Psycho #1 – Question to Kill –
© S.B. “LullaDIEs”
A Tale of Morbid Curiosity:
Refers to those who find curiosity addictive, or rather the neurological reaction to satisfying curiosity addictive. Usually entails an interest in death or things causing physical or emotional torment. Curiosity is still considered a phenomenon of the brain, it’s exact cause unknown (although there are logical theories).
I stared at my subject as I crouched next to him. He was a young man, thinner than most with long brown hair. His bushy eyebrows overcame the small oval face and dominated his features. He looked just like an old picture of Jesus my Grandma once had. I was sure he could answer my question.
Not yet though. The subject was taking a chloroform nap, and so my curiosity would have to wait.
I was a relatively small woman, weighing only 115 pounds. Dragging the unconscious male into the old slaughter barn was a difficult task, but I managed. I’d learned long ago to kidnap the smaller ones. There was no reason to make things anymore difficult than need be.
I sighed to myself. Break time was over and it was time to get back to work. Standing up from the dirt covered floor, I walked over to a wall of tools close by. I looked at each one in turn, admiring the damage they could all potentially do. Hammers for smashing. Saws for sawing. Pliers for pulling. Knives for slicing. Blowtorches for, well, you get the idea. The collection was large and included everything I needed to quell my inquiring mind.
The barn itself and surrounding property belonged to my family. We were ranchers and farmers by trade but after the last generation found other means of work, the old farm was left abandoned and forgotten. The property still belonged to the family but no one ever went out there.
No one but me.
I grabbed a length of hefty rope from the wall’s hooks and proceeded to the center of the barn. My booted steps echoed with a soft thump against the old wooden floorboards as I moved around; thump.. thump.. thump.. thump. There was no reason to be quiet, and so I wasn’t. Spotting a sturdy beam above, I tossed the rope up to it. The thick, braided cord wrapped around on the first try and fell far enough down the other side for me to grab it if I jumped.
You would think I had done this before, I thought to myself while smiling.
Once I could easily grab both ends of the rope I turned back to the subject. He looked so peaceful. I didn’t think he remembered his abduction or understood what was about to come.
I’ll have to ask him, I told myself.
I marched over to the man purposefully, my boots declared my determination with each step. Thump thump thump thump! I grabbed him by the foot and pulled his unconscious form across the floor, leaving drag marks in the dirt and grime below, covering him in unsettled dust as I went.
Quickly I set to work at tying his wrists together with some old wire found among the barns general clutter. Once satisfied he wasn’t going anywhere, I grabbed one of the rope ends and tied his wrists with it again, before wrapping and knotting it through the center space for extra security. I wanted to be sure no knots failed and if any did, I wanted backup ones.
No failures this time. My question needs answering. I reminded myself harshly.
Grabbing the free piece of rope still dangling from the rafters, I pulled it over my shoulder and started walking away, hoisting the man in the air as I did. Once I reached the metal latch secured to a distant wall beam, I tied the rope off.
When I turned to see my handy work, I couldn’t help but feel satisfied. The man hung by his arms a good two feet away from the drab floor, his feet slightly swaying as they dangled. I grinned at how smoothly my tasks were going and went back to the wall of tools to prepare for the next step in my experiment.
In the back stall of the barn, I stood before a table writing my hypothesis. Scattered all around me was the paperwork that accompanied the other experiments I’d performed in the past. Hundreds of random notes, medical texts, newspaper articles, etc littered the small space, piled up in the corners and hiding the floor. There was a wall covered in old metal filing cabinets and whatever didn’t fit in them found a home elsewhere. Even the walls were covered in random facts scribbled or pinned up for quick reference.
Male, Caucasian, Young Adult
Skin is a thin layer of tissue acting as a perimeter around the internal body, keeping unwanted germs out. It is also the largest organ of the body, and arguably the most important.
After skinning subject #254 I hope to have that question answered.
Without the outer tissue layer the body should succumb to bacteria, viruses, and disease. I’m anticipating that dehydration will be my biggest obstacle.”
Once satisfied that my scribbled notes would be sufficient, I pushed them to the side and went to work gathering the necessary equipment.
While I was inspecting a couple different styles of knives, I heard a groan come from the main room. My head snapped up and I stood still.
Yup. Definitely awake. I thought as another moan traveled through the silence.
I dropped the knives onto the table noisily and strode to the rows of cabinets. Yanking a drawer open, I retrieved a vial of liquid morphine and a syringe. I debated on the dosage for a moment; 200 mg was enough to kill a person but I didn’t want him waking up either. Deciding 150 mg would get the job done, I made a silent prayer that he didn’t have a low tolerance as I measured the medication. Giving the needle tip a few taps to remove the air bubbles, I bound out of the stall and into the main room.
