The Tenth

Spur of the moment serial killer short-short story.

FEBRUARY 1ST

It happened again. Greg, a decently popular boy whom I have never so much as said hi to, was not at school. It had been going on long enough for us to know he wouldn’t be back ever again. Six months ago, it was Sarah. She was the first. It had been the first day of September. When she wasn’t there during the morning roll call, nobody thought much of it. People miss school all the time, right? She’s probably at home with a fever, poor thing….

But on the second-- BREAKING NEWS, MISSING PERSONS, SARAH KNITE, 16,-- on the tenth,  they found her body in an alley. The autopsy showed that it had happened that morning-- fresh stab wound on the left side of her head; they had been so close to saving her. Since then, there had been five more. Five kids absent on the first of the month, missing on the second, killed early in the morning on the tenth--found in an alley, stab wound to the side of their head-- and Greg made six.

Today was the first of February. We all knew that when we got to school, there would be one absent student. We all knew that on the second, we would find out that they had disappeared. We all knew that on the tenth, they would die-- stab wound on the left side of their head.

We took our seats. The sound of the door closing sent shivers down our spines. Our teacher cleared his throat; stalling. Cough…. Cough…. Cough…. He looked at us sympathetically; stalling. His eyes landed on me-- blue-- offensively so. They paused, and moved on. He sighed, and began.

“Emily Ahrens?”

“Here.”

“Nick Corter?”

“Here.”

“Greg Evans?”

No response. I could hear the teacher fill in an “X” next to his name. I shuddered. Kids looked at each other with sad eyes. Emily shook with silent tears, her sobs catching in her throat like hiccups. They had finally gotten together last week, after years of flirting so obvious it had made me want to pull my hair out. Now the memory of it made my chest feel hollow. The rest of Greg’s friends looked at the floor, trying not to let anyone see them grieve over the moments they’d taken for granted.

**********

When I got home, my mom asked me who it was today. I told her that “today it was Greg Evans”, and she sighed in that sad way she always does on the first. She sighed in that way that told me she knows she should be sad, but she’s too busy being relieved.

FEBRUARY 2ND

Greg was reported missing on three different channels. Nobody was shocked.

FEBRUARY 9TH

We were all preparing for the tenth. That was always how we spent the ninth. It didn’t take much to prepare ourselves anymore. The world had come to a sad place; we were expectant of Greg’s death. It wouldn’t take much to forget it. It wouldn’t take much to go to school everyday, pretending like we weren’t all thinking about whether or not it would be our names marked with an “X” next time. It wouldn’t take much at all; it was routine by then.

FEBRUARY 10TH

Greg was found dead.

FEBRUARY 28TH

As I turned off the light and layed down to bed, I swore I could feel something moving just beyond my view. I knew I was being paranoid in doing it, but I closed and locked my window. The wind picked up as I pushed the ledge down on to the window sill. I felt goosebumps prickle up my arms.

Everything is ok, I told myself. I knew, even then, that it was a lie.

MARCH 1ST

It happened again. But today, it was me.

He came for me early in the morning. He gagged me and tied my hands together. I could see the glint of his pistol in the moonlight, and knew better than to try and resist. He dragged me out of my home and put a blindfold on me. Soon I felt a seat beneath me. I could hear rustling in the front, and wondered if it would be wise to run. I felt the impact on the side of my head before I could decide.

?????

Now I wake, in a dark, damp place. My feet and hands are tied together and my back is bound to the back of a cold support beam. There is tape over my mouth. My head pulses with pain, but it’s nothing compared to the smell. My stomach turns at the smell. It’s so awful, so terrible. I can’t identify it, which only makes it worse. I turn on my side as much as I can in such a condition, and my thigh makes contact with another object. I can’t see what it is yet. It is so dark down here.

Slowy, my eyes are adjusting to this light.

The object comes into focus, and I have to hold back the bile that so badly wishes to come out. It’s Greg. His eyes stare at me without seeing. I try to get away but I’m tied so close to him.

How?

Tears start to fall down my cheeks, my sobs muffled by duct tape. It’s not just Greg-- it’s all of them. All six of my murdered classmates are stacked around me haphazardly.

He was buried last week…. They found him in an alley…. He put him there…. He dug him up after they-- he--

I hear the door above me open. I feel his footfalls. A blindfold steals my vision. I take a sharp breath in through my nose, and wonder absentmindedly where amongst my former classmates my body will end up.

The man’s face is so close to mine now that I can feel his breath. He thinks that his identity is a mystery-- but I saw his eyes when he took me-- blue-- offensively so.

THE END

Author's Note

I struggle with switching between past and present tense- in the last portion it was intentional, but if was there any switching anywhere else? (still tweeking occasionally) What do you think of the switching of past/present tense in the last section?? I'm unsure of it.