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Sammy Smegma Presents: Story #01 in the NEW Sammy
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
SAMMY SMEGMA PROUDLY PRESENTS: Story #01 in the NEW "Sammy Smegma" Series!
*** The ChildStalker ***
******** IMPORTANT LEGAL NOTICES -- PLEASE READ CAREFULLY ********
CONTENT: The following story depicts the rape, torture, and
vicious murder of a small boy by a grown man. If this does not
appeal to you, please DO NOT read the story. This story is NOT
recommended for reading by minors.
COPYRIGHT: "The ChildStalker" is pseudononymously Copyrighted
(C) 1994 by Sammy Smegma, in accordance with Title 17 of the United
States Code (i.e., the U.S. Copyright Law). The Author grants to the
recipient a limited license to engage in the NON-PROFIT copying and
distribution of this story, *PROVIDED* that NOTHING in this text,
INCLUDING ALL NOTICES, is changed or removed.
NOTE: This is my first post. Critique is welcome, but please don't
flame me. I don't need be told, for example, that I'm "one sick puppy";
THAT, I knew already! ;)
NOTICE: Sammy Smegma (pseudonym) does NOT condone ANY of the
activities herein depicted. This story is offered on the theory
that it is better by far that certain individuals obtain their
sexual gratification via stories such as this, than by any actual
performance of the activities herein depicted. Sammy Smegma does
NOT condone the violation of any laws, and if ANY evidence is found
that this or any other of his stories has been or is being used as
a model for the commission of an actual crime, he WILL cooperate
fully with law enforcement authorities in the apprehension of the
party or parties involved.
DISCLAIMER: All of that which follows is a work of utter and
unadulterated FICTION. It has absolutely NO basis in fact whatsoever,
and is solely and entirely the product of the Author's fertile and
sordid imagination.
All of the characters and events hereinafter depicted are
fictitious. Any resemblance of the characters herein named to actual
persons, living, dead, or as yet unborn; or, any similarity of the events
herein depicted to actual happenings, whether past, present, or future,
is purely and entirely coincidental.
All locations herein depicted are purely fictitious. Any resemblance
of any setting herein to any actual place, past, present, or future, and
wherever situated, is completely accidental.
No part of this work is real. The Author's sole purpose in
creating it is the enjoyment of its readers. No parallel with real life
is intended, and no such parallel should be inferred.
-=- -=- -=- -=- -=- -=- -=- -=- -=- -=-
Story #01:
*** The ChildStalker ***
(C) 1994 Sammy Smegma
THE MAN drove slowly, enjoying the cool air of an early autumn
morning, as he cruised the peaceful streets of the tiny town of Idyll
Springs, trolling for human flesh. It was a typical, early Tuesday
morning, couldn't have been more than 8:30am; and all the little kids
were on their way to the classroom, laughing and joking with their
friends, happy and secure in the safety of their small town. What
could THEY know of sudden, violent death? Surely that was something
reserved for the big cities!
But the children here were useless to him. They were almost all in
groups, for one thing; and the route they were taking would lead them
directly through town, for another. No, if he wanted to get his hands
on on of them, he'd need to catch one of them at some other time -- alone.
Perhaps coming back home, after school? The Man thought it over. Where
did they hang out? The need always to learn the lay of the land in a
new town was one of those things that irked him most...
And then, turning the corner, he saw it.
Railroad tracks. And an old, abandoned railroad station! It would
surely be known to every kid For blocks, and they would know every nook
and cranny of it. Unfortunately, there was also a house right across the
street from it. He MIGHT find a kid inside after school -- but then, the
people in the house would almost certainly be within hearing of any
cries. It was a chance he could not take.
Then on the other hand, there was a PATH which ran next to and past
the old and crumbling building; perhaps IT led someplace! He could not
linger here too long without possibly arousing notice, so he moved on
and circled back, around the block. Parking in the parking lot of a tiny
apartment complex at the foot of the block, he got out and walked back up
to the path, taking with him the duffel bag of Equipment he always
carried with him when he went Prowling. (Hey, you never knew, he might
get Lucky!) Once there, he started looking around.
