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Janderson

This ain't no fanfic

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OK, this isn't a fanfic, it is just general writing.
I would like to know what you think of this piece, be as critical as you want.

I came to. My head was spinning and my mouth tasting of rust. My forehead, where The Hangman had hit me with a chalice, was grazed and a throbbing pain pounded the insides of my head. Thick ropes were coiled around my torso and ankles binding me to a wooden column in the bell area at the back of the church. Another set of ropes tied my hands behind my back. A loose rope hung from my neck, it was a hangman’s noose with the traditional thirteen loops. It ascended from my neck into the darkness of the tower above. I knew this was a converted bell rope and realised with numbing horror that one short, petty tug would strangle me, one long, powerful yank would rip my head clean off. I could turn my head, but I didn’t lest I disturb the rope.
I had come by Wainmouth Church looking for The Hangman. My hunch; only thirty seconds of tape I had seen thirteen days ago, informing me of the most rat-infested church in Britain. Not much but it was a lead. At this thought I noticed an army of small red eyes stared at me, fear was in them. The rats were afraid of something.
When my eyes had adjusted the dim gloomy light, I saw that I was facing the stained glass window at the front of the church; Mary peered down at me smiling with baby Jesus in her arms, also smiling. Silent mocking laughter rang through the hall. I realised how stupid I had been. They realised how stupid I had been. It was too late to amend the mistake and now I was paying for it. The church was no longer the bright, jovial sanctuary I had first entered. The place was no longer full of light and hope. The gothic architecture took on the menace of a dungeon. The darkness was everywhere; the cold stone walls held no mercy, tombs and statues lined the floors. Jesus, on his cross, hung above the inaptly coloured window, the look of his pain and despair only matched by mine.
I cast my eyes, my head unmoving, around the hall. In the corner of my eye, to the left, I saw another person standing against the post next to me. My peripheral vision allowed me to take in no detail. I twisted my head slightly. It was the alter boy, bound and noosed in the same style as I was. Even in this abysmal light I could see he was pale. He was staring open mouthed at the noose with widened eyes. He looked at me, twisting his head the ninety degrees that I daren’t to look at me. His teenage face was full of terror and I felt a great stab of pity for him; he was only still a child. He looked past me and did an astoundingly accurate impression of a goldfish out of water.
Forgetting my fear of the noose I made to look right. Expecting to see The Hangman standing dark and powerful over me, I was shaken to see the old, wizened vicar. The sight that met me made my head recoil into the wooden column. Pain seized my head with its fist and pounded my brain. As soon as my ache had subsided and I had salvaged my courage and looked at him once more taking in every detail in flinches.
He was unconscious; his robes were cut above the waist revealing his bleeding chest. I saw his shoulders had been dislocated and, judging by the abnormal positions of his legs, so were his knees. His bare, bleeding chest, I also noticed, held a message in cuts and slashes. I assumed the cuts were shallow as I knew The Hangman probably had something else in store for the feeble, old priest. He wasn’t tied in the same way as me; his ankles were tied to the post but his torso wasn’t the only thing stopping him falling was the rope that bound his forearms together, around the post and a bell rope supporting his abdomen. He had a noose but his had a knot in the neck loop, it could only be retracted to a certain point, it was made for strangulation only. The slashed words were jagged, small and carefully cut. It read:

