A Stranger

A group of men are punished by a psychopath with a twisted heart.

The sun had set on the small desert camp. A small fire burned brightly, illuminating the common area of the site. This comforted the men in the camp, creating a false sense of security among each of them. They felt no danger, letting their caution be consumed by the warm orb of light emanating from the flames. Any remaining caution they had left was drowned in the alcohol, leaving them vulnerable.

Not far from cluster of tents, on top of a large boulder, stood a stranger. The stranger watched the men in the camp carefully, noting every detail he could about them. He lifted a pair of binoculars to the red tinted lenses that covered his eyes. A small cloud of breath, made visible in the cold night air, escaped through the filter of the strangers black gas mask and dissipated immediately as a gust of wind took it away. The wind tugged at the stranger’s leather trench coat in the direction of the camp as if urging him forward.

Once satisfied, the stranger set the binoculars down on the rock, where they had been set and reset for days. The stranger leaped from to top of the boulder and landed ten feet below in the soft sand, then, quickly and quietly, he set off in the direction of the camp.

 For days the stranger had been observing this camp. There were ten of them in total and there was no clear leader. They seemed to work well as a team, rarely disagreeing with each other. There were three tents set in a rough semicircle around the fire, facing away from the masked stranger. On the other side of the fire there were two more tents, angled towards the center of camp. One of these tents was slightly larger than the others and seemed to have some sort of event happening inside of it. Light was flooding out of the seams and the loosely secured tent flaps. Three men were inside this tent, five were around the fire, one man was alone inside one of the tents closer to the stranger, possibly sleeping, and the tenth had just left the perimeter of the camp, headed towards the water pump thirty meters to the east. This was the first target.

The drunken man stumbled through the soft sand, struggling to get to his destination. He was too focused on his own walking to notice the new presence. With his eyes not used to the night, the drunken fool was defenseless. He reached the pump and set the rusty bucket underneath the nozzle. He lifted his head and suddenly he felt his mouth go numb and he fell backwards. He tried to sit up not realizing what had happened. He started to feel warmth run down his chin and hurriedly touched his mouth with the tip of his finger. He was bleeding, a lot. It happened so quickly that at first his brain did not realize he had been injured, but now the pain was setting in. He tried to scream but his jaw was too badly deformed to make much more of a sound than a moan.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you,” said the stranger, seeing his attempt to call for help. The man looked up at the ominous figure holding a bloody baseball bat. He whimpered as the stranger stepped towards him. “Relax,” said the stranger through his mask, “you kind of had it coming.” Then he lifted the bat over his shoulder and swung. The wooden bat made direct contact with the man’s temple, crushing his skull inward , killing him immediately.

The man’s disappearance went unnoticed. The night went on and so did the drinking. The stranger skirted around the perimeter of the camp like a shadow, his feet making no sound as they hit the sand. Shortly, he reached the rear end of the group of three tents. He listened intently for any sound that would give away his next target. After just a moment, from the tent furthest to the left, there came a noise. It was slight, the sound of a sleeping breath, but it was all the stranger needed.

The man slept peacefully in his sleeping bag, unknowing. The rough fabric wall of the tent that was furthest from the fire was lifted slowly and soundlessly, allowing the stranger to enter the tent unnoticed. Silently, the stranger knelt next to the sleeping figure, laying the bloody bat in the sand to his right. The stranger watched the man sleep for some time, as if preparing himself internally. The man sleepily rolled onto his back, exposing his face. He was young, younger than the last man who was barely a man to begin with, but the stranger did not hesitate.

With strong hands the stranger gripped the boy’s throat. His bright blue eyes shot open instantly and locked on to the red lenses that covered the stranger’s eyes. His hands went first to the stranger’s, vainly attempting to break the stranger’s grip; then they went to the stranger’s face. The boy’s fingers scratched and clawed at the metal mask, looking for any vulnerable area, a chink in his armor, but there was not one. The stranger did his best to keep the boy at arm’s length, locking his elbows so that his arms were straight, while at the same time using his body weight to crush the boy’s throat. Soon, the boy was too weak to keep his arms up and they fell to his sides. His vision was beginning to blur and sounds became muffled. He tried to say something but there was no sound.