But before searching the path, he took a moment or two to look over
the Railroad Station. It certainly was the sort of place that all the kids
would love, but, as expected, its proximity to the house across the street
made it too risky. He started down the path.
The path went on a ways before diverging into three distinct paths.
The first, he quickly found, led via a rather circuitous route to the
rear parking lot of a large supermarket. Any kid travelling this path
would likely be on an errand, and would be quickly missed; so that was
out right there. The second path appeared to be a motorcycle track;
it was a wide, dirt track which zigged and zagged and wound about in
an almost maze-like fashion over enormous mounds of earth. The kids
might love to wander it, but from the Man's standpoint, it was useless,
since a cyclist or off-roader could come by at any moment, and he would
need absolute privacy. By the time he started down the third path, he
was feeling decidedly disgruntled. The third path led deep into the
woods and into a small sheltered "nook" or hideaway, of the type that
kids are so fond. Here he found a mattress! Quite elaborately set up,
too; it was supported by skids (the sort you find in warehouses) to keep
it off the ground, and a shower curtain covered it, protecting it from
the elements. This set-up smacked strongly of teenagers, an age group
in which the Man had no interest; still, it was the most promising find
to date, and worth revisiting later on.
He was working his way back up the path, more or less satisfied,
when he suddenly caught, out of the corner of his eye, a glint of light
on his left. The Man stopped in mid-stride, but his momentum carried him
too far. When he turned around, the glint was gone. Mystified, the Man
began walking back -- and almost the same thing happened, except of
course that this time the glint was on his RIGHT.
Now the Man walked forward once more, slowly, more carefully...
there! A bright, burning glint of SOMETHING, in the woods on the far side
of the railroad tracks which the path paralleled, gleaming in the morning
sun. The Man quickly discovered that if he moved more than a couple of
inches either way, the glint vanished... But wait! it was growing dimmer,
even as he watched! The Man glanced up. There were large, scattered
cumulus clouds in the sky, but none were troubling the sun at the
moment. He glanced back. Yes, the, whatever-it-was, was surely dimming!
The Man realized what was happening: the movement of the sun in the sky
was changing the angle of reflection. A few moments later, the glint,
whatever it was, had gone entirely.
The Man was intrigued; he decided to investigate.
Retracing his steps, the Man soon found the place were the glint
had been seen. Crossing over the track with difficulty (it was overgrown
with weeds and thorns), he came to the edge of the wood. Pushing in
through the dense bramble and underbrush, he soon found a PATH along
the edge of the wood. And there, gleaming in the sun, stood a BICYCLE. A
child's bicycle, a BOY'S bicycle. The Man bit his lower lip, and stood
thinking a while. Then, he turned, and followed the path back, to see
where the kid had come from. He emerged cautiously, to find himself back
out near the road, next to the railroad track, and across from the
abandoned Station. The house across the street was not QUITE in as good
a position to view him here, as he would be to see the Station itself,
but the spot WAS visible -- but only IF you knew where to look. It was
one of those marvelous, "hidden" paths that he himself had loved as a
boy, the kind where you could find the path's beginning ONLY if you
already knew where it was... and which all kids love so well.
Swallowing with excitement, the Man returned to the Bicycle.
Gently, he moved off the path and into the weeds, where it would be
hidden from view. Then, he followed the path forward...
...And came upon an amazing sight. Before him stood a huge
clearing, filled with tall grasses, easily a half mile wide and about a
quarter-mile deep, "peppered" here and there with "islands" of groups of
large boulders -- glacial moraines -- in among which grew two or three
trees, and much bramble. The place was certainly isolated; there wasn't
a house in sight anywhere, and even the house across from the Railroad
Station was a good half mile from here! Moreover, it was surrounded by
dense brush, trees, undergrowth, and various other foliage, which would
serve to muffle sound quite well...
