Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-27838637-20160707143147

So here is my latest story. I've been working on this premise for a long time, but I was never happy with the final product. This is my third rewrite of the story and I'm finally happy. It's not fully complete yet, but I'd love some feedback so I can turn this from a draft into a final piece that will be accepted onto the Wiki.

The whole story is written in the perspective of one man, and takes place in Central Australia!

I was hoping to submit this to Whitix's Contest, so hopefully you all enjoy it!

A_O.



  VENOMOUS 

 















 I shifted my vehicle down a few gears, adhering to the change in speed limit as I entered the small rural town. The morning sun gleamed in the welcome sign, upon which I grinned with a sudden feeling of excitement.

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<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt">'' Welcome to Kedalup; please drive slowly. ''

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"> The letters R and V on the word drive had been removed, altering the message in a somewhat fitting way.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"> You see, I had a very specific reason to visit this small town. It wasn’t the scenery, and it wasn’t even the lovely local meat-pies. It was something more. Something that I can’t explain, nor expect anybody to understand.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"> I was here to take a life.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"> Well, two lives, to be exact; two teenage sons from the Clift family.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"> I had been planning the kill for a while now; stalking my victims, learning their routines, devising my method. How; when; where; I had decided it all. All the hard work had already been done, and tonight was where my plans would be executed.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"> I flicked the right-turn indicator on my car, signifying my transition off the main road and towards the small farm owned by the Clift family. It was convenient to be so far away from civilization, and the isolated locale gave me a lot of creativity in regards to how I’d tackle the task. It was 3:30pm, and the family wasn’t going to be home for another half-an-hour, giving me ample time to prepare. I drove my car down, past the house and into the back paddock. There was an empty creek I could park my car in, out of sight. The dry, cracked earth ensured that my tyres left no tracks, and it was walking distance from my pre-determined kill-sites.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"> I checked my time-schedule, written on the back of a McDonalds receipt I found in the garbage.

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<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"> 3:30pm – Arrive at location & prepare 

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"> 4:00pm – Clift Family arrives home 

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"> 4:25pm – Son #1, Tyson, begins long distance running practice 

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"> 5:00pm – Tyson arrives at Kill-Site #1 (creek) 

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"> 6:00pm – Son #2, Jack, arrives at Kill-Site #2 (motocross track) to train for Motocross Enduro 

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"> 7:00pm – Leave Clift farm 

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<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"> In the thirty minutes I had to myself, I ensured my weapons were ready, my kill-sites were ready, and most important of all, I was ready. The physical aspect was already done - with my treadless sneakers and leather gloves equipped prior to my arrival – but I had to mentally prepare myself for what I was about to do. Yes, I am a killer, but taking a life is not something I enjoy, rather than it is something I have to do. It’s like a stray dog that you feed once out of sympathy, and it keeps coming back for more.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"> My watch beeped as the clock ticked over to 4:00pm. Time for action.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"> In the back of my SUV were two glass boxes; one of my murder weapons stashed in each. The first box was small, and dark. It was hard to see through the tangled mass of webs, but inside that box was a number of Sydney Funnell Web Spiders. The massive arachnids crawled around, peacefully, elegantly. The second box was much larger, power cords attached to it and the large UV light illuminating the slender brown scales of the Inland Taipan. It coiled and hissed as I tapped against the tempered wall that housed it.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"> I know it might be a bit confusing. Other killers use knives, poison, ropes, guns. I use venomous creatures. Other than the fact that it leaves little to no trace that my victims were murdered, I find it polarizing to see the slow, painful death of somebody from the hand of nature. It’s a bit ironic really, mankind shits all over nature, and I am allowing nature to bite back.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"> I spied from the long grass with my binoculars, just waiting for everybody to go about their daily routine. Tyson was a long distance runner, state champion for Cross-Country, and he would run a few kilometres every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Luckily for me, he ran the same trail every day, so I had the perfect kill-site just for him, only a few minutes’ walk up the creek.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"> I was a brilliant zoologist, and had studied animals of all kinds throughout my schooling and adult life. I had a soft spot for animals, unlike other serial killers who get a kick out of murdering the neighbours’ puppy. I opened the box that housed the Taipan, and in one quick movement I grabbed it behind the head, and gently stuffed it into my cloth sack for easy transport. My friends and family compared me to Steve Irwin, but that’s beside the point.

