Suggested Audio Jukebox ♫
 Talking Heads “Psycho Killer”
 Lesley Gore “It’s My Party”
 The Beastie Boys “(You Gotta) Fight For Your Right (To Party!)”
The party was in full swing and Connor Mulroney’s two bedroom apartment was wall to wall with inebriated revelers. It was thirty minutes until new year; not that half the clientele would even notice. Word had gotten out about his annual gathering and many of the people currently taking up residence in his lounge and drinking his vodka were complete strangers. He had always found it hard making new friends so wasn’t about to complain about bloated numbers. In school, Connor had been traditionally the last boy picked for sports and the first one whose ass gully tasted linen in the hallways. Nothing much had changed over the years; the difference now was that he knew exactly how to throw a party. Already tonight he had been introduced to more people than the last year combined and was frantically juggling all the names in his head for later. The guy in the kitchen was Delroy and his sister was Shareen if memory served. Why couldn’t it just be easier? John and Joan like the old days; back when names were simpler. Now it’s all Augustus and Chanice. Connor was beginning to lament his no name tag decision.
His old acquaintance Sebastian was present and correct. He would invariably appear for any social arrangement but hardly show his face during the interim. Wherever alcohol was flowing freely he would materialize; not what you would call a bankable friend. Connor was short on those; it was the entire reason he laid on such elaborate shindigs. At twenty-seven he had barely had an enduring relationship of any note with a fellow human; even his parents showed preference to his sibling and he considered himself little more than their drunken indiscretion. There had been times, increasingly lately, where he had felt so utterly alone that he had considered assembling cardboard standees of famous film stars and starlets past and present; with the aim of light stimulation. Tonight he had gone one better but the sad fact remained that, when the festivities subsided, not a single party-goer would wish to spend another solitary moment in his company. It was par for the course for Connor; a simple fact that he had long-since accepted. He just wasn’t particularly interesting.
Actually, that’s not entirely true. There was plenty more going on behind the eyes than folk realized. He had just had a lifetime to perfect the art of ambiguity. Inside his head, the sight before him was playing out somewhat differently; these fair-weather friends were about to pay princely for gate crashing his inner sanctum and every last one of them would suffer gravely for taking advantage of his accommodating spirit this night. His antiseptic emulsion was about to become spattered with their caliginous blood; his canvas illustrated with their entrails. It was his party; he was the master of ceremonies here. There had to be almost twenty-five rowdy riffraff present and not a single one of them would be staggering home tonight. It gave Connor a great sense of gratification to know something nobody else did; his dirty little secret was their foolish negligence. He had considered every last detail and knew exactly how he would wreak his havoc; starting at the doorway, he would pen any remaining patsies in and slaughter over half of them before the penny so much as dropped. To achieve the desired effect; he would require a serrated blade barbed enough to finish his work swiftly and efficiently. His hunting knife would oblige.
Although the personnel were constantly circulating; he already had designs on a few particular dispatches. The opener would be performed from behind, possibly the lower spine, forced two inches into the spleen and twisted. After yanking free his persuader, he would perform a quick throat cut and swiftly plunge it into his next victim’s brow. By this time, he should have an active audience so details became sketchy from that point forth although he had every intention of employing at least one Joker smile as he had always fantasized over that one. He would have to be fleet of both foot and mind; any deviation to his meticulous plan could potentially thwart his endeavor and he had already allowed for such. While velocity was evidently key; it was decisiveness which would reap him the benefits. It helped that he was unconflicted regarding his proposed actions; nothing appealed more than a blood bath and anything else would be most unsatisfactory in Connor’s estimation. His needs were simple; screaming, a dense ocean of gargling death throes. His methodology was tight; kill and kill some more. Moreover; he had momentum on his side; that and the element of surprise.
While the prospective pay-off was too handsome not to become excitable about; Connor was dogged about savoring any build-up. He had endured a lifetime of overhearing conversations; without ever once being invited to participate. The build-up to the kill would help heighten the crescendo; a little exposure to any dimwitted final words would afford confirmation that his callous crimes were justified. His own father had said that “if you can’t say anything nice, then don’t say anything at all.” Consequently, they barely spoke. It astonished Connor that people got their shits and grins from others’ expense so readily; it seemed the only way to rise up the social pecking order was through clambering over the opposition. There wasn’t a single person here who didn’t deserve to be gutted like a fucking hog. He had given them fair chance; waited for a solitary gracious word to escape their mealy mouths or an unforeseen act of kindness but nothing decisive had been forthcoming whatsoever. Lambs to the slaughter; all bleating nothing of any substance. This would be no less than what they deserved.
