Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-25610230-20141102180647

The Story of Sterben

Ten minutes. That’s how long it took for the latest subject to go insane, completely and utterly insane. He was still screaming of course, but between the screams, I could hear him talking about his family. Maybe it was him trying to focus on things other than the pain, maybe it was him trying to keep his sanity. Either way, he was done and Sterben was through with him. That’s what happened to all of Sterben’s victims. One day they were perfectly fine, the next they were a babbling mess with a small S branded on their left hand. Nobody outside knew of how Sterben picked his victims, how he took them, or why he did it.

That is except for me, but even I don’t know a whole lot. He is completely alone; abandoned by his family when he was just a toddler, bullied in the many orphanages that he was sent to, growing more alone and depressed all the time. At 15 years old, he just couldn’t take it anymore. He thought he had no purpose in life, and if there wasn’t anything for him to do but suffer, why should he even live? Using a knife taken from the kitchen the night before, he was prepared to kill himself, and he almost did had his roommate not walked in at that fateful moment. According to Sterben, his roommate stood there in shocked silence for a while, and then started laughing, egging him on. He couldn’t take it anymore, and instead of using the knife on himself, he ran over to his roommate and stabbed him, over and over, taking out all the hate he had kept pent up inside of him over the past few years. When he finally realized what he had done, he stopped, and sat there in silence. A low laugh rose up out of his throat, the first in many years. Before anyone else came  into the room, he dipped his fingers in the blood, and drew a small S for everyone to remember the event by. Gathering up his stuff, he crawled out the window and ran like never before.

I almost felt bad for him after he told me what happened. Having been bullied myself, I knew what he had gone through. All pity was lost when he told me his next few stories though.

He had made it out of the city unnoticed for the most part, and managed to catch a ride to Barre, Vermont, where he cut his hair, and changed his name to Sterben so he would be harder to find. It would be another few years until he killed again, trying to make his past a story, a nightmare of the other orphanage children. He was 19, when he claimed his next victim. Outside of a bar on the edge of the town was a man. This man had been in the bar all night, and was even told by the bartender to leave, since he had too much to drink and was offending everyone in the bar. He came up to Sterben and asked for his wallet, pulling out a knife to emphasize his point. Sterben asked for a minute, turned around, pulled out his knife from five years ago, and stabbed the man several times. Taking care to leave no evidence behind, he drew a small S on the man’s left hand, the one holding the knife. The body wasn’t found until the next day, but Sterben was long gone by then. Still filled with adrenaline, he went to the bus station and bought a ticket for the earliest possible bus.

Since then, his attacks have been scattered, and he never stayed in the same place for too long. He would find a small town, stay there for a few weeks, pick a victim, and take them. The next morning, they were always found, but either dead or completely insane. And yet, there was always an S on their left hand as a signature to the work that he had done.

About 10 people per year is what he said. 10 people who don’t belong in society. The scum of the earth who don’t deserve to live because of what they’ve done. I was special though. He chose me, planning on killing me, but he says that I’m not who he expected me to be, and that I was different from the rest. He couldn’t let me go though, I had seen too much and still had to be punished for what I’d done. So he took me with him, never letting me out of his sight, always making me witness his murders.

