Nick PT Barnum's Serial Killer
If you enjoyed this Little Nick PT Barnum Tale, check this one out:
Nick PT Barnum was getting closer and he knew that, but he had a powerful drive. It was almost like an addiction. He had to kill. It’s just what he did. He turned to face his victim and he felt like the judge, jury and executioner. It made him feel like he was ridding the earth of these women who should have been turned into pillars of salt. His heart stirred. He picked up her small handbag and scrounged inside.
A Connecticut State license revealed her name. Marlene Costa. She lived over on East Main Street near the Dairy Queen.
He grinned at his unconscious captive, then hoisted her over his shoulder and headed for the meat hook that hung suspended from the crossbeam in the corner of his basement. Once there, he turned her body to face him, and lining her up with the hook near the third and fourth rib, he pressed her body against the tip of the hook. The steel hook pierced the lungs on its way to the heart, which entered at the left ventricle. A body spasm was present as it rocked the hostage. Her lungs were filling up with fluids, and she began to gurgle. The blood splattered on his new shirt and it disturbed him. He unbuttoned his shirt, removed it, and tossed it into a slop sink, which he had filled with warm water and a squirt of bleach. Clorox to be exact.
He positioned a bucket under her feet to catch the remaining blood. How ashen white she had become, almost as if the innocense had returned to her body. The purity that God had intended for her had returned.
Once bloodless, he unhooked her and loaded her onto a work bench, where the surrounding work tools gave off an oily smell.
He grabbed the boning knife and he knew that it was going to be pitiless to her muscles, hacking away tendons without scoring the bone.
Cursed by what his mother had done to him, he grabbed a cleaver and pressed the top portion under his chin and closed his eyes. It was as if he started a prayer under his breath.
After decapitation, he lifted her head toward the ceiling and mumbled inaudible words. He then dropped the head to the floor and started with the hands and feet.
He had eliminated another street walker. He had cleaned up his side of the street and that made him feel good.
© 2011 Frank Atanacio
More by this Author
The burly man laughed and slapped a large hand on the table, knocking over the glasses, and the half empty bottle of whiskey. “Come on; don’t let that red devil scare you. Say what you mean, he won’t get angry....
The old woman screamed. The shadow and its fury vanished, and there was only the darkness. She was shuddering with worry. She had a premonition about a wolf attacking her granddaughter, and her premonition of dread had...
O'Brien knew that somewhere deep down inside him, he could handle a drink. He never truly believed he can go on with his life in the state of sobriety. If he planned to drink after weeks out of rehab,