Page 9 of The Killing Game

The knife…

Writhing against the human cage above me, I manage a few inches closer. Feeling the silky wood finally between my grip, I close my hand around the handle. In a last minute attempt to distract Tristan, I push myself up like I’m ready to take him inside me. A mew of fake appreciation escapes my lips to lower his guard.

“That’s right, darling. Let me fuck you into the afterlife.” I could feel his hips move back, fingers grasping my folds open, ready to sink inside.

At the same time, I rolled over, knife in hand. I slash the knife directly at his face, making contact with his left eye. Tristan screams and falls backwards, reaching up to cover his serrated eyeball.

“You stupid cunt!” he spits at me, blood gushing between his fingers.

Anger flashed across his face. I scramble to my feet to steady myself. The knife is set in front of me, ready to attack again.

Tristan lunges toward me. I dodge him and stab him in the neck, the squelch of split skin making me queasy. It takes every ounce of strength to push down my gag reflex and stay on guard. He falters to the ground, both hands at his throat in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. I crawl on top of him, centering myself on his now flaccid cock.

Tristan looks up at me, anger replaced by instinctual fear.

I stare down at him. Something in me shifts, hatred flows through my veins. Somewhere deep inside, I can feel this moment changing me. A demon grows from the depths of this depravity. Laughter bubbles up from inside and I cackle like an evil witch. I grabbed the knife with both hands and raise it over my head.

“Tell your little cult they can suck my metaphorical dick, Tristan.”

I surge the knife down, square into his chest. Tristan screams as the knife plunges into his chest like butter. The screeching of bone against the blade is barely audible over Tristan’s wails. Blood sprays in all directions. I’m speckled head to toe as I raise my hands and drop them again. The sound of ripped tendon and cracked bone is the symphony of my descent into madness. I continue stabbing him with every ounce of hatred until I’m left panting, no longer able to raise my arms.

A cavity the size of a golf ball stares up at me. Blood, flesh, and bone shards mix in the center. Tristan’s lifeless eyes stare back at me. His skin pales with each passing second. Yanking the knife from his rib cage, I wipe the blood on my tattered clothes. I shove myself off of the lifeless body and stare in disbelief.

Holy. Shit.

I did it.

I just killed someone.

I tie my shredded shirt into a crude bra and pull my pants up where they belong. On instinct, I start grabbing my belongings from the area. I shove the knife into my bag and pick up all the pieces of torn clothing, just like I learned in all those hours binging murder podcasts.

Walking in a circle, I scan the area for any place to drag Tristan’s lifeless body. I need him to be hidden for at least six months; enough time for decomposition to kick in and remove any organic traces of evidence. I can’t go to the police. They would never believe me.

It didn’t take long to find what I needed. Near the northwest corner was a ravine down to the river that filtered into the lake.

Perfect.

It takes all of my energy and a lot of breaks, but I drag the corpse to the edge of the cliff. With one final shove, the body descends down the rocky side. Faint clicks of bone on rock wafts through the night. After a few moments, the sound of a splash ripples from the river below. The shadow of a body is barely visible in its resting spot. The water eagerly welcomes its new friend into the murky depths.

“Rest in pieces, asshole.” Unceremoniously, I walk back to grab my bag and hike back to my car.

PRESENT

After that night, I vowed to never tell anyone what happened. I was lucky enough the cuts Tristan gave me on my face healed quickly, barely a scar left behind. They only appear under black light, which I avoid like the plague. I don’t need anyone asking questions they certainly don’t want the answer to. I wouldn’t even know how to answer them. I repeat that night over and over again in my mind, searching for some redeeming quality in my actions.

Eventually, the body was found and everyone assumed it was The Senior Slayer. The corpse was so decomposed from rotting in the chilled depths of the lake, no one questioned it. Nothing was traced back to me. I couldn’t reveal my secret because, despite what I wanted, I liked it. Not only the roughness, but the excitement of the knife against my skin. The fear of whether or not I would survive. The crunch beneath my hands as I carved into the body. The slickness of the blood sliding over my skin. A warm blanket of grotesque desire. That night awoke something that was sleeping deep inside. Something I thought I had avoided growing up. The quiet, creepy girl transformed into a dark goddess of power. Every sexual encounter from then on was an experiment.

How far could I push my dark desires before going over the edge into oblivion?

The only disturbing remembrance of that encounter happened on graduation day. A small letter was tucked away in my diploma.

Congratulations on winning the game. Welcome to The Order, Ms. Nikko.

Attached to the letter was a check for over $2.5 million from The Order, Inc.

I stared in disbelief before ripping the letter to shreds. I looked around at the other graduates. Everyone was smiling and happy, celebrating their success and survival of senior year. No one was noticing the panic attack I was having internally. I scanned the crowd and stopped on a figure at the far corner of the bleachers. Under the last row in the shadows stood a man with a skull mask.

The skull mask.