2 black 4 white priests
an alter boy
blood will avenge her

Distraught as I was, I tried to figure out the hidden message; obviously the serial killer had been affected by some kind of trauma, most likely in his childhood. These priests had done something to his lover, mother, or sister. Raped, murdered… I wondered the possibilities.
But my progress was impeded by the sound of despairing cries from the alter boy. I looked at him he was staring at the message, tears shining in his eyes. He put up the fight of his life with the ropes, to no avail. All he had done was attracted someone’s attention.
Footsteps heralded the presence of a fourth person. This person was indeed a man and unless I was much mistaken he was my captor. The very man I had been searching for was just there, walking down the aisle like the groom of a sci-fi convention wedding. I tried to see his face, but he wore a balaclava with an abnormally large hole for his mouth revealing his white jaw, he had no facial hair that I could see. He was wearing a long, black, leather overcoat, grey trousers and large grey boots. His shoes were black and well polished. He looked neat and stylish. The effect was that he looked like a medieval executioner. Very apt, I thought bitterly. His outfit was only marred by the white surgical gloves he wore.
At the sight of the floundering boy he stopped, cocked his head quizzically, smiled and began striding again up the aisle. Charming, powerful and egotistical all these qualities radiated from his stride, the way he held his body, straight backed, chest out and relaxed in his body language. He would have obviously been the popular kid in school. He was the kind of kid that enjoyed the suffering of both humans and animals.
In his long confident stride he had reached them. The Hangman’s presence seemed to renew the boy’s his strength as he fought a losing battle with the ropes that tied him to his post. I made to play dead, sagging at the knees slightly and bowing my head, but, ‘No need,’ said the callous voice of Hangman. ‘I noticed you stirring a while ago.’ I straightened up feeling foolish. My insides squirmed, I felt a distressing sensation around him; he seemed taller even though I could see over the top of his head. Pure power radiated from him. It was an eerie sense of something primal.
The child began imploring so rapidly I couldn’t understand what he was saying.
Hangman laughed coldly at the child’s pleading. ‘Do not worry.’ His eyes went out of focus and his voice became faint. ‘The alter boy ended her suffering. A quick death. That is what you will receive.’ The child gave a small cry of terror.
Feeling sick with pity I spoke up. ‘Jesus Christ, he’s only a kid, let him go.’ The alter boy gibbered in desperate agreement. I would probably regret my blasphemy.
The Hangman stood for a moment still in his trance. Then he said in the same tone. ‘No. A quick death is what he shall receive.’ These few cold words seemed to bring him out of his trance. He smiled, I felt nauseous, his smile was like a child’s in “Toys’R’Us.” The Hangman noticed my dark glare, he simply laughed. ‘I am a masochist, I love pain, but I have a serious passion for despair.’ His deep voice said breathlessly, ‘especially prior to death.’ At the child’s sobs I, myself, started crying. ‘Don’t be like that. I read the papers. I know you have been hunting me. You alone know my pattern.’ He walked over to me and spoke into my ear. ‘But you don’t know why I do it do you?’
I didn’t want to know anymore. I had been fascinated by the serial killer mind. But then I wasn’t in danger. I thought I could figure this one out and catch him without the use of a gun but now I realised that knowing his patterns alone does not make you know the serial killer’s mind. All I knew is that this church was going to be the next place. I was right. But I had told no one. I had said I was going to a funeral. The police department wouldn’t miss me until the weekend was over. By then he would be long gone.
The Hangman spoke again. ‘Since you have showed a considerable interest in my life, I shall reveal it to you. You can tell me how you managed to head me off and why you didn’t tell the P.D. You will hear my story as soon as the vicar wakens.’ The Hangman walked towards the alter boy. ‘But while we’re waiting.’
The boy screamed.
The Hangman replied. ‘You are probably interested now, boy. Eh?’ The alter boy nodded rapidly. ‘Believe me, ignorance is bliss.’ The child, tears streaming, shook his head thoroughly. With out warning, The Hangman jumped up and grabbed the alter boy’s bell rope and pulled down on it with all his might. A great CLANG echoed through the night. As the bell swung back the noosed rope began to shoot into the air, the noose suddenly tightened and for a second the shrieking stopped. I had looked away. The bell continuously rang out and through the din I heard a terrible crack and some thing slid into my bound feet.
As the bell rang itself into silence I peered down. The alter boy’s head, was at my feet. The shattered skull distorted his once handsome facial features. The body, still bound tightly to the post, was now headless. The torn neck was spraying blood and the spinal column was halfway out of the body. I vomited violently over myself, and the boy’s head. The old smell of the church, mixing horribly with the acrid smell of vomit and blood.

