Knetter's Monthly Blood: Bad Vibrations
Knetter's back with another tale guaranteed to get your libido cooking and your blood pumping! Dig it!
Frankie handed the man at the stand fifty cents and picked up a newspaper. He held it close to his chest as he turned and slowly walked across the park towards the bench. A young boy, probably no older than five, rushes towards him. For a second, Frankie thinks about sticking his foot out and tripping the little bastard. Watch him fall to the ground and cry like the little girl that he probably was. It would give him great joy. He wisely decides not to. No need to draw attention to himself today. He had more important business to take care of. He makes a mental note to come back tomorrow. Maybe the little shit would be back again. He stands in front of the bench and looks around the park. To the left, there is a group of people playing Frisbee.
“Long haired hippies”, he mutters to himself noticing their appearance.
There are four of them, three guys and one girl. The guys look like typical stoners. They have baggy shorts and black tee shirts advertising some loud talent-less band. The girl is wearing a skimpy pair of blue denim shorts and a tie-died shirt with a peace sign in the middle. Obvious trash. Frankie wonders how many in the group she has fucked this week. Probably all of them, he decides, looking past them.
Beyond them is a playground where that little shit that he wanted to trip had probably come from. There is a large group of kids playing on the equipment. The park was always full of kids this time of the summer. He hated kids. The only reason he still came to the park was because invariably some kid would fall and get hurt. The sound of children crying was like music to his ears. It would soothe the pain. To the right there was a young couple lying down on a blanket making out. They seemed to be going at it like they had been lost in the desert for days with nothing to drink, finally realizing the fountain of saliva that came from within. They were literally swallowing themselves.
Disgusting. Frankie wished venereal disease on them. Nothing stopped make out sessions quicker than pus oozing out of your privates. There were a few other people walking aimlessly around the park, but none that concerned him. He sat down on the bench and looked down at the paper. The front headline said:
Killer Strikes Again.
Police have found the sixth victim of the person known as “The Bad Vibrations Killer.”
Shelly Beecher, 36, was found late last night by her neighbor. He had reportedly heard an explosion and quickly ran next door.
“The front door was open,” the neighbor said, “so I went inside to see what was going on.”
Upon entering the house, the neighbor smelled smoke coming from upstairs. He quickly rushed up the stairs and followed the smoke to a room at the end of the hall.
The scene in the room could only be described as, “The most horrifying thing I had ever seen,” the neighbor said.
“Excuse me sir”, a woman said, interrupting his reading, “Have you seen a little boy about this tall come this way?” She asked holding her hand at waist height.
“Yes, I did a few minutes ago”, Frankie replied taking note of the sense of impending doom on her face. “I saw him run that way”, he said pointing in the opposite direction of where the kid was going.
“Thank you”, she said frantically turning and running towards the bike path that runs through the park.
Frankie smiled, hoping that the kid would have a few extra minutes to get into some kind of mischief. Some deadly mischief. He went back to the paper.
The police described the scene as “consistent with the crime scenes of the other five victims”, but would not elaborate.
“We are working diligently on apprehending this killer”, police chief Jameson said.
“The best precaution we have at this time is that all woman refrain from using your personal massagers for the time being.”
Frankie hears a commotion and looks up to see a police officer walking towards him with the missing child. The little boy is staring at him and speaking to the officer. He tenses and begins to feel sweat run down his back. He wants to get up and run. Just sprint madly across the park. Maybe kick the couple that are still making out, oblivious to what is going on around them. Instead, he puts on his best smile as the cop walks up to him, and then past him. He breathes a sigh of relief.
He stands up and turns around in time to see the mother come rushing up and hugging her son. The little shit just stands there with a dumb look on his face.
“How touching”, he thinks looking at them. There’s always tomorrow.
He folds the newspaper up and sticks it under his left arm. He turns and starts walking in the direction of the young lovebirds. He reaches up and sticks his finger deep in his nose and digs out a big green booger. It is a nice one. It’s about the size of a penny and has a wonderful collection of little black hairs stuck to it. When he walks by the couple, he flicks it at them, but doesn’t dare turn around to see where it landed. He hopes it lands on their lips and they kiss is away. Maybe they gag and vomit in each other’s mouths. He keeps walking, whistling a tune and basking in the glow of such a nice day.
