There sure has been a lot of needless life-taking this week. First that gentleman in Ohio, then the two shootings in Orlando and Ft. Hood. It seems like everybody wants to express their angst through murder. And while I don’t condone this kind of behavior, it got me wondering what kind of a serial killer I would be if I decided to go buck-nutty and wear the mark. Half of the serial killer mystique is pathology: why they did it and how.
I feel like I’ve read a lot of short scripts this year in which the authors set their serial killer thrillers in offices, living vicariously through voiceover narratives where their main character wanders about mumbling off grievances like Rorschach. Or they just watched American Psycho and traced an outline around Patrick Bateman. And I don’t want to nitpick, but I think you can do better. Your serial killer is a reflection of you. So take the time to explore your sick and twisted imagination and think about how you could end a life in a way that hasn’t been tried before. A killer who pops around a corner wielding a chainsaw isn’t just lazy, it’s impractical. Chainsaws are heavy and loud. Your victim can easily escape with only minor lacerations while anybody within 100 yards would call the cops.
Here’s how I would do it. You would be walking out to your car, or maybe standing on a subway platform late at night. Suddenly you would get bonked over the head with what would feel like a sock full of lug nuts. You would wake, hours later, your body half-buried in the dirt floor of a basement. Sticking out of the ground, you cannot move your arms as the dirt has crowded everything up to your shoulders. You look around the room. It has been painted to look like a meadow. The walls covered in fake leaves of grass. A happy sun of orange and yellow smiling down from the ceiling.
A door would creek at the top of the stairs. And you hear slow steps — not normal footsteps mind you, these would be a THUNK followed by a pause. Then another THUNK. You would see two pink paws hopping down each of the steps. And then a 6′ 3″ man wearing buck teeth and a rabbit’s costume with whiskers painted on his cheeks. He would be hippity-hopping down each step, his hands curled to his chest like two front paws. He would frolic about the basement while you watched in terror, pretending to sniff the painted meadow leaves with playful curiosity.
And then his eyes would light up with joy when he spots you. He would hop toward you with haste, pawing his cheek and sniffing your head while his two buck teeth smack against your forehead. He looks hungry, this fluffy bunny-looking man. He looks very, very hungry as he holds up a mirror.
Your face is painted orange. And your hair has been dyed green. And that’s when you’d remember the headlines from the day before: “PELLET-SIZED WASTE BELIEVED TO BE MISSING HOUSEWIFE”.
So let’s open this up to discussion. What kind of killer would you be? It can be anything you want, you sicko. Maybe your victims are found posed like actors in famous movie scenes. Maybe you kill only on Arbor Day. Let your mind go wild.