‘Ah, movement.’
Echoing footsteps.
‘Comfortable?’
An old, withered groan.
‘Good, good!’ Came an eager voice.
I awoke again drenched in sweat and vomit, that goddamned taste still in my mouth. I had prayed it was a nightmare, but the cold church air, the warm sickly stench and the rope burns told me I was still in the same damned place. I began to cry.
The Hangman had hung the alter boy’s body upside-down from the post he was bound to. I looked down to see blood was still dripping from the ragged neck like water would from a leaky tap. The head was nowhere to be seen.
I retched again, this time bringing up bile, the contents of my stomach already emptied on me. I was tired, dirty, hungry, thirsty and still nauseous. It was the only time I wished I was dead, but at the same time I didn’t want to die at the hands of Hangman.
Hangman was whispering angrily with the vicar. I couldn’t make out the monologue but I knew the vicar wasn’t talking, or moving. Hangman shot a glance at me and laughed jovially. ‘Now the moment you’ve been waiting for.’
I didn’t want to hear it. ‘But - but the vicar…he’s still out…’ I said weakly.
‘No, no. He’s in no position to talk. Look at him. Would you be?’
I looked at the vicar; he was glaring at Hangman with all the contempt a holy man could offer. He was cut up, broken and probably going to die horribly yet he was looking at Hangman as though he had pissed in the holy water.
Hangman went to get himself a chair. It was then that I realised that there was something sticking into the small of my back. I felt with my fingertips, a rusty nail. My heart leapt and the haze which fog I knew what I had to do but my back would be in the way, slowing my movement, making it hard work. The taut ropes seemed to cut easily and they had become considerably looser by the time Hangman had returned. From then on I would have to be careful.
‘Ah,’ said Hangman getting comfortable on the folding chair he had stolen from the Sunday school area. ‘Where do I begin?’ I was amazed at how casual he had said it, it was as if he had been waiting for this for a long time but he also looked miserable about it.
‘You hear the theory that serial killers are driven to what they do because of trauma experienced during childhood?’ I nodded slowly. ‘Well, that is precisely what happened.’
‘Murder?’ I said quietly.
Hangman nodded. ‘A totally unjust killing.’ He spat to the vicar. ‘Kakuushi, Zambia. A good thirteen years ago. My sister and I went on an exchange student program. We had some fun. That is until the start of the second week. Goddamned imbeciles!’ He suddenly exploded.
Please let somebody hear him.
‘She contracted rabies while we were camping in the savannah; a vampire bat.’ His voice became croaky. ‘She was okay for a day but then she went crazy! Our supervisor, the stupid bitch, called the village priest instead of the doctor! Saw the bite and thought it was a demon! A DEMON! You’d have thought rabies and bats were common in Africa. But we chose the one damn place where they were both as rare as common sense. DAMN IT!
‘The priest too thought she was possessed, tried to give her holy water, but she choked and gagged on it. The bastard was excited! My sister became hyperactive and delirious. No matter how they tried they couldn’t exorcise the demon. Six priests from the local villages attempted to exorcise her. But it didn’t work because there was no demon. Damn it!’ Hangman stopped talking and began breathing heavily. Between Hangman’s breaths I could hear his sobbing.
My wrist ropes had now been cut through I wondered for a second what to do. Take the damn noose off! But he would see me. I reached behind my column hoping I could find something to cut the rest of my ropes with. That’s when I placed my hands on it. It felt like a rubber sack of broken glass and jelly. I felt sick again. I found the opening of the neck and forced my way past the many tubes. And found what I was looking for. When the head hit the floor the skull had shattered like a glass window. I pulled out a fragment which felt like it had once been part of the base of the skull. It was fairly jagged. As Hangman recomposed himself I began attacking the ropes with the skull fragment. I leaned forward to make the bonds look tighter.
Hangman shakily continued. ‘After they failed the exorcism the priests decided it was in the interests of the world that the demon should be destroyed. They decided to cut her open and hang her. The hanging didn’t go well.’ He snarled. ‘The alter boy or rather the apprentice, blew her head off with a shotgun.’ He ended lamely. He spoke to me. ‘I managed to kill the two Darkies. Knocked‘em out with their bibles and cut the message into them. It became harder to when I returned home though. I had to wait several years selecting my victims intricately.’
‘You always attacked on the thirteenth day after the target-church was mentioned on Television.’ I filled in. ‘But only if the target person had no living relations—‘
‘Yes,’ Hangman smiled. ‘If they had someone to go home to the relation would get worried and interfere with my plans. But you did miss one vital detail. I only go if the target church has a bad reputation. If they are disgraces to God.’ He turned to the vicar. ‘Nobody likes rats, vicar, even the great bumbling, balding, pathetic type, like yourself. Yes?’
‘I deeply, deeply pity you.’ Said the old vicar clearly, unfaltering, his face was kindly and bore not even the slightest grimace. I would never understand how. How could you forgive someone who broke you, cut you and was about to kill you? ‘Stop this foolish charade, you’re not a killer. You’re shaking; you don’t want to do this.’ The Hangman began to sob. At first I thought this change of tact had worked but; ‘God forgives all, who ask—‘
The Hangman had leapt once more into the air, this time heaving on both the supporting ropes. The bells rang. Hangman rapidly pulled something from his coat and jabbed it into the vicar’s stomach. The vicar’s body began to take off, Hangman’s knife ripped through the wizened body’s abdomen. The vicar’s arms and legs were torn from his body, his dangling knee smacked into Hangman’s chin, he grunted and collapsed back on to his chair which broke under the dead weight.. The vicar had reached twenty feet when he had begun his decent. The vicar’s body stopped abruptly, the neck broke, the intestines spilled out. I retched again and again but there was nothing left to throw up.