It is a short walk from the park to the apartment building he lives in. He walks it feeling an intense pride. He feels like he is floating. He always does after getting the paper the morning after one of his toys goes off. He smiles and says hello to those that make eye contact with him. If only they knew that they were looking at a celebrity.
He walks past a restaurant where there are a couple of ladies eating outside on the patio. They are eating pasta and drinking what appears to be red wine. He distinctly hears one say to the other.
“I don’t give a shit what they say, there is no way I’m going to stop using big bill. I’d rather die than give him up.”
Both of the ladies break out in a chorus of laughter. Frankie smiles and feels like joining them but keeps on walking.
He arrives at the front of his building and stands there looking around. The traffic is heavy today. There are cars darting around other cars left and right. Maybe this afternoon he will sit on the porch and watch for traffic accidents. With another murder, everyone is on edge. It should lead to some glorious fights after fender benders.
After the third murder, he witnessed a woman rear-end some guy’s car. It was a mild fender bender and the lady got out to apologize. She was dressed in a black business suit. She was wearing the brightest shade of red lipstick he had ever seen. Whore’s lipstick. The man calmly got out of his car, walked to the rear, and opened the trunk. He pulled out a shiny crowbar. It gleamed in the sun. He held it above his head and slowly walked towards her. He can still hear her screaming as she ran through the crowds looking for help. No one would help. Everyone seemed to be standing in quicksand. They would shrink away when she got near them. The police came before he had a chance to whack her, so the altercation ended on a down note, but what could you do? The look in her eyes when she saw the shiny death was enough to hold him over.
He looks at the red brick building that he lives in and slowly begins to walk down the concrete stairs to his front door. He counts off the steps in his mind. One, two, three, four, five, six. It is a small apartment building by city standards. There are four apartments. Three upstairs and his apartment downstairs. Being that his apartment is the only one below, he has his own private entrance. He looks to the right of his door at his mailbox and lifts the lid. The only thing inside is an advertisement for the grocery store down the block. He sees that bananas are on sale and thinks that sounds like a dandy snack. He reaches into his pocket and takes out his key. He slips it into the slot and turns it left. There is a click. The deadbolt retracts into the door and he turns the knob to let himself in. He steps in and shuts the door behind him. He sets the keys on the shelf to his left.
The apartment is very dark. This is the way he likes it. He has hung blankets over all the windows, so that no light can make its way in. There is a slight smell of burning wires in the apartment. He has become so accustomed to it that he doesn’t even notice the smell. There are three rooms in the apartment, the living room that he is standing in (that also passes for his bedroom), the kitchen straight ahead of the door and the bathroom to the right. He can make his way through the apartment with no light at all. He walks to the right towards the bathroom. He passes the sofa that he sleeps on and doesn’t notice the man in the corner.
He steps into the bathroom, puts the seat down, unzips, and begins to urinate in complete darkness. Ever since his divorce, he never pees with the seat up. He doesn’t see any reason to. He starts whistling again. He hears movement behind him and before he can turn, is hit in the back of the head with a hard object. Total darkness.
He dreams of death. The death he has created. Only once did he hang around to see the aftermath of the carnage and that was on his first test. He first tested the toys out on a stray dog he found. He brought the dog home and killed it by beating it do death with a hammer. It took a few hits to bring it down. It just lay there twitching. Then it just lay there. He put the dog in a duffel bag and carried it 13 blocks to the railroad bridge. He was very nervous as he walked. At least twice, he swore he heard the dog start to bark again. When he got to the railroad bridge, he looked around and saw no one. He dumped the dog out of the bag and was shaking with anticipation. He took out the vibrator and proceeded to try and stick it up the dog’s ass. It wouldn’t go in at first. He kept trying to push it up there to no avail. He stood there above the dead dog, with the vibrator in his hands. He looked down at the dog’s head and got an idea. He used the blood from the gash on the dog’s head as lubricant. It worked enough to get it halfway in. Halfway was good enough. He turned the vibrator on and stepped back about 30 feet. It took about 3 minutes to go off. The charge was much less than what he used on his ladies, but it was enough. A severed leg landed about three feet from him. It was a success.
