jean began the last month of her life butchering Mattie's leg. It was a traumatic experience for her, and she said next to nothing for the rest of the month. She spent most of her time sobbing and crying, as she endured watching her captor consume the meat that was once Mattie and having the monster penetrate her daily. It was a horrible way to live.
Jean wasn't always like that. She was a tall, thin girl with dark hair, a lithe athletic figure, and a ready sense of humour. She was one of the girls I sometimes worked with, and we generally got along very well. But now she was facing the most horrible terror of her life and waiting with the sure knowledge that she would die very soon.
Linda arrived on October 1 and was waiting in the basement with a chain around her neck when Jean was led down the dark flight of stairs to her doom. Jean was pleading for her life all the way, but deep down something must have told her that it was a hopeless exercise. She found herself standing nude in that deadly basement, staring at the sobbing form of Linda in a dark corner. She recognized the terrible identity between herself and Linda. Jean remembered crouching in that corner watching Mattie die and being forced to assist with the dismantling of the body. Now that role passed to Linda, and Mattie's vacated position belonged to Jean. She screamed, but there was no saviour within range of her voice.
Jean was alternately begging for her life and screaming her head off when her captor efficiently snapped steel cuffs around her slim ankles. Things got worse as the chains attached to the shackles began to be pulled toward the ceiling. The chains grew taut, then forced Jean to sit on the floor to avoid falling over as her feet were carried up into the air. Then her whole legs rose, then her torso and back. Finally, she was hanging upside down in the middle of the room. Her genitals were just about at face level for her captor, and her legs were spread uncomfortably far apart. Her unrestrained arms flailed about wildly, barely reaching the floor, but Christ quickly put a stop to that by clipping handcuffs around her wrists and dangling a heavy weight from the connecting chain. All of Jean's limbs ached from the strain, and her head was nearly bursting from the blood flowing into it as well as from the stress of her situation.
"Rejoice, my child," said Christ, brandishing a slightly bloody hacksaw, "Today your sins are forgiven!"
Jean responded by screaming, but this was nothing compared to the squeals she emitted when he touched the saw to her exposed genitals. He took his time, getting the most pain possible from each horrible stroke. The first pass sliced a bloody gash in the former source of Jean's livelihood. She howled as the sticky red fluid ran down her belly and spine. The second stroke grated against the girl's pelvis, and her screams intensified. Linda sobbed in the corner, barely believing her tear-filled eyes.
Several strokes of the saw later, Jean was neatly bisected down to her belly button. Her pelvis was in two quivering halves, and she nearly choked in the blood running down between her upside down breasts and into her mouth. Jean's screaming changed to dull gurgling after several more strokes of the saw bisected her belly and important internal organs. Although no doubt delirious, Jean lived for several minutes more. The blade had just severed her diaphragm and was approaching the lower tip of her breastbone when she finally expired.
The bisection did not end with Jean's life, however. The killer who called himself Christ carried on with more speed and careful attention to perfection. The blade passed between Jean's breasts, amidst her collarbones, through her neck, and into her limp chin. The killer worked slowly with the poor girl's head, careful not to make a mistake that would destroy her symmetry. When he was done, there were two half-Jeans, each hanging upside down by a single ankle.
The murderer turned his attentions to Linda and cheerfully asked, "Have you ever seen such a beautiful sight?"
Miss October
Linda, among all of Christ's victims, was the woman I liked least. We'd known each other for quite a long time, but she was never a pleasant person to be around. She had a short temper, patronizing attitude, and an annoying tendency to encroach upon my territory. Sometimes I think she delighted in irritating me. This petite blonde bimbo got everything she deserved and much more.
Linda was abducted on October 1, 2000 and was forced to witness the brutal bisection of my friend Jean. The evil one showed off his work to Linda and took many photographs before setting about butchering the dead girl further into meal-sized chunks. This was becoming old hat for him it seems.
The weeks that followed were torture for Linda. Of course her captor raped her daily, but he also did something to her that none of her predecessors had endured. Every meal, she sat at table with the killer. It was bad enough that she had to watch him consume with great delight a large portion of meat that was often recognizably a part of the deceased Jean. In addition, Linda found on her plate every day a small cube of cooked meat. She had no choice but to eat it. The few times she'd resisted, she'd received the most brutal beatings she could ever imagine.