A minute later I had cut my torso bonds, removed the noose with relish and had started on my ankle bonds. After a few minutes I was free.
The Hangman was splayed out on the floor, unconscious and covered in the blood and organs of the dangling priest.
Looking at the two mutilated corpses I realised I had failed. My childish dreams of understanding the mad and unarmed arrests had ended two innocent lives.
I left the church, and fell on to the ground outside and began caressing it like a long lost friend. I heard millions of small feet scampering inside the building, it was a miniature stampede. The rats rushed for their easy meal, probably sensing the fallen evil. I wondered for a second whether the rats would devour his unconscious body and found I did not care. I didn’t give a damn about him or his sister.
I stumbled to the nearby phone booth and called the police. Feeling exhausted I collapsed once more in front of the church.

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That's very good, I enjoyed it, and I don't enjoy much fiction given the amount I'm having to read and write atm >_<

Original concept, and save for a few niggling grammar errors, very well-written. You have a talent for description and converting your imagination to words that you can build on by developing the dialogue and style.

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The Ultimate DooMer: Yes, but it was kinda last minute work.

Pritch: Thanks, I'm glad you enjoyed it. I haven't noticed the grammar errors so I'll try and hunt them down. Do you have any suggestions for the general story? Any improvements?

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It's pretty damn well-written, very exciting and for a "last minute work" it's simply brilliant imo - I kept reading it with great interest, wanting to find out if the protagonist would get killed or if he'd survive.

But yeah, there was a few grammar errors, but no biggies - the story was so good that I hardly noticed them anyway :-)

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Suggestions? Heh, not really. Just keep writing, be ruthlessly efficient in cutting out any words you do not need, shorten anything you possibly can, and avoid spurious allegory. But you're already doing that so just keep writing and practicing I guess :)

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Started out better, ended not so well.

What made you use the similes you used (i.e., goldfish, Toys r' us, sci-fi convetion)?

The poetic justice at the end left me thinking about a myriad second rate cop/hero movies...

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myk said:

Started out better, ended not so well.

Yea, I know, I'm trying to find a better ending, any suggestions about that?

What made you use the similes you used (i.e., goldfish, Toys r' us, sci-fi convetion)?

Well I imagined the stunned alter boy to be gasping and mouthing(prayers possibly) in terror. That's the only way I could describe it.
Have you ever seen a wedding at a sci-fi convention? Some look pretty damned scary! When I imagined this guy I saw a cross between Neo, Hannibal and a medieval executioner.
Some of the similies entered my head as most of my writting in general is influenced by Terry Prattchet(sp?)

Any suggestions at all as to where the story could go/end?

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dsm said:

"last minute work"

By that I meant last days work, spent the whole damn day working on this. I find it easier to write when there is a deadline, otherwise I'm pretty slack.

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