“Sorry,” the stranger said, noticing his attempt to speak, “If I stop to listen, then I’m just going to have start all over again in a minute and that would just mean more hassle for both of us.” The boy was too weak to do much more than stare back at the stranger. His fingers moved slightly as he tried to lift his arm. “Oh, don’t look at me like that,” said the stranger. “You know what you did.” The boy did not react to this. The stranger watched as the life drained from the boys eyes. Then, he left the way he came, taking his bat with him.

Five men sat around their fire, oblivious to the murder of their friends. They laughed and joked, telling stories of their previous conquests. They drank too, each one of them holding their own bottle of liquor. They cursed and yelled and then drank some more. Sometimes they would argue but they never fought but they always drank. They were as drunk as could be and that is what the stranger was counting on.

“Get me one of them cigar-“, started one of the men, as a baseball bat suddenly struck him in the back of his head, sending him face first into the hot coals of the fire. The man to his left stood up in an attempt to pull him from the fire but was quickly stopped by the powerful swing of a baseball bat to his shins, breaking them both and sending him face first into the sand. Seeing what was happening one of the men across the fire stood and drunkenly attempted to pull his gun. Expecting this, the stranger quickly turned and removed the silenced hand gun from inside his trench coat, sending a bullet through the bridge of the man’s nose, killing him.

Nobody else made a move. The two unharmed men stared in shock at their dead friends, while the man with the broken shins did his best to remain quiet, his face just inches from the strangers boot. The only sound was the sizzling flesh of the man who had fallen into the fire, filling the air with the smell of burned meat. The stranger stood motionless but poised and ready for combat.

“You,” said the stranger, gesturing with the hand gun towards one of the unharmed men, “help your friend up,” nodding at the man with the broken shins. The man hesitated but did as he was told and helped his injured friend into the beat up lawn chair he had been sitting in.

“Now the rest of you, sit down,” commanded the stranger. They did so. “I know. I should probably search you. I mean, each of you probably has a weapon. But I’m gonna tell you what. You are drunk, too drunk, in fact, to fight me, as you’re lovely friend just proved. So if you really feel like fighting back is the smart thing to do, then, by all means, do it. But if you want to stay alive longer, then don’t f**k with me. Got it?” They all nodded. “Now, I’m going to trust you and leave for a little bit.” A look of surprise appeared on their faces. “Don’t get excited, it’s not what you think it is. I’m going to get the rest of your friends from inside that tent. Now I’m hoping,” said the stranger, “that not leaving your crippled friend is enough incentive for you to stay seated but, if it’s not, just know this: I will easily find you, if you try to run, and I will easily break your legs if you try to fight. In both cases you will suffer. Do I make myself clear,” said the stranger forcefully. The three men nodded.

Then the stranger walked past them towards the largest of the tents. He threw the tent flaps open and confidently walked inside, bat in hand. Once inside, he immediately felt sick.  In front of him there were three men, sitting with their backs to the entrance in dilapidated lawn chairs. In front of them, chained to a metal pole that had been stuck in the ground, was a young woman, or what was left of one. She was emaciated, every bone visible on her all but naked body. Her once blonde hair was now tangled and matted with dirt and dried blood. Her eyes were blood shot and it looked as though she had been crying. Her skin was bruised in many different places as though she had been beaten. Her lips were cracked and dry and her teeth were stained with blood. Noticing the stranger she stopped her provocative dance and stared at him.

“Hey, we didn’t tell you to stop,” said one of them, not noticing the stranger. From a bucket to his right he pulled a rock. He wound his arm back, preparing to throw when he felt a strong hand around his wrist, restricting his movement.