So Linda ate a bit of Jean at every meal. She looked as if she would vomit each time, but she persevered in the realization that the consequences would be awful. It was a long month, and her will was almost completely broken. The look of dispirited resolution on her face as he led her down the stairs to the basement on the evening of October 31 told her story.
This is where I entered the picture. Simone was my best friend at the time. We were very close and worked the same corner, even shared an apartment. She was a shapely thing, tall, blonde, busty, and ever so seductive. She, along with my long brown hair, supple thighs, and shapely breasts, made the pair of us excellent attention grabbers on our corner. We worked well together or separately, but we felt safer working together, and the companionship was not a disadvantage.
We were together at work on the night of October 31, 2000. Thoughts of the serial killer were, of course, not far from our minds, but we had to make a living, and we were very careful. At least we thought we were.
The Buick drove up to us at about 11:30 PM, and it's sole occupant called to Simone and me, "You ladies have dates tonight?"
"We're just waiting for the right guy," said Simone with a sly smile.
"Well, I'm looking for some action."
"Which one of us would you like to party with," I asked, adding the challenge that often worked, "or can you handle both of us?"
The man seemed to think this over for a minute and then said, "Well, I always like a challenge, hop in."
We were in the car and on our way in a few minutes. Simone took the front seat next to the driver and ran her hands along his inner thighs, while I whispered the requisite seductive banter from the back seat. He handed out a lot of money right away, so we knew we had a good one.
Let me explain for a moment now what happened to us. We were on our guard about getting into strange cars at this time, but there were two of us, and the killer had never taken two girls at once, so that was a point for us. But most of all, the man behind the wheel was so completely non-threatening, that we were sure he was not the dreaded one. This man was short, a bit overweight, and spoke with a sort of accent, Southern or perhaps Texan. He was also what I would call a bit geeky. He was middle aged and talkative, but he had a kind of youthful nervousness. He could have been a virgin bachelor finally out to get laid for the first time. It's difficult to describe, but he put us both completely at ease.
Simone and I gave him directions to a place we usually use, but he ignored them and began to drive out of the city. That began to worry us, but the moment we began to protest, both of us blacked out.
We awoke some time later, although I don't know how much time. We were still in the car, but both Simone and I were now handcuffed and gagged. We knew we were in trouble then.
Soon we pulled into the driveway of a secluded house in the woods. Our captor led us into the house by means of a chain attached to our handcuffs. We were dragged down the stairs to the basement, and our gags were immediately removed. We filled the basement with our howls and protestations. It took us a few moments to understand the sight that met our eyes.
Linda was there, and I recognized her immediately. It was obvious that she was in trouble. She was blindfolded and on her back in a peculiar sort of glass box. The box was built at the height of a dinner table and was five feet long and two feet wide. Linda's head stuck out of a hole in one end, but the rest of her body was enclosed within the glass box, and her arms and legs were strapped to the table beneath her. Her limbs were allowed only minimal movement, and her face was a mask of terror.
The strangest thing about the glass box was that its top was pierced by a grid of one inch diameter holes. The holes were four inches apart and covered the entire surface in uniform rows. The rows were marked across the short end of the box with the letters A through F and along the long end of the box with the numbers 1 through 15. A grid of corresponding holes covered the wooden surface beneath Linda's trembling back.
"We're going to play a little game," announced our host. "I will set the winner free, but the loser will be damned eternally." Then he pulled out a great bundle of metal rods and explained the rules. Simone and I would take turns naming a point on the grid, and our host would push one of the razor-tipped steel rods through the selected hole. We would wait five minutes between turns, and if Linda was still alive, the next turn would begin. But if Linda died before the five minutes were up, the game was over. The one of us that named the coordinates that killed Linda was the loser. In any case, it appeared that Linda would be the real loser.
