BOREDOM By: Michael A. Kechula
Wednesday, February 18th, 2009“Hey you, get out of the way!” a cop yelled. “Let the medics through.”
Jason realized the cop was pointing a baton in his direction. He moved aside quickly when he saw paramedics carrying a stretcher. As they passed him, he almost threw up at the sight of the bloody, mangled mass that used to be a face.
“Looks like the Face Ripper struck again,” said the stranger next to Jason. “Another beautiful woman bites the dust. If this keeps up, there won’t be any good looking women left in this town.”
“Geez. I didn’t know you guys had a serial killer problem. Otherwise, I never woulda turned off the Interstate to grab a meal.”
“Doesn’t matter if you did. He only attacks females.”
“How many did he kill so far?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“What? How come I didn’t hear about this on Fox News, or see it in the papers?”
“The politicians keep it quiet. Otherwise, nobody would come here. That’d put lotsa people outta work. The unemployment level is already bad enough in this burg.”
Though the bloody sight should have killed his appetite, Jason found himself excited and hungrier.
“Is there a half-decent restaurant near here?” he asked.
“Minnie’s Hash House is pretty good. It’s just two blocks from here.”
While eating meatloaf, Jason realized that the town might be the answer to his problems. Though he loved his stunning wife, Marcia, he was sick of her nagging. Plus, he was certain she was having a fling with a lawyer ten years his junior.
Returning home, he went to Wal-Mart and bought a dozen, hand-cranked LED lights. Then he drugged Marcia, put her and the lights in the car, and headed for the Face Ripper’s town.
Arriving at the woods just outside town, he laid her on the ground, cranked the lights, placed them around her to illuminate her form, and headed back to his car. As he approached his Mustang, he heard footsteps crunching autumn leaves.
“Who’s there?” he called.
“Police. What’s going on here?”
“I was driving by and saw strange lights in the woods. See them over there? I went to take a look. There’s a woman laying on the ground. I think she’s dead. I was just going to jump in my car and drive to town to report it.”
The cop pulled his pistol. “Put your hands over your head and walk slowly toward your car. Now, put your palms against the car and spread your legs real wide.”
“But I didn’t do anything wrong,” Jason said.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” the cop said, slapping cuffs on Jason’s wrists. “Now turn around.”
The cop shined a high-powered flashlight in Jason’s face. “Hmm. Anybody ever tell you you’re good looking?”
The next day, word spread quickly through town. A man was found dead in the woods with his face ripped apart, though a nearby, beautiful, unconscious woman wasn’t touched.
Nobody knew what to make of it.
They didn’t realize until four more good-looking men were killed that the Face Ripper was bored and needed a change of pace.
___
© 2009 Michael A. Kechula
Michael A. Kechula is a retired tech writer. His fiction has won first place in seven contests and placed in six others. He’s also won Editor’s Choice awards four times. His stories have been published by 124 magazines and anthologies in Australia, Canada, England, India, Scotland, and US. He’s authored a book of flash and micro-fiction stories: “A Full Deck of Zombies–61 Speculative Fiction Tales.” eBook available at www.BooksForABuck.com and www.fictionwise.com. Paperback available at www.amazon.com.