The stranger yanked the man’s arm, pulling him out of his chair and onto the sandy ground. Lying on his back, the man watched as the stranger’s heavy boot came down on his face, breaking his nose. Before the others could even react, the stranger had turned and swung at the man to his right. He lifted his arms instinctively to block the blow, breaking his left forearm. The man on the left tried to stand but was unable to before the bat hit the side of his head.

Enraged by what he had seen in the tent, the stranger felt no need to keep the men alive any longer. He pulled the hand gun from his coat and fired once into the man with broken nose’s knee, then did the same to the man with the crushed forearm. He then took the coat and pants from the man with crushed skull and gave them to the girl. She watched him carefully but decided to trust him and accepted the clothing. He led her out of the tent and had her sit in a chair across from the three men who had been too afraid to leave. Without saying a word, he handed her a canteen of water that was lying nearby. Once he was sure she was comfortable, he stood up and with great purpose he grabbed two bottles of rum and walked back into the tent.

The two conscious men watched in horror as he reentered the tent. He walked up to their quivering bodies and drenched them with rum. They knew what he was doing and began to scream for mercy and for help, but the men by the fire were petrified and did not dare come to their rescue.  

“You’re a monster,” Broken Arm spat at him. The stranger stopped and stared at the man.

“You’re mistaken,” he said, “You’re the monster.” He tossed the second of the two empty bottles behind him and reached into his pocket. He removed a steel lighter and flicked open the top. He spun the wheel, wrapping the small wick in flame, then tossed the lighter onto the alcohol soaked sand and returned to his three captives.

The three surviving men did not dare turn and watch as the flame swallowed three more of their friends. To the stranger, the girl seemed unaffected by the screams; she sat quietly and stared at the sand, unmoving except for the occasional sip of water. Satisfied that she was okay, he returned his attention to the men. The men froze with fear once his gaze was upon them. Even through the mask, they could tell he was not happy.

“And you wonder why I’m doing this,” he said calmly. “I don’t know why I was surprised when I walked into that tent. For some reason, I still trick myself into thinking that people are innately good. This is the last time.”

“We are good,” exclaimed one of the men, “We had nothing to do with her!”

In one swift movement, with all the anger and all the hatred he felt for these men, the stranger swung the bat, breaking it in half over the man’s face, killing him.

“Who else wants to lie to me,” he shouted at the two surviving men. They said nothing. “Good,” he said in a much calmer voice. “Now, most of the time I let one or two of you live,” said the stranger, smiling under his mask as their faces lit up, “I tell myself that you’ve learned your lesson and that you will live out the rest of your days spreading good through what’s left of the Earth. But that’s me lying to myself again, isn’t it? I know now that as soon as I am gone and you feel safe again, you’ll go back to doing what you do best, contributing to the filth of the Earth.” The stranger’s smile grew even larger as the small flame of hope left their eyes.

The stranger sat down in one of the lawn chairs across from the two men. He sat with both legs fully extended, his elbows on the arm rests, relaxed. The dead man’s face was still ear deep in the hot coals, skin now black. The dead man with a bullet in his head lay on the ground just feet from the captives. The tent was completely destroyed by the fire, which had recently died and all that was left was the charred remains of the three men, the metal frame of their lawn chairs and the metal pole that was stuck into the ground, now blackened by the flame. Struck by an idea, the stranger jumped to his feet, surprising the men.

“Where can I find a good bit of rope,” he asks the men. They looked at each other in surprise trying to determine whether telling would be safer than not telling him. They looked back at him.

“In there,” said the man with the broken legs, pointing at the tent next to the burned one.

“I appreciate your cooperation, Legs,” said the stranger cheerfully as he ran towards the tent.

A few moments later he emerged with a coil of rope.

