Petit Mort

We don't have to kill them. If we do it, it's because we want to.

I think some people think, if you kill her, she can't tell anybody what you did to her... but that's wrong. She's MORE likely to tell if she's dead. Do you know how hard it is to get rid of a body? Do you know how difficult it is to erase every trace of evidence? Even from the less obvious places? No, of course you don't. You're ordinary.

If all you want is sex, if all you want is to hurt her, make her cry... Well, let her walk away after. Who's she going to tell? Who's going to believe her? Be bold, brazen it out. She liked it rough, your honour...

No, if she's dead, it's because we wanted it. Wanted to watch it happen. Make it happen. It's a release.

I sighed, and unclicked my purple pen. Most do this online nowadays, but I like doing it this way. I still run the assignments through the plagiarism checker, but then I print them out and mark them like this.

Overly conversational tone, too familiar. This may be off-putting to your reader.

I was trying to be fair, but I found the whole thing pretty distasteful. If I'm honest, maybe I was looking for things to mark him down on.

My hair, which is long and black, tends to fall forward over my face and get in the way. I twisted it up on top of my head, like I do when I'm at work. Adjusting my glasses, I kept reading.

There was more pontificating about why he killed women, which I found a bit dull. He does it because he's an arsehole.

Maybe the first one is an accident, he wrote. Or an opportunity taken. We probably make mistakes. It will be a bit sloppy. The second one is like a do-over. What did we wish we'd done the first time? There's lots more planning involved. We want to make it special, and it is, in its own way. Just as special as the first. A lot of traditions are born the first couple of times.

Wow. This kid has watched way too much serial killer TV.

I rolled my shoulders and arched my aching back. I needed to take a break. I'd been marking for hours. It was dark outside already. I hadn't walked Brian yet, or started any dinner. Hadn't even got changed. My bra was digging in and so were my work trousers.

I popped Brian in his kennel out the back with a muttered apology and an ear rub, and then I took a long, hot shower.

Scrubbed and fresh, I shrugged into soft pyjamas, and then, loins suitably girded, I sank on to the living room rug next to the still-depressingly-tall stack of assignments and picked up my pen.

He depicted the first kill in almost pornographic detail. I caught myself wondering if he'd had a hand down his pants while he wrote it, and banished that thought aggressively. It was an uncomfortable thought. He's still a minor. Just.

But by the time the blonde (of course she was blonde) was dead, there were still pages to go. Isn't that the end? What else could he possibly have to say? What more could happen in this story? Is he going to get caught?

That felt unlikely, though I didn't hit on why in that moment. I was right; the police were pursuing him but of course he was far too clever for them and killed again without detection. I might have rolled my eyes out loud at this point.

My third will be special too, in its own way, because this will be the one that makes me officially a serial killer. That's why I'm taking a little risk with this one, and I've chosen a target closer to home...

His description of his next victim unsettled me like nothing else he'd written. Pale-skinned curvy woman, with glasses... Wears her long black hair in a knot on top of her head... Teaches high school English...

He either deserved an excellent grade, or a padded cell. Preferably in an all-male facility. Because what he wrote got under my skin enough that I got up and went and checked all the doors were locked.

Now I have my phone clutched in one hand, and a kitchen knife in the other. I'm trembling. Wishing I didn't live alone. Regretting not investing in deadbolts like my dad has been nagging me to do.

There's somebody outside. I can hear them moving about. I heard their footsteps. Brian hasn't made a single sound, which is unusual for him. Even if it was someone he knew, like my ex boyfriend, he would have barked.

He is outside the side door. In the quiet, I hear clicking and scraping.