I found him flailing around uselessly, trying to get his hands free of the bindings. The grogginess of the chloroform prevented him from succeeding and as I watched from behind I found the sight somewhat humorous. When he finally gave up, I walked behind him and gave his hair a playful tug, pulling his head back.
“What?! Wait – Who are you? Why am I here?!” he yelled in a fury.
So typical, I silently mused. Always the same questions.
The anger was also typical, at least in the males. Females tended to be more hysterical initially. I’d found a few individuals in which the roles reversed, but they were few and far between.
I stood just out of his reach. We were far from eye level, but even with him looking down on me with his raging brown eyes, it was clearly me who had control of the situation. I felt the need to watch the emotions stir within his features. This was a science project after all, and the subjects emotional state during the process could hold important data. I didn’t want to miss any of it. Unfortunately, I only found confusion, rage, and fear; all of these expected.
“Why?” I finally repeated back to him.
“Yes you crazy bitch! Why am I here?!” he screamed.
“Because I have a question.” I replied coyly.
“What? Ok, fine. What’s the question?” he asked, baffled by my response.
I walked around him, needle firmly clasped in my hand, “Do you remember how you got here?”
“What, no. Wh- Ahh…” he gasped at the end.
I’d shoved the needle into his neck as soon as I heard the words I needed and pushed on the tip, pumping chemicals into his system and forcing him to sleep. Confident that he would remain unconscious, I went back to my work area to collect my knives.
It took even more morphine to keep the man compliant and still, but it was well worth the use of precious supplies. I couldn’t risk having him thrash around while I was performing the surgery. If I cut into something other than the skin itself, the entire experiment would go to waste, and I would need to start anew with a different subject.
Carefully, I made the first incision on his back with a fillet knife, being extra careful not to go too deep as I ran the blade evenly down the large area. Pleased with my work thus far, I turned the knife sideways and began gliding it between the flesh and skin, pulling the external organ up and away as I did.
I did the task in silence, carefully working my way from his back to his arms. I wasn’t concerned with the skin underneath the bindings. Given time it would be rubbed raw by the friction of his movements and so there was no need to waste time on such tediousness. Next came the subjects chest and torso. By time the crimson map of internal workings was unveiled from his top half, a decent sized puddle of blood had collected on the filthy floor below. The deep red liquid ran down his still unharmed legs, dripped steadily off his toes, and landed with a trickling plop on the ground.
The fingers and toes gave me some difficulty, the skin between the digits refused to be removed at first. The angle was an awkward one to try and work within such small spaces at, but I succeeded. Skinning his ‘manhood’, if you would call it that, was excruciatingly tedious. The skin covering the gender based organ was already so thin, it was nearly impossible to get rid of. I was thankful the member was small, or I may have lost my patience and chopped the damned thing off completely.
By time the majority of the subjects body was left bare the blood puddle on the ground nearly doubled in size. It no longer trickled but mildly flowed from the subjects feet, putting me in a dilemma. I pursed my lips while contemplating a solution to the massive blood loss and disappeared back into the furthest stall.
After rummaging through the filing cabinets I finally located yet another small vial labeled, “K1”. Vitamin K’s used to thicken the blood flow and was found to play an important role in the formation of blood clots. Filling a syringe with the compound, I quickly made my way back to the subject. I was only gone for a few moments, but the blood puddle increased in size significantly.
The needle slid into the mans flesh easily, and I slowly began injecting the medication into his veins. I waited patiently for almost ten minutes, staring at the blood flowing from the suspended man, focusing on it. When the pace died back down to a manageable dribble, I nodded happily and regained my grip on the knife.
His neck and head was all that was left. As I passed over his features carefully, I ruined one of the eyes by accidentally cutting an eyelid off. Instantly I became furious at my carelessness. I tossed the blade across the room and kicked away the small stepping stool I stood on. The items clattered and banged across the floorboards, reflecting my frustration.
A small mistake, I told myself as I tried to remain calm, It won’t effect the outcome much.
Finding the knife once more, I replaced the steps and finished with the face. I made no more flaws as I pulled the remaining skin free.
There. Perfect. I thought as I stood back to admire the exposed muscles and tendons. The blue of his veins reminded me of a road map, twisting and turning throughout his rosy red form. Fresh blood oozed from his body, but not to an extent that would cause the subjects demise, thanks to vitamin K.
