The things i see

a man can sees whats hiding below the faces of people. but is what he sees real or not?

I can see them now. I couldn’t see them before, but I can now. They are all around us. They wear our faces and our skins. They drive our cars and work our jobs. They are everywhere, and they want to kill us all. Why can I see them now? I stopped taking the “medicine” they were giving me. They don’t like me being able to see them. Every time I go to my doctor I tell him I’m taking all his medicine. I don’t want to arouse suspicion. I don’t react when I see past his stolen face and spy the true face underneath. He’s an unpleasant one. All slime and teeth. Most of them are, though some have more fur and fewer teeth. I know what will happen if I let on that I see them. I know what they did to my father. I know he didn’t have a heart attack. I know they drank his soul and then wore his skin. That’s why I had to kill him. Oh, he put up a fight. He tried to trick me by bringing up old memories. That’s how they trick you. They make you really believe that they are your father, your mother, even your sweet old granny. But I wasn’t fooled. I killed him with a shovel. That’s another thing they don’t want you to know. You can’t just kill them. That doesn’t end it. No, you have to dismember them completely. Take the head, the arms, and the legs and make sure they aren’t close enough to reattach when you’re done. I fell for that trick the very first time with dear old “dad”. He came back, this time in my mother’s skin. I had to finish her with a cleaver. It’s all I could find on hand. After that I went about my daily life. The authorities came to investigate the disappearance of my parents. I put my own mask of cluelessness on and cried. I couldn’t let them know that I knew. I did my acting so well that they sent me to a psychiatrist. He was a clever one. I think he suspected that I could see his true face, so he put me on my medication. After that I quit seeing them, but I knew they were still there. After a week I quit taking the pills. If they were going to come for me I wanted to know. I wanted to be prepared. I even wanted to get revenge. So I did. The next one I killed was wearing the face of a homeless man.

It was after work when I see him. He’s begging for change at the time. It strikes me as odd that they would take someone so insignificant, but then it struck me. The homeless were everywhere. They saw everything. If they infiltrated the homeless population, they could easily take his city. To keep up the facade, I put a quarter in his cup. His fake face smiles at me.

“God bless you son.” The face beneath writhes when he says it. I keep my composure and walk off. Circling around the block I come back up behind him. I lie in wait behind a dumpster. After his cup fills a bit more he stands and stumbles off into my trap. He’s stumbling as if he’s drunk. No wonder they got this far. The acting is superb. If I couldn’t see through the illusion I would never have known. He passes my shadowy hiding spot and I silently step in behind him. I tighten my grip on the belt in my hands and loop it around his throat. As I tighten it he struggles and grunts in pain. I see the mask of fear, and beneath that is fury. This one’s beady red eyes, all five of them are locked on my face. It knows that I know. Well, too late now. As the body slumps to the ground I loosen the belt and pull out a small hunting knife. I takes nearly two hours to saw through the arms, legs and neck. Finally it’s done. The blood still looks red all over my hands. I split the pieces of the body into separate dumpsters and head home. For the first time in a while I feel good. I whistle a jaunty tune and smile to myself. I know what has to be done now.

After that there were many more I never kept exact count, but I know it was into the low thirties. All homeless for now. The channel seven news even picked up the story. The newscaster lied through her stolen face, claiming there was a serial killer loose that was preying on the homeless. They even gave me a little nickname. The shanty town butcher. One of them must have been trying to be clever. I didn’t expect them to make it public. Up until now I was sure they would cover it up. It was a clever tactic though. Now the city is on the lookout for me. Those with and without stolen face are now against me. It’s okay, even before this I was never seen. I’m smarter than that. No matter how much danger the homeless think they are in, one will always stray away from the herd. That’s when I make my move. The easiest marks are down in the train tunnels. The darkness plus all the nooks and crannies make it perfect. It’s been weeks since I’ve even been home by this point. I haven’t been to work in even longer. I can’t go about my day to day life any longer, not now that I know what’s going on. It’s my duty to kill them. It’s my duty to this city.

Months later, and many more kills. I’ve already forgotten what a warm bed feels like. I don’t even remember what was happening on the TV. I haven’t had a real shower since I really started. All part of the war effort. My beard has grown out as has my hair. I smell terrible and my clothes look even worse. The homeless see me as their own now. I don’t get too close to them lest they see me for what I am. But the war effort is flourishing. The shanty town butcher has kill numbers just shy of one hundred. They are panicking now. The news teams and the police talk through their skin masks through the TVs at most electronic stores. It’s almost around the clock coverage. Some police have come by multiple times, and each time I slip away without being seen. They won’t be able to tell who I am, but they may kill me anyway just because I’m not one of them. It was on one of these visits that I made my mistake. One of the police officers went down an ally on his own. I decided this was my time to strike. The cop seemed to be taking a piss. I snuck up on him, and just as I was about to loop my belt around his neck he spins and draws his gun. I realize I was tricked. I try to run, but at both ends of the alley are cops with drawn guns. I try anyway.

I woke up some time later. The bullet wound in my side is healing nicely now. It itches like fire ants, but I can’t scratch it. They strapped me down very well. The psychiatrists look at me, they ask me questions. I don’t even bother lying anymore. They know that I know. I tell them I know what they are. They all shake their stolen heads and write in their little notebooks. My “trial” goes like you would expect. They labeled me as insane and sent me to the asylum. They put me back on my meds and upped the doses. They force me into group sessions and other psychiatric tricks. They try to convince me that what I saw was fake. They try to tell me that my meds regulate my inner chemistry and without it I see a lot of things that aren’t there and do terrible things. I pretend to agree. I go along with it all. I can’t see them anymore, but I know what they all are. I know. And someday I will get out of here to finish my crusade.

Author's Note

again, will be expanded a bit and looked over for errors.

Reviews

[Tony Rogers]

Very nice story. The short sentences add to the suspense.

[K.J. Bryen]

Nice! I love stories that get into the minds of serial killers. Very intriguing, good job

[kendric martin]

thank you very much for the kind words! i appreciate it.