The small bathtub we’d been filling was coming along quite nicely. No, we weren’t filling it with water. That would be too... clean. Not good enough for my newest plan. No one missed the homeless people we’d been taking. They were too focussed on people rich enough to afford houses or apartments. Oh well, it was a perfect opportunity to take their blood. Just slit their throats, watch their life drip into a porcelain bowl, and move on to the next victim. After we’d finished with the seventh, it was full to the point of overflowing. Beautiful, the way the coppery red stained the purest white. Gerard had been following a man named Clay around for quite a while. We’d determined that just knocking people out at random was no longer fun. We’d wanted a plan of who. He and Gerard had started talking, which eventually ended in them making a plan to go for coffee. Were they really going out for coffee? You know enough by now to figure out the answer to that.

“Hey, I thought we were going out for coffee! Unless there’s a cafe or something on this block, turn the car around and go back into town!” Clay shouted from the back seat. He didn’t want to stop his infernal yapping. Damian had started crying due to him being tired, as well as the loud noises coming from the large man’s mouth. “Shut your kid up while you’re at it. Geez, why’d you bring him?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Clay. I thought it would be better if we just came to my house and had coffee. Then I could put Damian to bed, as well.” Gerard answered. Clay folded his arms, displeased. We’d found yet another house, abandoned. It was hidden by the trees and unkempt bushes that surrounded it. No one had lived there for sixteen years, due to the fact of a family being murdered in it. No one had wanted a house with that history, so it had never sold. Sure, the car in the driveway moved around occasionally, and sometimes it disappeared, but that was just a few of the local teenagers playing tricks. Frank led the man inside, to the living room. All the furniture had been moved out, besides our big bloody bath.

“What the hell is this, some kind of prank?” Clay said.

“Oh, no. I would never joke about something like murder.” I smiled. His eyes went wide as he bolted for the door, only to be caught by Gerard and Frank. They dragged him over to the bath by his throat and dunked his head under. The more Clay struggled, the more blood got on our clothes. We didn’t mind it, though. We’d brought extra shirts and pants. The amount of bubbles coming from the sticky red liquid slowly tapered to a halt. His body grew still as Gerard and Frank started to loosen their grips. I pulled the head out by the hair and cut him from ear to ear, adding his own blood to the seven people’s that had filled his lungs. I looked around to find Damian was holding his knee and crying.

“What’d you do, buddy?” I asked him.

“I was running and I fell and then red stuff came out of my knee like with the people we do things to and it hurts, daddy! It hurts real bad!” He said between sobs. I picked him up, kissed his tiny wound, and said

“Daddy’s going to make it all better, okay?” He nodded, his crying softening. After we’d all changed clothes, we stopped at a drugstore to buy bandaids. Everything was alright.

Notes

Holding on, I hope you do the same.