“Not Broken Legs, come with me,” said the stranger. The man stood and cautiously fallowed the stranger to the metal pole sticking out of the ground. “Alright, I know that you’re going to be tempted to try and run or fight because I don’t have a weapon and I’m about to tie you to this pole, but I’m telling you, as the guy that just killed eight of your friends, don’t.”

The man submitted and allowed the stranger to tie him to the pole without any resistance. The stranger put him on his knees with his back to the pole, bringing one arm around the left and one arm around the right side of the pole, tying them together at the wrists. Then he did the same with the legs, binding them at the ankles. Then the stranger used a third piece of rope to lift the man’s feet up and tied his ankles to his wrists, putting all the man’s body weight on his knee caps. Then finally the stranger used the rest of the rope to fasten the man’s torso flat against the pole.

“Okay, so I’m gonna tell you what I did here,” said the stranger, crouching to eye level and putting his hand on the man’s shoulder. “I have tied you in such a way that, no matter what you do, your knee caps will be the only point of contact you can make with the earth. Right now, that doesn’t seem too bad, but look at this sand,” he said, lifting a handful up in front of the man’s eyes, “This sand, while seeming soft at first, is really lots and lots of little tiny sharp rocks that, over time, will tear the skin off your knees until they bleed. My advice is, don’t struggle, it makes it worse.”

Then he stood up and began to head back to the girl and the last man. “Oh, and try not to look too dead or the birds will get,” he hesitated, looking for the right word, “interested.”

Once back the stranger grabbed the chair next to the last man and turned it towards him, sitting down and crossing his right leg over his left. The man stared at the sand, avoiding the red lenses that hid the stranger’s eyes.

“What to do with you…” After a moment of thinking, the stranger reached into his coat and removed his hand gun. The man’s heart jumped. “Here you go,” said the stranger handing the gun to the man. The man hesitated, confused by the sudden twist in events. “Here take it; I’ll let you do it.”

“Do what,” asked the man.

“I will let you kill yourself, on your own terms.”

“Why?”

“You seem like you deserve it. When I broke your legs, you were trying to help your friend out of the fire. You helped me find the rope. You seem to be the best of this bunch.” The man took the hand gun and brought the barrel to his chin. He looked at the red lenses of the stranger, his finger tensing around the trigger. Then he quickly pointed the barrel at the stranger’s chest and, in a single movement, the stranger disarmed him and stood.

“Wrong again,” said the stranger. He kicked the man in the chest knocking him out of the lawn chair. The stranger stepped on the man’s broken shin and looked him in the eye. Then he fired one bullet into each of his hands, destroying the bones, inhibiting the man’s ability to move his fingers. “Don’t want you untying your friend over there.”

The stranger turned to the girl, who was watching with horror but approval. He looked at her for a moment, pondering his next move. She opened her mouth to speak but, before she could, the stranger fired twice into her chest. Her frail body could not handle the sudden trauma and collapsed into the sand, dead. He stood over her body and watched as her blood soaked into the sand. As he stared down at her, a drop of water splashed against the inside of the red lens.

Author's Note

This is the first time I'm sharing one of my stories and I just want to know, honestly, what people think. I'm have no problem with criticism. Also, there might be some grammar/spelling errors.

Reviews

[Rudi J.P. Lejaeghere]

The only criticism I have, is that it seems to be a one-shot story and I so hoped it to be the prologue of a book. This is good, man. I can't say much about grammar and spelling errors becaus English is only my third language, but I like the story. I didn't expected he would kill the girl too, but yes...after all he's still a psychopath. I would certainly like to read more of your work. Well done. :) Rudi

[Gryphon]

Thank you! I'm so glad you liked it! I was actually thinking of using the stranger as the protagonist in a series of short stories. Also, I decided that it was appropriate for the stranger to kill the girl as well because, after the man with the broken legs turned the gun on him, he felt that there was no good left in humanity and that, even though she seemed innocent, she too was evil, deep down. So he decided to kill her before she could act on it. But really I can't thank you enough for taking the time to read and review this story.