The dream skips forward to him in bed with his ex wife Marlene. He is trying to please her and not having much luck. He hears a buzzing sound in his mind that is distracting him. His dick is wilting with every weak thrust, until it is a limp noodle inside of her.
“Jesus Christ, just get the fuck off of me,” she says.
He rolls off of her and lies there, pissed off again.
She says nothing else. Only lies there. He gets up to take a shower and hears her rummaging through her nightstand. The buzzing begins immediately, followed by her soft moans. He hates her. Fucking bitch. Maybe if she were into him, instead of waiting to use her vibrator it would be different. It’s her fault he can’t perform. How can you live up to a machine? Fucking bitch.
Dream skips again to him alone. Watching a war movie. In the movie, a grenade is thrown and some hero jumps on top of it to save everyone. The hero gets blown to hell. This was the basis of his idea. A grenade is small, yet does a lot of damage. Could you buy grenades, or better yet, can you make them?
Skip. Researching homemade bombs on the Internet. Very easy to make. Decides on a pipe bomb/ grenade type thing. While masturbating he pictures his ex wife using a vibrator and loses his erection. That gives him the idea for the bombs casing. What better host for a bomb than a vibrator.
Skip. He watches for women outside the adult stores. He never goes inside. Just stands outside. Invariably one would come out holding a brown paper bag. He follows them home. He hides outside until they leave. When they leave he breaks in and looks for toys. They are almost always found in the underwear drawer. Once a vibrator is found it takes him less than three minutes to fix it. It’s amazing what you can learn on the computer. Once the vibrator is turned on, there is a little pin inside that starts to shake, when it comes free of the slot it rests in, then boom.
Slap, slap, slap.
“Wake up, you fucker”, the stranger says.
Frankie slowly opens his eyes. There is a light shining down on him. It hurts his eyes. He is disoriented. He remembers peeing and then….he tries to shout, but realizes that his mouth is taped shut. He tries to reach up to take the tape off and notices that his arms are tied around his back. He turns his head and looks around. There is a sudden and intense pain in his head where he was hit. It brings tears to his eyes. He looks up and sees the chandelier that hangs above his kitchen table. Something is hanging from it.
Suddenly a face appears, blocking out the light and he wants to scream again. The man grabs his head with both hand and digs his thumbs into the wound. He massages the wound open and Frankie can feel fresh blood run down the back of his head. The pain is excruciating. The man is smiling at him. He starts to pass out again and the man stops digging and steps back.
Frankie starts to cry and doesn’t know what to do. The man circles around the table slowly, deliberately. His eyes never leaving Frankie’s. His smile never wavering.
Frankie urinates himself. How he has anything left in him is unknown.
It is then that he realizes that he is naked. His feet are tied to the chandelier. They are sticking straight up in the air. The piss runs up his belly towards his chest, before spilling off of him.
“Is this hell?” He thinks.
“Do you know who I am?” The stranger asks.
Frankie tries to talk, but can’t. He just makes muffled noises.
“Oh that’s right. You can’t talk. How could I forget? It must be hard to breathe with that tape over your mouth.”
The man suddenly darts forward and pinches Frankie’s nose shut. He struggles to get out of his grasp but can’t. He is suffocating. The man laughs at him and lets go.
Blood begins to flow out of his nose.
“You might not recognize me, but you should recognize my name. My name is Tony Onler.”
The name. Onler. Frankie recognizes it at once. He remembers all his girls’ names. Second victim. Sara Onler. Twenty eight year old single woman. Green vibrator shaped like a pickle. He waited a whole week before she used her vibrator. Everyday he would get the paper and disappointment would set in when it was the usual garbage. He was beginning to think it was a dud, before it finally hit the news.
Tony can see the recognition in Frankie’s eyes.
“That’s right you remember don’t ya? I can see it in your eyes.”
“You killed my sister you FUCK”, he says, no longer smiling.
“Shut up you piece of shit”, Tony says.
“I got something for you.”
Frankie watches as Tony leaves the kitchen and walks into the living room.
He starts to try to wiggle free. It is no use. The table is very wet from all the blood and urine and he just slides in it.
“I don’t think your going anywhere”, Tony says walking into the room with his hands behind his back.
He walks around to where Frankie’s legs are tied up and stands behind them.
Suddenly he reaches out and begins inserting something up Frankie’s anus.