Under starters orders then. Connor made his way to the front door and positioned himself behind the redhead chatting to Sebastian. He would wait until their trite conversation had ended; until his ‘buddy’ had lost interest and turned his back. That would be the instance to strike and strike fast. His weapon was holstered in a pouch by his side; one assured movement from its designated point of punctuation. Sebastian would remain clueless to the atrocity which played out right directly behind his back and Connor planned to tap him on the shoulder and look into the whites of Sebastian’s vapid piss pools before burying the blade three inches-deep in his brain case. The anticipation itself was almost too much to handle; the scenario had played out several times in his head over the past minute alone and each time it had been more elaborate, more grisly, better executed. Repetition afforded perfection. Besides, he despised Sebastian more than anybody else present; most of the others he was indifferent to but this caustic cunt warranted death most inhospitable.
The allure of donning a mask was just too strong for Connor to resist. Much as he desired the attention from his victims before he soundly perforated them; he couldn’t resist paying homage to the screen legends who had inspired him as an adolescent. Tonight he would do them proud; prove himself worthy of a seat at the top table, dispatch with the mandatory finesse to afford him access into their exclusive ranks. Twenty five twitching death nerves seemed ample to show his mettle in the field; more than even his most hallowed of heroes had ever managed in a single outing. Finally he would be taken seriously; treated with reverence as opposed to indifference. He secured his visor not to hide away his identity but to stand out and be counted. Sebastian wasn’t the slightest bit cognizant of his presence in the vicinity as he purposely sat just outside his peripheral double vision as he adjusted his head-gear. That meant that right now Sebastian was copping an eyeful of four voluptuous chest cans as he addressed them directly in an attempt at conquering his flame-haired dupe. He had better fill his boots as he was moments away from being made privy to his own crude expiration.
“So tell me Sebastian. Whose partly am I actually crashing right now? And are they likely to turf me out?”
“I’d say you’re safe. The guy whose place this is has no personality and/or backbone. He’s a nondescript”
“You sure he won’t take exception to me turning up unannounced?”
“He’d just be glad of the numbers believe me. The guy’s algae. Bottom feeder material. Even if I could see him right now, which I can’t, he wouldn’t be memorable. He’s got one of those nothing faces”
“You’re pals then”
“I can’t stand the sight of him. I’m here for the copious amounts of alcohol and to meet you of course”
“Well you’ve really done a bang-up job of endearing yourself sunshine. How could I possibly resist such a kindhearted human being as you?”
Connor began to feel vaguely disappointed that he had stumped on her for his opening kill. She was evidently disgusted by Sebastian and, that in itself, made her a priceless commodity in his books.
“Come on. I’m just kidding. His name’s Connor. He ain’t so bad actually. We’re actually friends”
“With friends like these”
“I said with friends like these. I’m wondering what part of that simple mind believes you to have triumphed in the first impression stakes. Could you actually be this gormless?”
Go on; finish him. At this rate of knots Connor wouldn’t need to relocate his blade to finish Sebastian off as this resourceful individual was doing a tidy job of doing such herself.
“I’m sorry. And you are?”
“That’s for me to know and you not to”
“And what makes you think I give a fuck about what you think of me?”
“I can see it in your sad little eyes”
“Can you now?”
“Yes. You want nothing more than to be accepted and believe that to be the case. However, behind your back, every single person you meet thinks you’re shit. And you’re the only one who doesn’t know it. You actually have my sympathy, albeit faint”
How could he murder her now? In the space of a handful of sentences this unknown quantity had become Connor’s personal hero and, as he fell in love with the notion that a girl like this could exist, it seemed inexplicable to end her life. That was where Connor deviated from the crowd of serial killer hopefuls all looking to emulate their tutors. He found it effortless to set aside personal feeling and dish punishment without clouded judgement; no moral code to adhere to or beat to march to. It was that which was destined to set him apart from his contemporaries; that which would ultimately become his legacy. It wasn’t even that this wasn’t the place for emotion; it was that driving his very will for carnage. It just wouldn’t be misplaced or exposed, hence the poker face. Beneath the mask was an upstart; wet behind the ears and without any notches to his belt to bank on being known for. Right now he was as oblivious as he had always been. In that respect; it felt fitting that this knowledgeable bloodnut would assist in his metamorphosis from man to monster. By absorbing both her steely resolve and utter contempt for Sebastian; he would be best placed to consolidate dead center of his skullcap.