And moving among the glacial moraines, apparently at play, was a
small, thin, dark-haired boy of about nine or ten. He was wearing a blue
denim jacket, matching blue jeans, an oversized green T-shirt with some
sort of design on it, and black-and-white sneakers. He was quite intent
on his explorations, and was quite unaware of being watched. The Man
could not make much ELSE out at this distance, but he DID notice three
things quite clearly. First, the boy was carrying (reluctantly, it
seemed, as if he didn't want to lose them) some school books and a lunch
box. Second, as a glance to the Man's watch disclosed, it was now 10:37,
which meant that school had already been in session now for over an hour
and a half. And third, the boy was ALONE. The Man watched the boy with
growing excitement. His breathing speeded up, and sexual excitement
began welling up in him. "Playing hooky, eh, kiddo?", the Man breathed.
"Ah, but what a nice, lonely isolated area you picked to play in! I
think I'll just go down there and join you. We'll play together! Yes,
we'll have LOTS of fun today..." So saying, the Man strode determinedly
into the clearing...
* * * * * * * * * *
In most major cities, and even in quite a few small towns, the
schools employ something known as "call-back", or (more informatively),
"absentee notification". That means that if a teacher calls the roll,
and finds a pupil is unaccounted for, the missing pupil is reported to
the school office, which in turn contacts one or both PARENTS, at a number
which the parents have earlier provided, to find out WHY the child is not
present. This gives the parent an option to call in the authorities; and,
if neither parent can be reached, the school may call in the authorities
on its own initiative. Needless to say, this keeps truancy at a minimum,
for it makes it impossible to play hooky without getting caught at it. It
is also an excellent security measure for protecting the children;
although the CHILDREN rarely see it that way.
Perhaps if Idyll Springs Elementary School had had this system,
what happened next would not have happened at all. But Idyll Springs
never had much of a truancy problem, and big-city crime seemed so very
far away... and setting up the call-back system was SUCH a bother.
Surely such precautions weren't necessary. Not HERE.
Idyll Springs has a call-back system NOW, however. At least they've
managed to close the barn doors...
* * * * * * * * * *
Gregory Hirsch had not planned to play hooky that day. It was
simply one of those unplanned, spur-of-the-moment decisions to which
ten-year-olds are so prone. He had discovered the clearing weeks ago,
and had even met his new friend, Anson Farr, there. But the clearing
was at almost the opposite end of town -- and he had found it nearly
impossible to find the time to explore it. Weekends offered the most
time, but all the good T.V. programs came on the weekends. School days
were worse. Home from school at 3:30, thirty minutes to change clothes
and do chores, 45 minutes to bike up to the place. And his Mom wants him
home by 5:30 to help make dinner! Taking the 45-minute ride back into
account, that leaves barely three quarters of an hour for exploration
time! Not enough!
This particular day, he had simply decided to skip school and go
directly to the clearing instead, deciding to worry about faking an excuse
later. Everything had gone fine, and he'd arrived around 9:30 that
morning. Right now, he was wondering how and why those boulders got onto
an otherwise smooth clearing, and why. He had in fact been exploring for
almost an hour, when the sound of a man's voice made him jump. Looking
up, he was startled to see a man striding towards him and calling out.
"Hey, Michael!", the Man was calling, "Watcha doin' HERE? I've been
lookin' for 'ya all over!"
Gregory stood there, baffled and irresolute. His name was NOT
Michael, for one thing, and he had never seen the man before in his
life, although the man certainly acted as if he knew HIM! Furthermore,
the sudden appearance of a person, where no person should be, and where
he least wished to be seen by anyone, had thoroughly unsettled him. His
first thought was that this area might be private property, and that the
man was the owner! Did this guy know his family? Would he mention that
he had been playing hooky?
Even as all this was racing through Gregory's mind, the man had
been swiftly approaching him. Now he was almost upon him. Incredibly, it
did not occur to Gregory to be alarmed until it was too late! But then,
violence is not something a child expects of an adult. In any case, the
man had been smiling and waving all the way. Only now, now that he was
up close, could Gregory see the glint in the man's eye, and the
eagerness in his voice, the menace in his stride, and be afraid, in
response to what instinct Gregory knew not. But of course it was too
late. Even if you DO have the sense to be afraid, you must still figure
out what to do. Fight? Flee? Stand your ground? By the time Gregory's
mind had shifted gears and had realized his peril, it was already too
late to do anything about. The Man had quite simply strode up to him,
grabbed his wrist, and dragged him behind the nearest clump of trees!