I lost the initial coin toss, so I had to go first. I named A1, and our abductor dropped a rod in the hole an inch and a half from Linda's right shoulder. She gasped as the rod clanked into place, but she was in no danger from that choice. Simone chose F1, and a rod was inserted near Linda's left shoulder. In the beginning, the game went slowly. I went down the line naming A2, A3, A4, and so on, while Simone chose the corresponding numbers in row F. Two and a half hours after we had begun, I had to start a new row. For my next two turns I chose B15 and C15, while Simone chose E15 and D15. This completed the row just below Linda's toes. Point B14 was too close to Linda's toes, but I filled B8, just below Linda's right fist. I chose B9, B10, and B11, while Simone filled row E similarly.
At this point, three and a half hours into the game, I knew I was going to hurt Linda with my next choice. We'd filled all the harmless holes, and Linda was about frantic. I chose hole B12, and Linda was able to move her leg enough that the blade barely grazed the outside of her right calf. Nonetheless, a small trickle of blood ran down the steel rod a dripped onto the floor. Simone filled hole E12 with similar results. I grimaced as I called B14 and watched the rod crack Linda's small toes. Simone made a mirror wound on the other foot. My selection of B13 was the worst yet, and the rod solidly pierced Linda's right ankle. Simone's E13 did slightly less damage to the victim's left ankle.
Now we were four hours into the game, and Linda was begging us to kill her as quickly as possible. But neither Simone nor myself was willing to thus lose the game and doom ourselves. For the next two hours, Simone and I filled the rest of rows B and E, which yielded a gruesome row of punctures in Linda's arms. We also managed to put five more holes in each of her legs within that time. As the sixth hour began, I called C9 and put a sizable hole directly in the middle of Linda's thigh. My next two selections punctured Linda's pelvis, and Simone's selections always made symmetrical wounds.
Now, at six and a half hours, the room was pandemonium. Linda was howling in pain and begging for death. Our host was ordering us to make our selections and was fiercely shoving the rods through poor Linda. Simone and I were crying and hiding our eyes as much as possible. I made a momentous decision for my 40th selection. I called D3, which was a hole directly above Linda's left breast. Why I made such a selection I can't exactly explain, but it was the only merciful thing to do for Linda, whom I couldn't help but pity despite my previous dislike for her. In addition, it came as a flash of realization to me that I didn't want to see my best friend Simone doomed any more than I wanted to see myself. Really, I think I did it to save Simone. In any case, Linda gasped as the rod pierced her ample breast and penetrated her heart. The blood flowed out behind her as the rod exited her body. Linda gurgled a bit and then slid into silence. The game was over.
Our evil host looked at me with eyes that seemed to reveal a surprising level of pity. "I'm afraid, my darling," he said slowly, "that you have lost our little game. Your friend will find her freedom after I have enjoyed her for a while, but you will never taste freedom."
Miss November
As much as I hated Linda, I had to pity her as our monstrous host carved her body up into small pieces before our eyes. The way I have written this account, such abominations might appear commonplace by now, but you must remember that this was the first such event I had been forced to witness. I became aware of the other butchery only later through videotape. So Simone and I had to fight back the gag reflex as we watched Jesus Christ disassemble our former acquaintance.
It seemed an eternity, but it didn't really take that long. Then our host approached us menacingly, his entire body coated in Linda's blood. He brushed by me and pounced on Simone, brutally raping her where she lay. When it was over, they were both bloody, and Simone was sobbing uncontrollably.
Shortly thereafter, I was placed in a windowless basement room. This was to be my home for the month of November. I was free within my room, but there was no way for me to escape. I was supplied with a few uninteresting books and a television set. Later I was forced to watch all of the videotaped brutalities, but for now I could watch what I liked. Simone spent her nights in our host's bed, but she was left in my room for most of the days. We derived our sole solace from our talks, but as the month wore on, Simone became increasingly disheartened and fatigued.
Our real distress came at meal times. We had to watch our abuser eat a large slab of meat at each meal, and we both knew that the meat had once been a part of Linda. To make things worse, Simone and I were not served any food until we had consumed the small cube of cooked Linda that was placed in the centre of our plates at each meal. We acquiesced rather than starve to death, and neither of us put up much of a struggle after the first two days, but it was grotesque nonetheless.