The pain is intense. It feels like it is tearing him up on the way in. It is made of metal, but Frankie doesn’t realize what it is until he sees Tony smiling at him, with an electrical cord in his hand.
A curling iron.
Tony stretches the cord to the wall and plugs it in.
Frankie tries twisting around, but is stopped by Tony.
Tony grabs Frankie’s nuts and twists them.
The pain causes Frankie to pass out.
Tony sits and looks at him for a moment. This is the fucker who killed his sister. He had finally gotten him after weeks of looking. He knew this was the guy when he saw him outside the bookstore. He followed him home and in an eerie coincidence broke into the house when Frankie left. Tony has a vivid flashback of:
Taking his sister to the park. He is 14 she is 8. It is a hot summer day. There is a slight breeze, which makes the heat tolerable. He stands in line at the ice cream stand and holds her hand. He buys her an ice cream cone (vanilla, her favorite) and she looks up at him with her big beautiful blue eyes and smiles. They would come to the park every Sunday. Most kids his age would rather be doing anything else other than watching their little sister, but for Tony it was a highlight of his week. No matter how bad things had been going in school, (and they could be bad), he could always count on her to make him feel better. The way she looked at him made his heart swoon. She was totally and completely in awe of him and he loved her for it. They would sit on the bench and eat their ice cream and dream.
With tears in his eyes, Tony turned on the curling iron.
Frankie awakens a moment later to the smell of burning meat. He remembers the curling iron and screams in his mind. The pain.
As the iron heats up, it keeps getting worse and worse. The smell now turns from burning meat to burning shit. The pain is unbearable. Then it’s worse.
Tony squeezes the handle making part of the curling iron stick out even more. Burning the walls of his anus.
Seeing that Frankie is about to lose consciousness again, Tony rips the iron out. The sound of it coming out reminds him of the sound of leather rubbing together.
“How does that feel, numb nuts?”
Frankie can only mumble and cry.
“I found one of your toys. In the bathroom cupboard.”
“I have it right here.”
He pulls out a huge vibrator. At least a foot long. White. Written in black marker on it is the name Marlene.
“Who’s Marlene, you sick fuck?”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
“Tell you what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna stick this up your ass and leave. If it is one of your special toys then, well, you’re fucked. If it’s not, if it’s just something you like to ram in your ass then, well, your still fucked, in a different way.”
He takes the vibrator and sets it in the pool of blood and urine that Frankie is laying on. He twists it around, making sure to cover it all. He walks behind Frankie’s legs and smiles.
He reaches forward and starts to push the vibrator up Frankie’s ass. At first, it is slow going. Burnt flesh is hard to lube up. He could feel the flesh peeling off as it was sliding up there. That made it easier. Frankie passed out before it got halfway in.
Frankie woke up a moment later to the sound of vibrating. He could feel it in his ass. Vibrating. Tearing his insides apart. It was all the way in. Marlene was all the way in.
It was the one he made for his ex. It had the biggest charge and it was in his anus. He began to panic. How long was he out for? Did he still have time?
There was only one way to get it out and that was to try and shit it out.
He bore done and grunted with all his force. His burnt rectum ached as he did this. He pushed as hard as he could, like he imagined a woman giving birth would. He could feel it moving inside him. He pushed as hard as he could, but it was no use. He could feel the tape on his ass. The son of a bitch had taped his ass shut.
He looked up into the light and closed his eyes………………….
Tony sat on the bench in the park reading the paper. The same bench Frankie loved to sit on. The story in the paper said:
Killer is Dead. Police responded to an explosion at an apartment complex downtown and found Frankie Langon, 32, dead. What appeared at first to be the work of the killer known as “The Bad Vibration Killer” was quickly determined to be the killer himself. Journals and bomb making books were found around the apartment.
“The man we found today is the man responsible for the murder of those six women”, chief Jameson said, “anyone that has any information on the case is asked to please come forward……..”
Tony looked up from the paper and saw a young boy standing in front of him eating an ice cream cone and smiling. He smiled back and the kid ran back towards the playground. He stood up and walked to the garbage can that was sitting a few feet away. He kissed the paper and dropped it into the garbage. He looks around him at all the people, talking, playing, making out, living, and smiles.
Visit Joe Online