Gregory's school books and lunch box went flying, and Gregory gave a
yelp...
Gregory's first squawks of simple protest quickly turned to real
panic. His screams for help were useless -- the place was just too
isolated. Nevertheless, the Man obviously didn't like it, and having
first wrestled Gregory to the ground, bent his arm back behind him,
telling him he'd snap it in two if he continued to cry out. Not willing
to find out if the Man meant it, Gregory lay still. Quickly, the Man
drew forth from a hidden pocket a rolled up ball of yarn, enclosed in an
old sock, and shoved it into Gregory's mouth. Next, he produced some
picture-wire, and quickly secured Gregory's hands behind his back.
Gregory was trapped, bound and gagged!
* * * * * * * * * *
The Man flipped the terrified little boy over, and for the first
time got a good look at him. The kid had a fair, freckled complexion,
and wide, frightened dark brown eyes. The design on his T-shirt showed a
famous, fuzzy brown alien, with the word "ALF" written beneath. The Man
patted at the boy's pockets, and quickly retrieved a thin wallet. He
opened it, and glanced inside. "Gregory, eh? I love it! Grrregggieee!",
he drawled jeeringly. He studied the boy. "How old are you, kid? Eight?
Nine? Ten?" He stopped at Gregory's faint nod. "Ten, eh? Just the right
age! Well, kid, we're gonna have some fun today, just me and you, all
alone, and with no interfering grown-ups to bother us." You see, this
Man was a sadist. But not the physical kind; he loved to torture his
victims PSYCHOLOGICALLY. He now proceeded to tell Gregory all that was
planned for him that day. By the time he finished, Gregory was almost
frozen with terror.
Tossing Gregory's wallet aside, the Man reached over and picked up
one of the fallen notebook that lay nearby; it was adorned with "ALF"
stickers. The Man noticed, too, that Gregory's lunch box also bore ALF's
likeness. "An ALF fan, huh? Maybe I oughta call you 'Alfie'! How'd you
like that kid, huh?" He began untying and removing Gregory's sneakers
and socks. Next, reaching up underneath the oversized T-shirt, he undid
Gregory's belt and undid the snap. He pulled down the zipper. Then the
Man reached in, underneath Gregory's underwear, and began to fondle
Gregory's penis. Gregory began to cry... "Hey, don't CRY, kid! Besides,
I haven't even DONE anything to you yet -- not REALLY."
With much tugging, the Man pulled off Gregory's pants. He forced
the boy to roll over, and began pulling off his denim jacket and T-
shirt.
Gregory lay perfectly still. If the Man wanted to take his shirt
off, he would have to untie him first -- his arms would prevent the
shirt from being removed. Sure enough, the Man DID untie him, and
Gregory struggled fiercely, knowing well enough that if he did not
escape, he would be as good as dead. But unfortunately for Gregory, the
Man had been through this routine before, and knew what to expect. He
sat on top of the child as he removed his jacket and shirt -- and then
simply tied Gregory's hands again.
When the Man got off, he saw Gregory's underpants, previously
hidden by the oversized T-shirt, for the first time. The Man gave a
great guffaw, and brought his hand down on poor Gregory's rump with a
slap. "ALF underwear!", he cried, still laughing, "Hahaha! Oh, my,
Alfie, you really do love that little guy, don'tcha kiddo?!"
The Man flipped Gregory over then, onto his back, and began to
caress the boy all over. At length, he pulled the boy tight, tore out
the gag, and kissed him passionately on the lips. When he finished,
Gregory, who was crying all the harder now, began pleading. "Please,
please, Mister, let me go home!" The Man smirked. "Don't be so scared,
kid"; the Man said, "This just the beginning!"