I really don’t know why he let me live though. He saw me hit a man with a car, and decided that I would be his next victim. I was almost dead by the time he stopped torturing me. All it took was one word. That one word saved my life. <span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);font-style:italic;white-space:pre-wrap;">Please. <span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;"> Such a simple word, yet meaning so much. It was barely a whisper when I said it, but he stopped immediately. He asked why he should spare my life, and all I managed to get out was that he didn’t understand. Then I passed out. I was surprised that I was still alive when I woke. Even better was that I was on a bed with my wounds treated. He was standing at the foot of the bed though, just watching. It took some time for him to even get me to talk, but I told him my full story when he did. In hopes that he would understand.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;">It was late in the night, and I was all alone in my house. Just as I was getting ready to go to bed, I heard a crash come from somewhere in the house. I didn’t have any animals or anything, so there was no possible way that something semi-normal could have happened. I got out of bed, and looked out of my room. There was a figure dressed in dark clothes lurking around the main room in my house. I froze, too scared to do anything, and he saw me. He ran over to me, gun in hand, and very well would have killed me had one of the neighbors not seen him around the neighborhood and decided to call the police. When he heard the sirens, he panicked, and whispered in my ear that if I ever told anyone, I would die. He took off out the back door. The police tried getting me to talk to them, but I couldn’t, feeling that <span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);font-style:italic;white-space:pre-wrap;">he <span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;"> would know as soon as I told them. A year later, I saw a man walking down the street as I was driving home from work, and recognized him as the same man who broke in to my house. At the last second, with nobody else nearby, I decided to swerve and hit him. He ended up dying not long after but I tried to justify it by the fact that he nearly killed me. I blamed it on having lost control and saying that it was an accident. The guilt was too much to ignore though. I ended up walking down to the police station to turn myself in since my car was still part of the crime scene. I heard the rustle of leaves behind me, but when I turned to look, nobody was there. Shrugging it off as my paranoid imagination, I kept walking. Another rustling sound made me turn again, but this time I was hit in the back of the head hard enough to knock me out as soon as I turned.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;">I’d been by his side ever since. He never hurt me again, but I could tell he had special plans for me. The things I’d heard from him in his sleep, the whispers of his insanity. There would be times where, after torturing someone for hours on end, he would suddenly stop, looking at me with recognition in his eyes, as if I reminded him of someone. The violence and brutality of his acts lost their horror to me after a few years though. I just stopped caring. It’s not like I could ever leave him. I was completely dependent on him for everything. Food, water, clothes, I couldn’t function on my own. The scars marking my body were too much to ever show in public, I would surely be stopped and asked about them