And so it went until December 1. By that day, Simone was looking horrible, and she could barely speak to me. He'd raped her daily, and the mealtime rituals were taking their toll on her morale. Neither of us could see how she had been benefited by winning our contest. It seemed that I was far less tortured than she was, but I hope she didn't resent me for it.
December 1 was a horrible day. After waking us up in the morning, our host announced, "Well, Simone, thank you for a wonderful month. Now it's about time for us to get you ready for your freedom. I did promise, and you'll be on your way in about two weeks." Simone's dull eyes brightened somewhat at this prospect, but there was very little real hope left in her.
I watched as he had her showered, shaved, and made up. In the end she looked reasonably good and ready to rejoin the outside world. But we went to the basement, and I suddenly found myself chained to the wall and Simone strapped down on her back on the very same table on which Linda had died (except the glass cover was now absent). We were both stunned and protesting loudly, but Christ ignored our pleas and went about tying a tight tourniquet around Simone's right upper thigh. It was obviously very painful for her, and she cried loudly as he rummaged around in a closet for something. Our eyes widened in terror as we saw what he brought out.
Christ touched the blade of the hacksaw to Simone's right ankle and vainly tried to soothe her with promises of freedom. The first pass of the blade was silent, but blood erupted from the wound. The second pass was horrible as I heard the screech of metal on bone. I closed my eyes but could not block out the horrible grating noises and Simone's frantic screams. When I opened my eyes, Simone's foot was lying on the table unattached to the rest of her. The tourniquet was tight enough to keep her from bleeding to death, but the pain must have been unbearable.
Lunch was a memorable experience. The meat on Christ's plate had once been Simone's right foot. As usual, there were also small cubes of meat on Simone's and my plates. I caved in when Simone was not paying attention, but she could not be induced to taste her own flesh. She was not permitted to eat anything, but our host made a point of expressing his enjoyment of the meal and complimented Simone profusely on the quality of her flesh.
After the meal, he immediately dragged her downstairs and strapped her back down on Linda's death table. This time he brought out the hacksaw and removed Simone's entire right leg just below the tourniquet. The horrible grating sound recurred as he severed her thighbone. Simone was writhing in pain, but she failed to bleed to death. Dinner that night for Jesus Christ consisted of a thick steak that had once been a part of Simone's thigh. Once again, she refused to eat her sample and had to go without food altogether.
That evening Simone was placed in my room, but she had to be strapped down to thwart her continuous suicidal attempts to untie the tourniquet on her thigh. I, on the other hand, was taken to our host's bedroom and raped brutally.
For the next five days, Simone was not deprived of more of her body because Christ was occupied with consuming her right leg. But she remained obstinate in her refusal to eat her own flesh. After six days without food, Simone looked haggard and pale. Her ribs were clearly visible, and Jesus Christ was irate. He was faced with a dilemma. He was, on the one hand, determined not to give in and feed her despite her refusal to eat the requisite appetizer. However, on the other hand, he seemed to feel somehow cheated by the weight loss that accompanied her fast. There was less of her for him to enjoy. But he did not give in, and she grew thinner by the day.
On the morning of December 7, Simone was deprived of her left leg in much the same manner as she had lost the right leg. Now there were two tourniquets between her and death, and she looked very peculiar. The right and left arms came off on December 12 and 14, respectively. Still she did not eat. When he returned for the next amputation on December 16, Simone was in horrible shape. She was dangerously thin in addition to being limbless. Her whole body was deathly pale, and her crying eyes had dried up into a cadaverous mask of imminent death.
Christ was on the verge of slicing off one of Simone's once majestic breasts when a sudden inspiration led him to drag me over and hand me the knife with instructions to proceed. To my credit, I did not comply immediately. My first action was to turn and slash at him with the knife. I managed to create an impressive gash in his arm, but he snatched the blade away from me and carved his initials in my shoulder for my trouble. He handed me the knife with more care the second time, and I reluctantly followed his instructions to pull the nipple up as far as I could and slice off the whole breast in one smooth stroke.