He replaced the gag, and removed Gregory's underpants. Gregory was
naked now, and terrified. The Man pulled the boy onto his lap and
fondled him some more. Gregory's distress was increased by the
realization that the sensation was pleasant, and that he was having an
erection! In fact, this is reflexive (even unconscious people will have
erections) and automatic, but Gregory didn't know this. The Man did,
however, and used the boy's ignorance to torment him. "You like that,
huh Alfie? Yeah, I can tell. It only gets big like that when they like
it."
At length, the Man seemed to become even more serious. He stood up,
towering over the little boy, and began removing his OWN pants. "And
now," he breathed, "we come to the Real Thing." He flipped
Gregory over, spread the boy's legs, and flung himself down on top of
the child. Gregory could hardly breathe, and he struggled vainly. He
could feel the Man's penis -- it was HUGE! -- searching, and then
entering, his bottom. It hurt like anything, and Gregory squirmed
furiously, but the Man ignored him and went right on thrusting. The Man
heaved, again and again, thrusting deeper and deeper. How it hurt! Then
suddenly the Man gasped, and Gregory could feel warm liquid squirting up
inside of him... The Man's penis slowly grew soft again, and the Man got
up.
Next, the Man flung Gregory over, and removed the gag again. "Suck
on it!", the Man cried. Gregory could only cry in reply, shrinking back
in disgust at the idea. "You do as you're told or..." The Man produced
a Knife. "...Or I'll..." Gregory did not wait for him to finish his
sentence, but very bravely screwed his eyes shut and did as he had been
ordered... and at length, trying desperate not to choke, felt a salty,
warm liquid squirting down his throat! By this time -- and indeed, even
before -- he was on the verge of vomiting. But just then the Man shoved
the gag back in again, and began to SQUEEZE GREGORY'S BALLS! Nothing in
his ten years of life had ever hurt so much. For an eternity, it seemed,
he writhed and struggled, and his muffled screams of agony filled the air.
The Man finally let go and pulled up his pants. And even as Gregory
continued to writhe in residual agony, the Man removed a folded wire coat
hanger from his duffle bag, unfolded it, and began beating Gregory with
it. The child's muffled cries of pain filled the air once more.
But there finally came a time when the Man had well and truly
finished with Gregory. He stood up, and looked down solemnly at the
little boy cowering before him. Then, he walked over and removed the
brown leather belt from Gregory's blue jeans; and from his own duffle
bag, the Man took a large, clear, plastic bag. He approached Gregory.
* * * * * * * * * *
Gregory saw what was coming, and tried to back away, pleading
through his gag. But his hands were still tied, he was still on the
ground, and the Man was unmoved; so all told this was not of much use.
He DID manage to scramble to his feet and run for his life -- for about
a foot. The Man was ready, and had held him fast. He popped the bag on
over the boy's head, and fastened the belt around his throat, forming an
airtight seal.
Gregory fought to remain calm. He knew that any struggles, at this
point, would only use up his air faster. But whether by instinct or
otherwise, he was soon FORCED to struggle. The faster, and more deeply,
he breathed, the faster his air became foul; and the fouler his air
became, the faster, and more deeply, he was forced to breathe. Soon the
plastic bag was covered on the inside with a film of condensation, and
it was alternately billowing out, and then flattening itself against the
boy's face. Gregory found himself writhing on the ground, heaving, all
his energy taken up with breathing, unable to do anything else... and
all the while, the Man was fondling his penis again!
Things began to seem faint and distant to Gregory. A haze covered
his vision, and there was a ringing in his ears... Suddenly, there was
an awful, wrenching pain in his stomach, and no breath left with which
to scream! Gregory convulsed wildly. His diaphram -- the muscle that
controls breathing -- had cramped, and now breathing came to a complete
stop. A mist of random sensation began to envelope Gregory. He began to
lose track of where his body ended, and his surroundings began. He was
no longer sure of what position his body was in. There was just this
"cloud", this "fog" of Random Specks, like snow on a T.V. screen when
the cable goes out, except that THESE "specks" were all over his body,
and in his body, and in all of his sensed, and inside his brain...