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;">In the fifth year that I was with him, he made me start helping him. At first it was little things, like looking around towns at night, finding the best places to hide and watch. I was good at it too, and started thinking of it as a game of hide-and-seek. If I could remain hidden throughout the nights without him finding me, he would let me sit in on his killings. It got harder as the days went on though, with both of us knowing the town like the backs of our hands. I started to get so desperate to win that sometimes I would do drastic things. The most memorable had happened late in December of 1998.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;">It was bitterly cold, with at least a foot of snow. The games had gotten a lot harder with the snow since all he had to do was find and follow my footsteps. It wouldn’t be long until he found me if I didn’t do something clever, and I needed to, or else I wouldn’t have the majority of the wins. I did my usual tricks, just to buy me a bit of time. Walking a short distance, retracing my footsteps back a ways, and repeating over and over. Eventually I made my way into a neighborhood, walking in the roads to try to hide my footprints. It was about another hour until I had a great idea. Why not hide in one of the houses? I found one that looked empty, no lights on, no cars outside, and it didn’t sound like anyone was there. Using some tricks I had picked up from Sterben, breaking into the house was easy. I made sure to cover my tracks, knowing that this was the perfect place to be. That was, until I heard the creak of a floor. I froze and turned around slowly. Behind me was a kid, who couldn’t have been older than 13. He was holding a knife, and his hands were shaking uncontrollably. I knew he was desperate, that he was going to try to stab me. There was only one thing I could think of doing. When he started moving towards me, my hands were already in my pockets, pulling out my own knife. The kid’s eyes widened as he saw what I had done, but it was already too late. The handle was sticking from the kid’s stomach, a circle of red spreading out from the knife. I sat there in complete silence, while the realization that I had killed someone sunk in.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;">At first it was a giggle, then it was all out laughter. I wish I had known that it was this exciting to kill earlier; the rush of adrenaline was just incredible, and the feeling of invincibility that came with it. I could see now why Sterben liked it so much, and in honor to him, I drew a small S on the back of the kid’s hand in his own blood. Not wanting the police to find me, I leaned myself up, and headed back out, careful to leave no evidence that could directly lead to me. I raced back to our little cabin out in the woods, waiting for morning to come that would mark the arrival of Sterben.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;">The sound of his boots crunching the snow woke me from my nap. It had become a familiar sound to me, with almost a month of hearing it. I was trying to figure out how to tell him about what I had done when the door burst open unusually hard. Sterben asked one question: <span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);font-style:italic;white-space:pre-wrap;">why <span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;">? The tone in his voice told me that he wasn’t amused. He was really angry. I explained to him the situation, and how the kid was coming at me with a knife, how my only thoughts were of self defence. He calmed down a little, but was still quite mad. Sterben pointed out that I didn’t need to kill him, I could have easily gotten away without bloodying my hands. I started to pack up my belongings, knowing that he wanted to leave. Nobody else would die today; Sterben’s mark had already been left on this town.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;">Ever since then, I kept trying to tell myself that I wasn’t like him, I couldn’t be like him. Some of the temptations were too hard to resist though. I went looking for new thrills, other ways to get that adrenaline peak I had gotten before, but nothing even came close to it. Until one day, when I asked Sterben it I could help with the victim. He gave me an odd look at first, trying to figure out why I wanted to help, but he ended up saying yes without asking any questions. I could feel myself giving in to his insanity, almost idolizing him for it. It wasn’t until I started doing his work that he started thinking that there was something wrong with me. It was while we were heading to the next town that he asked me if I liked killing and hurting others. I thought about it for a while, and replied with a simple answer, <span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);font-style:italic;white-space:pre-wrap;">yes <span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;">. We kept walking for a while after that, in silence. He stopped suddenly, and turned to look at me. I saw a hint of sadness and regret in his eyes as he told me that he was going to have to kill me. I had become a monster, something so evil from something so innocent. We stood there for a minute, letting his words sink in. The part of me that was still sane, the part that had always hated Sterben with a passion, agreed with him for once. I couldn’t live anymore, I was a psychopath, one bent on hurting others. Sterben slowly walked up to me and pulled out the knife that he had from the start. There were tears in his eyes now. One word was all he said as he plunged the knife into my stomach. <span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);font-style:italic;white-space:pre-wrap;">Sorry <span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;">. I fell to my knees, then to the ground. My vision went dark.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;">I awoke to a bright light. There were doctors and nurses surrounding me, looking as if God had just performed a miracle. It was all too much to take in. I passed out.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;">When I woke up for the second time, nobody was around me, and it looked dark outside. I got my bearings about me, and tried to sit up to get a better look around of where I was, but I physically couldn’t. My muscles weren’t even strong enough for me to sit up, but I must have moved enough to trip some alarm. A nurse came rushing into the room within a few seconds after I tried moving, looking relieved as she saw me. I tried asking her about what had happened to me, but my voice came out a raspy whisper. Fortunately, she understood and started to explain it to me. According to her, I had been in a coma for the past three and a half years. Nobody knows who brought me to the hospital, or why they did it, but they saved my life. I would have bled out from all my wounds, had it not been for him. The nurse asked me who it could have been, but I replied that I wasn’t sure, not wanting my theory to be true. They eventually let me go after many sessions of questioning with the police, but I just told them that I couldn’t remember anything, because I honestly didn’t. It might have all been dreams while I was in my coma, but I didn’t want to tell anyone about my time with Sterben, since nobody knew what happened to me before my coma. All anyone did know was that I had been taken by a kidnapper on the FBI’s most wanted list, a man that branded his victims with a S on their left hands, leaving all his victims either insane or dead. I was special though, since I was obviously neither of the two, which brought special attention to me. The only problem now will be whether or not my time with Sterben was real. <ac_metadata title="Please help/review: The Story of Sterben&#10;(Apparently Blacklisted)"> </ac_metadata>