“Fuck you…you fucking skank”
“Let’s dissect that sentence shall we? You do know that one uses expletives to fill in the blanks left behind by limited intelligence don’t you? Or could it be that it makes you feel like the big man?”
“Neither actually. I just want you to fuck off”
“Of course you do. Sebastian wasn’t it? You know why that is Sebastian?”
“It’s because you have an iddy-biddy little winky tucked away in your pants”
“And what led you to that assumption bitch?”
“I saw you sitting beside the speaker when I came in. You cross your legs like a bitch, bitch. You don’t do that if you’re packing girth. It just slips effortlessly into your groin creases don’t it?”
“I’ll pull it out right here and disprove your theory if you like?”
“Of course you would. And that my friend is what separates the men from the gibbons. You pull that slender shit out within five yards of me and I’ll stab it with my car key on principle alone. Oh heavens above. You’re actually doing it aren’t you”
“See what? Genital warts? What happens when you don’t cleanse smegma away thoroughly with tepid water after repeated masturbation? Or could it be the tiny prick? What should I be seeing? Cos that downtrodden pubic thicket ain’t buying you inches pal”
Connor just couldn’t resist a quick look and a snigger. If there was one thing he was more than aware of, it was the fact that his penis belonged in the upper echelons of the height and girth chart. Moreover, he was packing some ripened beans beneath that Frank. One look was all it took but he couldn’t resist hanging it out for a handful of seconds. It looked as though this miniscule member was desperate to retreat at all costs; merely an insignificant pile of dimes wrapped loosely in cock cloth. Despite feeling the laughter percolating in his lower abdomen, he was desperate not to break character and moved his attention back to Sebastian’s blank face, which still hadn’t received intelligence that his party sausage wasn’t fit for the platter. Immediately, renewal of game face was facilitated and implemented accordingly. However, for all his focus and drive, Connor felt like he had to hear more from the redhead before commencement.
“You can zip it back in now. I would like to say that I stand corrected…”
“Indeed you do missy”
“…but that spindly dog chew couldn’t realign the spine of a daddy-long-legs. I can’t believe you brought that to the table. And what’s more, you even looked proud bless you. Maybe you’re not so bad after all”
“I hope your face collapses in on itself”
“I hope yours doesn’t. Oops, too late. Oh no that’s just your dignity”
That would have made for an excellent cue had it not been for the fact that Connor was extracting every last available iota of comedy from the situation. Charles Manson probably ate prime rib before his first of many so why shouldn’t he enjoy the moment a little before committal?
“It’s funny. I do feel a little bit like I’m gradually dying inside. I think it’s the fact that I will never get those three minutes back that breaks my heart most. Thankfully I’ll replay this conversation on loop in my head every time I take a shit for the next month or two to cure my ailment”
“I bet you’re not even a natural redhead”
“Even now, with your liberty in tatters, you still think you’re in for a gander don’t you? I’ve got news for you Sebastian. If I am in fact natural then I win and if I’m not then, considering I have ginger fucking hair, I also win. Either way you’re the biggest loser in the room”
This was excruciating for Connor. What was becoming apparent was that he had fallen headlong in love with this fiery vixen in five minutes flat and was beginning to question his proposal. She wasn’t afraid of exhibiting a little self-effacing; an admirable quality in his book. In addition she was quick-witted in the extreme and winning this skirmish hands down without breaking sweat beneath those delectable alban locks. This wasn’t something he had accommodated for; twenty-seven years had provided him with not a single suitor and now, on the eve of his grand unveiling, he was being compromised by the fickle pangs of infatuation. Maybe he could shelve his plans for initiation until another party, further down the line. Furthermore, maybe killing wasn’t for him. It began to dawn on Connor that his heart may not be in this after all.
