Sparks of Insanity

Haphazard Explorations & Experiments In Fiction

Nightly Wanderings

Insomnia’s a bitch.

Usually I try to get to sleep at a decent hour, but it takes an act of will to surrender, to give in the dreams that so easily seduce other people. It’s not that they don’t beckon because they do, calling out to me with quiet whispers of how nice it would be to let go, relax, fall into oblivion. But sometimes… sometimes I don’t even bother with the rituals of going to bed.

On those sleepless nights, I surrender to another call: the constant, subliminal thrum of energy that keeps me from resting. I go out to my car – dark grey, nondescript. I drive until I find an unfamiliar neighborhood, a fair distance from where I actually live. Can’t be playing to close to home. Then I park somewhere and start to wander, exploring my surroundings on foot.

Once I’ve found a new area, I come back to it regularly for a while, enough to get familiar with the patterns of activity; if there are late night dog walkers, regular patrols, night owls… anything like that, it’s better to know about it ahead of time. After a few weeks of that, I begin another part of my process.

Looking. Waiting. Poised for the earliest opportunity.

But sometimes I don’t bother with the lay of the land, can’t be bothered. Sometimes I act on impulse, overwhelmed by the need to act, skipping over parts of my usual routine. That’s what I did last time I went out on a nightly wandering…

The road I’m on is long and straight, with dozens of side roads, and many more to pass if I keep walking this direction, from the looks of it. I’ve seen no one out here yet. Everyone is lying in a darkened room, under their covers in a nice warm bed, under the sandman’s spell.

So far.

Except for me.

‘If I don’t see something that looks promising soon, I might just pick a house at random.’

Walking around for another half hour, I finally picked one. The house is blue with white trim. The front door, a darker shade of blue. A look around, at all the surrounding houses, up and down the street, tells me the night is as dead as it seems. I walk over to a gate leading into the backyard and go through, then check the windows as I go to see if any are unlocked. The third one is, so I open it up and hop in.

Boxes stacked against the walls to the left and right, and a door in front of me leading to… a quiet, careful twist of the knob, and I’m in somebody’s hallway, with a path to what looks like a living room to my left, and row of doors on the way.

Opening the closest one up, I find a woman.
Hair color? Pajama patterns? The color of her blanket?
It’s too dark to see, and irrelevant in any case.

Every step towards her is a greater risk, but I’m moving quietly. All that can be heard is her restful, rhythmic breathing. Clasping my hand over her mouth and punching her once, twice, three times in practically one movement, she makes the transition from deep sleep to wide-eyed pain and terror in the space of a heartbeat.

Looking into those eyes of hers, I’m struck with a funny idea: poke them out.

So I do, one at a time. First the one on my right (her left), and after she finally stops squirming and trying to scream, I gouge out the other and she starts thrashing again. When she’s still once more, I grab her by the neck, my grip tight enough to stifle her attempts at screaming, and pull her up out of bed. We’re both standing, me holding her neck from behind, her trying not to let me.

I pull her closer, start walking her out of the bedroom and into the living room… and notice her ass is pressed right up against me, and my cock is throbbing, pressed just as tightly onto her. This, this wasn’t something I was counting on, but I can roll with it; to her growing horror I’m sure, because as I begin to guide her to the door, both of us pressed up against each other, my left arm wraps around her neck and my right hand is suddenly free. As we reach the bedroom doorway, my hand wanders down, into her baby blue pajama bottoms, and she’s not wearing any underwear. Fine by me: it’s less to fuss with.

Getting to the coffee table, I lay her down atop it, facing me. Whimpering. Blood dripping down her face, streaks of black in the moonlight, I can barely contain my excitement, all the things I can do to her running through my mind. Pulling those soft blue pajama bottoms down, a long, long night begins…

…they found her body in her living room the very next day, body propped up so the corpse could be seen by all the neighbors passing by on their morning walks. The first admirers of my latest work.

(Merle Jensen ∴ Rape and Murder)

(Originally published on March 7th, 2013)


2 comments on “Nightly Wanderings

  1. Jack Sutter
    May 27, 2015

    Reblogged this on Heart of a Lunatic.


  2. JunkChuck
    May 27, 2015

    It seems like my mind rages against sleep in the nighttime, and begs for it in the morning. You really give us the sense of this man’s energy and, given the content, I sort of wish you hadn’t. Too disturbing–not my thing, but very well done.

    Liked by 1 person

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This entry was posted on April 14, 2015 by in Monstrous Souls and tagged , , , , , , , , , , .

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“And all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”
~William Shakespeare

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