How long will it take for you to die now. I wondered. How long can you survive the onslaught of bacteria and disease before you finally grow cold?
I left him like that, but not before placing a large mirror in his view. I wanted him to appreciate the time I put into his death.
It was time for the subjects daily meal and water. I couldn’t have starvation or dehydration ruining my answer. His death needed to be due only to the loss of his skin. Nothing else would suffice.
I carried a bowl of oatmeal and a bottle of water out of the old farm house. I would stay there until my curiosity was quelled, unwilling to leave the subject unattended before then.
Halfway across the field I began hearing his screams and curses. When I reached the entryway it became clear that he was thrashing around violently, his figure swinging in and out of view of the door.
“Calm yourself.” I called to him as I brought the food in, “It could be worse.”
“You fucking psycho bitch! What the fuck do you think you’re doing! I’ll kill you! I swear I’ll kill you!”
“Yes, well. In the meantime, how about some dinner?” I quipped, ignoring his outburst.
He refused to calm down enough to eat. The man insisted on continuing his panicked habits, thrashing and hurling obscenities as if it would change his predicament. I left the meal under him, placing it in the puddle of blood he’d produced. Perhaps the smell mixed with his empty stomach would make him more apt to cooperate the next day.
Just as I suspected, the man had given into his hunger. He didn’t speak when I brought in his bowl of spaghetti, nor when I hand fed him. I found his silence to be unusual, but assumed it was due to feelings of despair.
I stayed behind after his meal was finished, making sure he had his fill of water before departing. The food wasn’t the biggest issue. He could go weeks without any food. It was dehydration that was my main concern. I couldn’t risk it.
I’d taken notice to his drying form, and became concerned with his hydration. The body had mostly scabbed over, leaving it appearing rough and deformed. Still, it didn’t seem typical for him to appear so dry.
Deciding it was necessary for the subject to have water access, I rolled an old barrel into the barn and positioned it near him. After sliding the garden hose through a small window and filling the drum up, I cut a length of straw sized, plastic hosing. With one end submerged inside the barrel, I wrapped the other around the subjects neck and arms so his mouth could easily access it.
“In case you get thirsty.” I told him.
“Night.” I called over my shoulder as I left him to his thoughts.
It was now the subjects second day. I grabbed a plate of chicken strips and french fries off the counter before headed to the barn.
He was growing weaker, the diseases were starting to take over his skinless form. Some discoloration could be seen in his tissue as well as a multitude of sores that seeped a yellowish white puss. The eye left without an eyelid had long dried out. Now it protruded from his face and had a dark bluish green color. There was a sour smell to him as well, a mixture of dried urine and rotting flesh.
The odor attracted all sorts of insects to the man. Flies, gnats, and mosquitoes alike flocked to his dangling body, both feeding on the decaying tissue and laying eggs in the warm gore. I watched in fascination as his flesh seemed to crawl and wriggle with the bugs devouring him slowly from the inside out. I was growing excited, as I hadn’t foreseen insects as a variable to the experiment. I felt enlightened by the sight, the satisfaction of understanding seemingly euphoric.
How much longer? I wondered, eager for my ultimate answer.
“Why don’t you just kill me?” the man asked weakly, interrupting my personal thoughts.
It looked as though he’d been crying. One wet streak ran down his decaying face from the good eye. The exposed one had popped at some point, its insides became a comfortable bed for a family of flies. Putrid, dark greenish purple goop dried in a strip down that side.
I chuckled, he was so naive.
“I am killing you silly. It’s just taking longer than usual.” I replied light heartedly.
He began weeping then, a sound I found to be highly irritating. He refused to eat too. Sighing in frustration, I slid the plate into the puddle of blood, bile, and feces he’d produced before leaving.
Three days. I thought as I stood in front of his lifeless body. His muscles and tissues were one giant, inflamed red scab with large areas of purples, blues, and even some yellows due to extreme infection. Some spots had lost their fleshy texture, becoming surprisingly tough to the touch. The sores easily tripled overnight, and the fluids that discharged from them left chunky, yellowish green streaks down his skinless body. The smell was now overpowering and could be noticed even outside the old slaughter barn. A cloud of black buzzing circled the subject and every area on him had an insects either making a corpsy home or feasting on death.
It took three days for the exposure to kill you.
I grinned from ear to ear. Finally, I had an answer. My smile left only a few moments later though.
I had a new question.
What did you think of Psycho #1? All comments, critiques, thoughts, and reactions are welcomed.
There’s still 100 Psychos to go!
By Sitarra “Lulladies” Sefton