“Tell you what…I’m going to go against everything I believe in now. You’ve actually kind of earned this in some utterly ludicrous way. I think I feel so much pity for you that it is my duty to show you my pussy after all”
“I knew you wanted it”
“Don’t go getting ahead of yourself laddo. You have one chance of flushing out this foxhole and that is a sudden coronary on my part and some quick thinking I’m not sure you’re capable of”
“Go on then”
Connor’s composure was tested even more at this point as a good quart of his blood vacated his skull and made the short southward pilgrimage to his jockeys. There seemed neither harm nor foul in a little harmless voyeurism. The redhead reached for her denims and slowly worked the zipper down to her haunch, then proceeded to present her clean-shaven haven. What a tease; not a single clue as to the answer of the earlier conundrum. He could almost smell the balm. While Connor wasn’t best pleased about failing to comprehend the mystery of the ancients, he was still seduced by her peach-infused labium which was both exquisitely pruned and fragrant in aroma. Damned harpy had him by the short and curlies; his nostrils filled with her bouquet and a million pheromones masqueraded inside his cranium. Every single one yearned for a lick; one singular straight slide along that right angle, forceful enough to relish her floral zing, and not halting until the tip of his burly licker had arrived at the dugout. Connor was beginning to visibly salivate.
“Can I touch it?”
“No Sebastian. I’m afraid you cannot. You can remember it…how’s that?”
“Yes that’s right. Your tiny little mind actually believed you were in with a shot didn’t it? I’m forgetting who I’m dealing with here. She’s got to go away now Sebastian. Wave her goodbye. Failing that just twerk that nub in your pants”
Connor had seen enough. As Sebastian turned and began to walk away with his prestige extirpated, it became now or never. He unfastened his blade and stepped behind his new-found soul mate as he positioned it at the dimple above her pelvis and plunged it in emphatically. It became lodged about her pelvis and required an almighty wrench to sever any cartilage. As he twisted, Connor whispered three little words into her lobe.
” I love redheads”
She fell to the floor like spilled offal and Connor’s affections remained unspoken. Instead, he turned his attention to the hapless Sebastian who had managed no more than three drunken strides since his indignant departure. He made up the ground fast, grabbing Sebastian’s shoulder and pulling him round to face him, before sinking the jagged blade into the bridge of his nose and forcing its teeth through the boy’s skullcap. This far more conspicuous act alerted the attention of those around him and they began to scream and panic, horrified at the grisly sight they had been made to endure. Connor had to think on his feet and, with one hand firmly gripping the recently deceased by his hair, dragged the knife back through the fissure, its inverted edges making far more of a bloody mess on departure. A couple of girls had already made their way past him and were hysterically struggling with the front door. Connor had considered the importance of backing up his endeavor beforehand and held the singular key to grant their release in his other hand. Now seemed like the ideal time to perform the signature neck slice and neither of the panic-stricken recipients were aware until the moment when his blade made contact with their throats and imposed itself on their jugulars. He hoped someone had caught that on their smart phone as that proved without any reservation that he meant absolute business.
Others were at the window, desperate to free the stubborn latch and offer their coordinates to any passers-by. These were easy pickings for Connor and he lunged towards them hell for leather, grue-sopping knife flailing above his head as he prepared to trim the guest list further. Some died instantly from the injuries they sustained whereas others were left incapacitated which suited him fine right now as there were still plenty of eggs to break to make this bloody omelet. By the end of his flurry it had to be a dozen or so down and his forward momentum carried him on to the main bedroom where he continued to carve out his discord. The one thing Connor had been surprised by was just how little any single person meant to him; they were all just blank faces in the crowd and none of them deserved to endure his rampage.
A handful of donors had foolishly barricaded themselves into the bathroom, the one room without even a window, thus he prioritized any stragglers and trimmed the flesh from their bones with precision and decisiveness. Back stabs, quick-fire scalpings, numerous punctuations, he even found time for the Joker smile he had promised himself earlier. Not a single one of them had paid him a blind bit of attention before now, despite the fact that it was HIS FUCKING PARTY, well they sure as shit would now. The adrenaline rush was intoxicating and replenishing any spent fatigue as more bodies hit the floor in a messy pulp. If his estimations were correct, then that made twenty-one corpses ventilated and his head count had suggested a twenty-four strong crowd, which left three more to achieve his clean sweep. His popularity would sky-rocket as a result of such a spirited display; he was destined to become known as one of the world’s cruelest minds for this. Fuck the redhead, there would be a thousand more before he hung up his hunting knife. Right now, he had to finish what he had started.