I very nearly vomited, but I thought I saw a slight smile cross Simone's face. This latest torment had not produced so much as a whimper of protest from her. Within minutes, Simone gave a satisfied sigh and gained the freedom so long promised her. Christ lost no time being sentimental and butchered what little remained of my best friend in time for lunch. I wept long and hard, but the pain of the loss never seemed to go away.
Miss December
Of all of Christ's victims, I was forced to remain under his control the longest, but I can't complain since I was the only one to walk away alive. I was abducted along with Simone, the best friend of my life. As I already described, we were forced to play a fatal game with Linda's life and to eat bits of her body.
After being kept for a few weeks in my room alone while Simone was forced to share Christ's bed, our captor began to force me to watch the videotapes of his previous victims. It was through those horrible experiences that I gained the knowledge necessary to write this account.
As December began, I replaced Simone as our captor's bed partner. Simone herself was stored in my former room between amputations and wasted away there until her death on December 16. I've never fully recovered from my grief over her horrible end.
Every night in December was a miserable experience for me. I slept with the serial killer and watched myself being degraded and invaded. Of course, I had been degraded and invaded by many men before in my life, but, as you can imagine, there was a special disgust evoked by this monster. It was almost as bad as the meals, during which I was compelled to taste the flesh of my former friend.
Throughout this period, my thoughts inexorably returned to contemplation of the horrible end Christ had planned for me. I could scarcely imagine anything so horrible as what he'd done to his previous victims, and I couldn't help but notice the general trend toward increased cruelty in his killings. In short, I was terrified.
By Christmas, I could barely think straight. Christ made himself a birthday cake and indulged himself in an especially intense sexual encounter to which I felt a distant observer, even though it was my body being invaded. Things just got worse and worse in my mind over the next six days. My only consolation was that Christ was busy with some urgent project and had little time to torment me during that last week.
The last remaining bits of Simone were consumed at dinner on December 31. Tears of fear and sadness streamed down my face as Christ led me outside after the meal. I was prepared for the worst, but the sight that met my eyes brought my mind to a standstill.
Just outside the door of the house in a clearing in the woods was a wide ring of twelve equally spaced large wooden crosses. Each cross was numbered with a Roman numeral. The cross just outside the door was numbered XII and with the rest formed a hundred foot diameter clock-like formation. I shuddered as I saw that every cross except number XII supported a crucified human skeleton.
All of the skeletons were fairly close to my size, no doubt adult females. The ones hanging from crosses I, II, III, IV, and V seemed undamaged, except for a broken shoulder bone in skeleton number IV. Skeleton number VI was a different matter, however, and I could clearly see that the head had been sawed in half horizontally right through the eyes. The pieces were wired together, but the wound was unmistakable. Skeletons VII and VIII were undamaged, but skeleton IX had been neatly bisected vertically. Its pelvis, spine, and skull were rudimentarily repaired with wire. Skeleton number X was slightly scratched in places, but Skeleton XI was damaged in several places. Its upper thighbones and lower shin bones, as well as the upper arm bones and several others, had been severed and repaired.
I stared up at the empty cross number XII, and a shiver ran up my spine as I contemplated the fate that awaited me. The eleven skeletons in the macabre ring were all too easily identifiable as Christ's previous victims, and I knew I would soon be joining them.
Christ smiled benevolently down at me and said in a gentle voice, "I feel genuinely sorry for you, my beautiful darling. Your fate is the most horrible of all. I have been able to save my other eleven disciples. Their sacrifices will be rewarded in the next world, but you my child have drawn the unlucky lot of Christ's betrayer. It is a job that must be done by someone, but you will nonetheless be damned for all eternity."
His words confused me, but I understood their ominous tone, and feared my imminent torture and death. While he was talking, Christ was padlocking a collar around my neck and attaching a chain that ran to a secure fixture at the base of cross number XII. He showed me that the cross was hinged and laid it down flat on the ground. He quickly undressed and, with a hint of sadness in his eyes, raped me more brutally than ever before.
When he had done with me, I was a cowering heap on flesh in the dirt at the base of the empty cross. I sobbed uncontrollably, and waited for him to drag me to my death. He said in a confident voice, "Well, we'd best get started, dear. Ready?"