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<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"> I crouched in the grass at my first kill-site, waiting. The night had started off a bit slow, but it would pick up the pace now. My watch ticked over to 5:00pm, and shortly afterwards Tyson came jogging down into the creek bed. Usually he keeps running, but that would have ruined my plans. So during preparation I had moved a large log from the top of the creek to the bottom, right on the path of Tyson’s cross-country.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"> “What the fuck?” He panted to himself as he foolishly went to investigate the log. As he wrapped his sweaty hands around the bark to drag it away, a long and slender creature sprung up from the ground, and latched its fangs onto the inside of Tyson’s elbow. The boy screamed, and stumbled backwards, tripping over his own feet as he tumbled into the dirt. An Inland Taipan, also known as the Fierce Snake, is the most venomous snake in the world, and its venom consists of a deadly 110mL concoction of neurotoxins, myotoxins and hemotoxins. In short: the venom spreads quickly; thinning out the blood and causing muscle paralysis before inducing heart failure. Tyson was a slender boy, and he was already physically exerted. The venom would pulsate through his system and render him unconscious in less than ten minutes. After that; well it’s pretty damn obvious.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"> “Shit!” He cried to himself; tears streaming down his face as he stumbled and scrambled up the long eroded sides of the creek, using one hand to try find a cell-phone signal to call for help. His efforts were futile. He screamed for help, but we were too far away, and he was losing his breath. He brought himself to his own death, I only orchestrated the scenario, and he alone played it out. I followed behind him for a while, unbeknownst to him, watching the venom take hold. He got about twenty meters from the creek before he collapsed in the dirt, and closed his eyes forever.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"> “Be free my friend, you’ve done me proud.” I said to the snake as it recoiled back into the grass whilst I made my way back to the car. It was almost time for my second kill, and I planned to use the Sydney Funnell Web spiders for that one. I carefully tipped up the box and lured two of the wiry, hairy arachnids into a small container. I had forty minutes until Jack arrived at his crude motorbike course to practice for the upcoming endurance competition. He was a decent biker, but his talents were about to go to waste. It only took me fifteen minutes to get to the motorbike course and make a few necessary adjustments.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"> It was a little before 6:00PM when Jack’s engine rang through the paddock as he entered the first corner of his track. He was skilled, really efficient at high-speed hairpins and shifting his weight as he ran over the rough logs, stone and shale. But there was always one flaw he had, and that was the fact that he was a creature of habit. Much like me, he had a routine that he would follow. After three small laps, and the sun was setting, he would take off his gloves and helmet, and piss onto the log on the last corner. He hated it, as his father added it to the track for extra practice, and Jack always crashed on it. Eventually, the time came, and he pissed onto the log.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"> However, he left his helmet, bike and gloves out of view. All I needed was thirty-three seconds to place the spiders into his helmet and right hand glove, then pull the fuel line out of the tap, causing it to empty what little was left of the tank.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"> I sunk away into the trees, out of sight, just as Jack returned to his motorbike. Suspecting nothing was afoot, he placed the helmet onto his head, and the gloves onto his hands. Almost immediately, Jack tore his hand from the glove as he screamed in fear. He dropped the glove onto the ground and stomped it into the dirt. But during the violent and erratic stomping, the second spider fell loose from the helmet and landed on Jacks face. Trapped behind the goggles, the spider delivered a number of vicious bites the eyes and nose of the screaming boy. Eventually, Jack was able to tear the helmet from his head. He tried to stomp the spider into the ground, but the accuracy of his kicks only showed the effects of getting bitten in the eyes by a spider. Jack blindly felt around with his hands, trying to feel for something to grab ahold of.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"> The funnel-web spider is one of the most venomous spiders in the world, but its venom is not as fast acting as that of the inland Taipan. Jack would suffer a lot more than his brother, but luckily the bites to the face and his evident physical exertion would mean that the venom would take about fifteen to twenty minutes to start taking effect. I estimate the same amount of time until death occurs. I had not accounted for blindness, but that was a welcome factor to the equation. I walked right up to the dithering fool as he leant against his bike for support, and kicked the vehicle over so it fell on top of him. The boy fell back, and the back of his head smashed into his helmet with a deafening crunch.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"> Okay, now my luck was way too good.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"> I didn’t even have to wait around to make sure he would die. Their father was not returning home until about midnight, and motorbike pants don’t have pocket holes, so the poor kid wasn’t going to get help before he succumbed to his injuries.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"> But, at least my work here was done.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"> As I drove out of the property, the only thing I felt was disappointment that my time-schedule was half-an-hour inaccurate.

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<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"> 4 WEEKS EARLIER 

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"> I just so happened to be out that night, working late, when I witnessed these two boys drag a pet dog from a suburban house in my suburb. It was a large dog, female, Labrador cross. They threw the defenceless animal into the trunk of their car, and drove away. Intrigued, I followed them here. Now I watch from a distance, with my night-vision binoculars, disgusted, as they proceed to beat the dog with a pair of branches that appear to be wrapped in barbed wire. They laughed and cursed as the dog struggled to escape. It was evident that the first blows to the animal’s legs crippled it, leaving the rest of the sadistic act all too easy for these monsters. Defeated, bleeding and yelping, they two boys refused to let up. Smashing and beating the poor thing until it’s beautiful golden fur was nothing but a wet, red mess. They didn’t stop there, pulling out a knife, they began to skin the animal in its last moments of life. I couldn’t even tell at which point the creature died. The mutilated corpse was pissed on by the boys, and dumped into a hole before they returned to their nearby house. I wanted to leave, but I was compelled to visit the scene of the crime.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"> I crossed the fence and walked through the darkness until I arrived at the hole the Labrador was dumped into. It stunk of death, but when I turned on my torch, my worst fears were confirmed. Dumped in the hole were no less than twenty corpses consisting of cats and dogs, brutally mutilated in ways that my own sick mind had not even though possible.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"> I don’t know why they done it. I don’t know how they brought themselves to enjoy such a cruel act.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"> All I knew was that I had just found my next victims. <ac_metadata title="Venomous (unreviewed)"> </ac_metadata>