The three of them bundled against the bathroom entranceway proved no match for his forceful shunt and they spread like pins as he clattered through the shattered door frame. The luckiest of the trio was sent full pelt and face first into the marble sink, where she landed most unceremoniously, knocking herself out stone cold in the process. Her luck would run out but only once he checked the perimeter later for survivors. Of the other two, one of them showed the resolve he would expect from a girl fearing for her continuation and hurled herself at him, attempting to knock the blade from his gloved hand. This afforded the other terrified girl the possibility to pass which she took without procrastination, rather than stay and assist. The struggle was a brief one as his overbearing strength was too much and he found a spot between her breast and shoulder-blade to sink his weapon.
Once satisfied that any imposing threat had subsided, he strolled nonchalantly back outside to the kitchen. Common sense was evidently not a strong influence here as she dialed the services with her back turned to his advances. He stopped for a moment and soaked up her sobbing as she failed three times to press 9-1-1 in the correct sequence. It felt a little anti-climatic to end with such a visible airhead; kind of like being left with only a pooch suffering from brittle bone syndrome to test out your brand new shit-kickers out on. But it was wrong place, wrong time for this dimwitted bunny, whose cherry was about to top off his cake. He didn’t have the heart to dispatch her with her back turned so he flipped her round and pinned her against the refrigerator door with his forearm around her tiny throat. There he stopped momentarily as it appeared like the done thing. He had unswerving eye contact and wasting it seemed frivolous so he stared deep into the girl’s soul as he explained to her subconscious that she was about to die a most horrible death without so much as moving his lips.
Connor considered affording her some final words but immediately thought better of it. How could she possibly top the redhead? He had dispatched her without a second thought and was already aware where to access the courage of his convictions. One final stab; this time between her legs as he forced it up her corduroy skirt and straight into her vulva with a sickening splat. Her shiny new pumps were well and truly broken in now; more so as he dislodged the blade and brought with it a steady gush of the most despicable kind. He had done it. Firstly, his counting skills were evidently up to snuff as she was number twenty-four and her denouement left only a few groaning hangers-on to finalize. Secondly, he had achieved his lofty goal. When news broke about about the night’s exploits he would be incarcerated in a maximum security prison and the key discarded indefinitely. That didn’t bother Connor as all his attempts to make friends and influence people had amounted to nada up until now. He would just wait for the fan mail to come rolling in and become a celebrity. When all was said and done and the last breath squeezed from his lungs he would become folklore; in the eyes of the unruly become something of a cult hero. That was reward enough for taking the punt.
The only thing left to do now was to savor the moment like all serial killers worth their salt would after such a masterful display of brutality. He stood there for a few seconds, watching the life drain from his final kill and felt nothing other than overwhelming pride. His transformation was complete; humanity had no place here any longer and he had proved such with verve and athleticism. For a split second Connor felt wholly contented; until the surrounding audio returned and the party regained speed behind him. Confused as hell, he turned to face his audience. Twenty four party-goers, each carrying a skinful of alcohol, and none appearing to have a single worry in the world. Sebastian was back too and this was confirmed by a half-hearted wave from the corner, where he was preparing to hone in on the nameless redhead and introduce her to his feeble pile of genital coinage.
This couldn’t be. He’d already laid these suckers to rest once already. Hadn’t he? He reached for his weapon and it was still firmly holstered. Alarmed, he reached for his face and was wearing no mask. That was still in his back pocket where he had placed it as he put his earlier plans into motion. He sighed and felt the wind leave his sails all at once as the realization set in that Connor Mulroney’s fantasy had stifled his reality at the most critical moment. He took it as a sign that maybe he didn’t have the cojones to make it in such an overcrowded industry and made his way over to the doorway, shoving the already unstable Sebastian aside roughly as he prepared to woo that redhead. Wait until she saw what Connor was packing in the pants department. There would be other parties, other nights to prove his capability as a killer. Just not tonight.
“Forgive the forward approach but I’ve been dying to ask all evening whether you are in fact a natural redhead?”