I looked up and was surprised to see him lying on his back on the cross with arms outstretched. A sharpened steel spike and a large steel hammer rested near his left hand. He spoke to me in a calm voice, "I have personally saved eleven women from their sins, and through the sacrifice I am about to make, everyone will be given an opportunity to taste of salvation. Everyone, that is, except you, my dear Judith. Are you ready? We must begin."
I stared in disbelief and considerable relief. It appeared that I would be a killer that day rather than a victim. And I couldn't think of anyone who deserved to be killed more than my captor Jesus Christ. I obeyed his instructions with a sense of hoping to get things done before he changed his mind.
I took the spike and placed its sharpened tip on the spot he indicated on his wrist. I used the hammer to drive the spike between the two bones of the forearm and watched a trickle of blood flow out as the fingers jerked in involuntary spasms. From the look on his face, I could tell it was painful, but he did not hesitate to direct me to nail his other wrist to the other side of the crossbar. When it was finished, I felt much more secure; he was no longer in a position to harm me.
But there was more to go. I followed his instructions and twisted his ankles sideways before driving one large spike through both ankles and into the wood of the vertical beam. I inspected my work with a growing sense of satisfaction. Yes, I freely admit that I enjoyed killing that monster.
The last bit was the toughest because it required physical strength, which I was severely lacking in after two months in Christ's lair. In the end I managed to pull the rope attached to the top of the cross hard enough to raise it on its hinges to a vertical position. Christ's face showed pain as his body weight strained against his wounds. As it reached its apex, the cross slid down into the two foot deep post hole provided for it. The jolt created as the cross hit the bottom sent a grimace of pain across Christ's face as well as a yelp of surprise.
It took some minute for him to regain his composure. I watched in fascination at what I had done. There was surprisingly little blood, and it took him much longer to die than I would have expected. He was able to speak to me for quite a while, although he sounded a bit out of breath.
The first thing he said to me was, "Judith, our fates are sealed. There is a telephone hidden in the bush behind me, which you can use to get rescued. You'll need to make the most of the years you have left on this planet, since your eternity afterwards will be one of unending torment. Unfortunately, it must be so. One thing you might want to remember...." As he said this I was digging around for the phone and ready to dial 911. "If you call the police before I have completed my sacrifice, they will take me off of this cross and subject me to trial and imprisonment. Also, you should remember that there is no death penalty in this state."
I took his hint and resolved not to call for help before he was good and dead. I had to wait a long time and listen to his irritating banter. He came more and more to speak of us as partners in an earth-shattering endeavour. I did not share his camaraderie, but I felt a certain satisfaction with the knowledge that I would survive this ordeal.
It was about sunset when I got Christ mounted on his cross, and it was pitch dark when he finally quit talking. I could hear faint whimpering that suggested that he was still alive, but I could see nothing. My exhaustion overcame me, and I fell into a deep sleep that lasted until well after sunrise.
When I awoke, my captor was dead. His head slumped on his outstretched arm, and his nude body looked pale and rigid. Birds were beginning to explore his neck. I hurriedly called the police, who promised to send someone right over. I laughed and cried at the same time until the officers arrived.
It took them quite a long time to find me. To begin with, I didn't know where I was, so the operator had to trace my call. When they figured out where I was, I was such a long way from anything, that it took an hour and a half for the four squad cars to arrive. But they finally came to my rescue and found Judith Isaacs, a nude battered prostitute chained to the foot of a dead man's cross amid a ring of eleven skeleton-bearing crosses. I'm sure they remembered the sight, and I know I'll never forget it.
In the end, they cleaned me up, took me to a hospital, which treated and released me on the same day, and took long statements from me in an effort to explain the bizarre case of Jesus Christ, serial killer. The rest was well-reported on the news and in the tabloids.
My life will never be the same, of course. I'll miss my friends who died so horribly, and I have nightmares of the treatment I received at Christ's hands. But on the other hand, I'll be considerably wealthier and will be able to retire to some island paradise to spend the rest of my days in obscene comfort.
I hope that the telling of this miserable story has cleared up some of the misconceptions propagated by the popular press. In any case, I will now abandon my life story to the entertainment industry. I only hope they enjoy it more than I did.