September 11th 1924

It was raining tonight as I watched from the darkened woods. It sounded like a thousand tiny drummers beating their drums as it poured down upon his tin roof. Mr. Dowbooker, the cities mayor and my leading critic. I hated him, it was true, he was always snooping and sticking his nose where it did not belong, but to start a petition to have me removed as the town’s doctor was unconscionable. No that could not stand.

His wife was away tending a sick aunt and he was at home all alone. I stood outside his house the rain dripping from my hat its roar in my ears, pounding, pounding, pounding on that old tin roof. I could see him in my minds eye all snug in his bed, covers pulled tight about him. I remember chuckling opening the door, how simple it was in the town, doors unlocked, windows open, people trusted.

People were fools, sheep set for the slaughter and I was the chosen butcher hand ready to cut short their miserable little lives so that they might server some greater purpose, in truth I do them a favor, but not this night no he was for pure pleasure.

I can still smell the stench of his house, it permeated my nose, it was the same sick sweet cinnamon smell his clothes always reeked off. It nearly gagged me. I looked at him for sometime, sleeping, the quilt rising and falling with each precious breath, no knowledge that it was one of the last few breaths he would ever take.

I crept up beside him and with one motion my scalpel cut deep through his wind pipe and severed the vocal cords. He tried to rise up but I fell atop him the quilt pinning him helpless under mine and its weight. His eyes were a blaze with fear, he could not speak, but how he tried. Gurgling and gulping for air which wheezed through he gaping hole in his neck. I had been careful to make sure no major arteries were severed no he would suffocate slowly and painfully, completely away of who was doing this.

I watched his eyes as the realization of what was happening took hold. He struggled, fought with every ounce of strength he had, it has always amazed me how strong, how tough someone becomes once they realize they are fighting for their life. He nearly threw me from him, even managing to get one hand free which I quickly pinned to his head board with my scalpel, piercing skin and muscle to drive deep into its oak wood finish. I never took my eyes off his until the pale dullness of death finally took them over and it was finished.

I dismembered him completely in that bed making sure that every single wall was covered in his blood. I took the parts back with me, feeding his arm to my daughter, she greeted me with such delight it made my heart soar and for myself, I took those condemning eyes and made a necklace. I will keep the necklace about my neck to remind me that no one will come between me and my destiny, no one…