Even as this was taking place, the Man had started beating Gregory
with the coat hanger again, although by this time there was almost no
reaction at all. Mercifully for Gregory, he was now quite far gone and
barely felt it.
The Randomness was intense now, and was permeating his very being,
and making thought VERY sluggish indeed. And the Randomness grew and
grew, until he was one with it, was PART of it, and was no more... and
then, there was this Tunnel, with a Light at its end, and Gregory was
rising up through the Tunnel toward it, and leaving the World behind
him...
* * * * * * * * * *
The Man stopped his beating. It was enough, anyway; the kid was
unconscious, and probably dead. Best not to take chances, though. He
glanced at his watch. Ten minutes should be more than enough time, he
thought. Meanwhile, he was FAMISHED! He looked about, and located the
boy's lunch box, and glanced back over at Gregory. "You don't mind, do
you kid?" Pause. "Nope, didn't think so." The Man opened the lunch box,
revealing a ham-and-swiss sandwich on rye (Gregory's favorite), a
Thermos bottle of chocolate milk, and a fudge brownie. He ate with
gusto, casting the paper napkin and sandwich bag aside.
As he ate, he could not help but wonder what impact this kid's
death would have on the people roundabouts. Of course, the kid would
have to be FOUND first. And this always amazed and baffled the Man. For,
when a kid's parents first realize that their child is missing, what do
they do? How do they react? Do they worry? Do they go out and LOOK for
their child, as supposedly "loving" parents ought? Yet he had never
known it to happen that way. No, what would REALLY happen, he knew, was
that the parents would get MAD. Mad, because their kid was LATE. It was
insane, that for all their protestations of supposed "love", their REAL
reaction should so much more closely parallel the slave owners on the
plantations of the Old South. If Master told Slave Boy to be at a given
place, and Slave Boy wasn't, then Slave Boy got a whippin'! How often did
parents whip their kids because they had been late? It made no sense, and
he could never understand why they always got mad FIRST. Wouldn't you
think that they would WORRY first? After all, you could always get mad
LATER! Of course, the Man rather LIKED things this way, for it was of
immense help to him, in that by the time the Parents got around to LOOKING
for their little brat, he himself was usually long since gone. But liking
it didn't help him to UNDERSTAND it. Parents WOULD call themselves
"loving", and yet they never seemed to ACT loving! Oh well, he thought;
no matter: so long as they continued to behave this way, he would be more
than happy to take advantage of them.
The Man grinned and turned to the small corpse. "Hey, Alfie", the Man
jeered, "Your Mommy and Daddy are gonna be awfully MAD at you! Just think
of it: Here you are dead, and they'll be FURIOUS with you!" The Man
finished the last of Gregory's lunch with a laugh. If Alfie's parents were
true to form they might even be telling each other that when he got home,
they'd kill him! ("Too late," the Man muttered. "I've already done it for
you.")
His hunger satisfied, he dropped the lunch box and Thermos bottle,
and went to retrieve his duffle bag. From this he now removed a pair of
white cloth gloves.
The Man had long made it a point never to wear gloves during his
crimes; they hindered touch, and if there was anything he loved, it was
the feel of a little boy's naked skin. His habit, therefore, was to put
them on afterwards, and use them to remove his fingerprints from all the
things he had touched. So now he began picking up the Gregory's belongings
and school articles -- textbooks, notebooks, lunch box, Thermos bottle --
and wiping them carefully off. Nor did he omit the boy's clothing. Every
snap, button, and zipper had to be wiped. Even the ends of the Gregory's
shoelaces got a once-over.
Once satisfied with his efforts, he returned to the kid himself. By
now fifteen, not just ten, minutes had passed; and there was no doubt
now that the little Gregory Hirsch was dead. He had even begun to lose his
ghastly purplish color, as blood began to drain from the uppermost parts
of his body... The Man felt satisfied, and fully satiated. He removed
the belt from around the boy's neck (not forgetting to wipe it off with the
gloves) and took off the plastic bag. The boy's eyes were wide open and
staring. His hair was damp from perspiration and the condensation within
the bag. The boy lay where he had fallen: stark naked, face-up, legs
together, his hands still bound tightly behind his back... "Bye-bye, Lil'
Alfie", the Man crooned to himself triumphantly, "Bye-bye..."
