Captured. Short Story.

“I have killed thousands of your kind. Hundreds of thousands. It means nothing to me.”
“So you admit to your crimes?”
The woman threw back her head and laughed, it sounded high pitched and jarring, full of mirth and evil. “Crimes? Do you call it a crime when you eat a pig to survive? Or a lion eats a deer?”
“No, but they are animals, you are not.”
“That is correct, I am not the animal, you are. You and your kind are hunted by mine. We stalk through this world, proud hunters looking for our next kill. You are nothing more than cattle to us. Meat that raises itself for the slaughter.”
“We know who you are, we know that you’re human. If you’re hoping for an insanity plea it won’t work.”
“Oh, you do, do you? What do you know about me then?”
“You’re name is Sarah Goodchild, you were born to John and Melissa Goodchild in 1983. You grew up in Fairfax, about sixty miles north of here, you moved here about ten years back, we’re currently tracking down your last employer and landlord.”
“Sarah Goodchild? Is that the name I’m going by now? I thought that was the one before it. It’s so hard to keep track sometimes. Mostly your kind just fall all over themselves to help me, but not you. You’re different. You want names and evidence and everything to be oh so orderly. Why is that?”
“We’re not here to discuss me, we’re here to talk about you and what you did. We found all the bodies, well, most of them, we’re working on exhuming the rest. Why did you do it? What was it about them?”
“I don’t know really, there was nothing specific. I just knew they were the ones. Maybe they were slightly weaker or stronger if I was looking for a bit of fun. For the most part though they presented themselves to me willingly. Oh they may not have known what they were getting into, but they still came to me and I accepted their offers. I can feel them inside me right now you know, their souls. All bundled together, squirming over one another, like maggots in a slippery ball, writhing together as one. It’s indescribable really, I don’t think I’d ever be able to convey the simple pleasure it brings me to feel them inside.”
“So you admit to doing it? To murdering all those people?”
“oh gladly, I feel no shame in what I did. I feel pride. I fought them all and won, where is the shame in that?”

Paul studied her face, she sat there pleasantly enough, smiling at him. She didn’t look like a murderer, she didn’t look like anyone. She was plain, with almost nondescript features, with a bit of makeup she could have been pretty, but that was all she could ever be. Her skin was pale, her eyes an almost boring shade of light green, her lips were thin, almost as though her mouth was just a small line on her face. There was something off about her mouth, something he couldn’t quite place. There was a feeling in the room, a feeling of being trapped, of being in danger.

“So how many are there? Surely you must remember them.”
She looked up at the ceiling for a moment, “Hmm, well you don’t remember every meal that you ate? I can give you a rough number if you’d like.”
“Sure, why not start there.”
“Hmm, well, as Sarah Goodchild, there were probably at least a thousand.”
“C’mon Sarah, be serious here. I’ve been to your house, there is no what you’d fit a thousand corpses there.”
“Well, not all of them remained corpses. We tend to eat every part of our food. Sometimes you can’t finish for one reason or another and then the meat has started to spoil. It’s a waste but then when your kind have such large numbers there’s no need to be particularly careful, is there?”
Paul shook his head, “Look, you can keep up this act as long as you like. It won’t make a difference. We have proof, you’re going to jail for a very, very long time.”
She chuckled again, the noise made Paul’s skin ripple in goose bumps.
“You think I’m your prisoner do you? I’ve merely stayed here because it’s an interesting distraction. I can leave anytime I want to.”
Paul shook his head, “I can assure you there is no way out of here, not for you.”
“Do you think this is the first time one of your kind has caught one of mine? It’s rare but it does happen, less so these days now that you’ve done away with angry mobs. We get arrested every now and then, sometimes we get away immediately, other times we wait. It’s not like we are in any rush to escape, unlike your kind ours has plenty of time. Speaking of time, I feel that I should be going. I no longer find this amusing.” Sarah stood, her cuffs clanking against the table as she did so, Paul stood, unsure of what she was going to try. Sarah held out her hands, “Now. Uncuff me.” Paul laughed, “No, of course I won’t. Did you really expect that to work?” Sarah smiled, her grin was bright and her eyes shone with madness, “I was expecting exactly that.”

Sarah stepped outside of the police station, she breathed the fresh air deeply, the room they had kept her in was not only small but stuffy. Sarah started walking, there was no rush, besides she was quite full after her last meal, it had been a long time since she had eaten more than one human in a sitting. It reminded her of her early days, when she would travel the world descending on small villages, consuming everything and everyone because who knew when the next meal would stumble into her path. Not like these days, where food was astoundingly abundant. She had lived as Sarah Goodchild for long enough, now was the time for a new name, and a new face. She had gotten a little sloppy, she had allowed herself to relax too much and she wouldn’t make that mistake again. There were only ten or eleven bodies buried around her property, those who she couldn’t finish, or those whose meat had been tainted. In a few weeks people would start to forget, it would just become one of those things that nobody talked about until eventually it would be like it had never happened.

About Alan James Keogh

I am a 26 year old writer who somehow tricked U.C.D. into giving me not only a degree in English and Classical studies, but an Hons Masters in Creative Writing too. Visit my blog where I post short stories twice a week (Monday and Wednesday) and an installment of a serialised novel on Fridays. I did consider writing this in the third person, as though it was written by someone else, but Alan is not comfortable writing in the third person as it seems kinda creepy and unbalanced so Alan decided it was probably best to write in the first person. He hopes it went well for him.
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