With his foot, the Man straightened the tiny corpse out a bit,
spreading his legs slightly. He now eyed the child from head to toe: the
dark, soggy hair plastered against his forehead, the blanched, freckled,
tear-stained cheeks, the mouth still filled by the gag, the plain,
unadorned nipples, the smooth, pale, hairless chest, the smooth, flat
stomach, the little belly-button (he was an "innie"), and the boy's tiny,
pathetic, limp little penis... Suddenly, the Man found that he was not
QUITE so satiated as he thought! Off came the gloves, down went his
zipper, out came his penis... He reached orgasm almost immediately and
ejaculated with savage ferocity, splattering the child's naked little
corpse with large droplets of fresh semen. One particularly large glob hit
the boy next to his nose, where it dribbled slowly down his right cheek,
while the kid's eyes continued to stare, unresponding.
The Man sighed with pleasure, zipped himself up, and dragged the
boy's naked little corpse farther in among the nearby weeds. The kid's
stuff he would leave where they were -- he didn't want to make him TOO
difficult to find, after all! The killing, after all, was only half the
fun; the other half would be in reading about it afterwards.
The Man carefully packed up his things back into the duffle bag --
gloves, unused picture wire (not the length used to tie the kid up with),
coat hanger, plastic bag. The gag he he always left in his victim's mouth;
it made for more sensational reading, and he could easily make another.
The Man took a last look 'round. The kid's belongings scattered
about -- especially his clothing -- looked pleasingly ominous. He was
satisfied; he was done. At least, he was done until the next time!
"G'bye, Alfie!", the Man called. "Hope 'ya had a good time... 'cause
I know I sure did!" The Man laughed as he walked briskly up the path
again...
Ten minutes later, he was back at his car, still parked where he
had left it, in the apartment building's lot. He got in, and glanced at
his watch. 12:20pm. Hey, not bad! Not at ALL bad. The kid wouldn't even
be MISSED until school let out, at say, 3:30, and for a while, not even
then. By that time, he would be LONG gone. He started the engine,
shifted into gear, and drove away...
* * * * * * * * * *
It was nine-year-old Anson Farr who found him. The boy had come down,
after school, in hopes of meeting his new-found friend, Gregory Hirsch, in
their clearing. He found Gregory's books first, and puzzled over them; he
found his shirt and pants next, and became concerned, and especially so when
he came upon Gregory's underwear (although he could not help also thinking
that Gregory must be a real nerd to want to wear "ALF" on his butt); and
then finally he had found GREGORY, and had run home screaming...
The police had a suspect -- a man whom they had been seeking for
several months, wanted for questioning in the similar sex-slayings of
nine other little boys of Gregory's age, in six other states. Only once
had authorities been able to gather enough evidence against him to support
a charge; the Judge had thrown the case out for "violation of defendant's
civil rights". Gregory's murder brought the total number of killings to an
even ten. The killing had been going on a long time, and it looked as if
they'd go on even longer.
But whatever the activities of the police, or the outrage of the
community at large, or the sorrow of his parents, little of this mattered
to Gregory himself. He was laid out four days after the killing, at a
service attended by all his schoolmates, and by half the town. And when,
dressed carefully in suit and tie, with rosy cheeks and placid expression
(all courtesy of the local funeral home), he made that final, six-foot
journey underground, his left arm was clutched tightly around his favorite
stuffed animal...
...An "ALF" plush toy, of course!
*** END of STORY! ***
===============================================================================
All Stories in the "Sammy Smegma" Series will conform to the
following technical specifications:
* Line lengths not greater * Story sizes not greater than
than 75 characters. 35,000 bytes.
* All paragraphs properly * No unusual punctuation marks used.
spaced and indented.
* Right justification never * All stories screened to remove extra
employed. spaces, CR's, and control characters.
* Spell-checking for all words * Proper usage and grammar: characters
of three or more letters. NEVER "shutter" instead of "shudder"!
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