Growing up, my older sister Janice introduced me to the slasher genre of horror movies, terrifying cinematic nightmares like the Halloween and Nightmare on Elm Street movies. We watched so
many horror movies, the thought of dying at the hands of a serial killer began to haunt my earliest erotic nightmares.
Sadly, Janice mysteriously vanished on January 18, 2013. Then, almost eight years later, just a few weeks ago, on my twenty-second birthday, when a letter, delivered by a courier service, finally solved the mystery. I never honestly imagined I’d fall into the evil clutches of an actual serial killer. Still, as it horrifyingly turns out, my sister Janice was actively looking for one on the night she disappeared.
Gwen, you need to know that a few nights ago, I hacked a private web server on the dark web, one that seems to belong to an actual serial killer, one who’s produced hundreds of deliciously diabolic snuff films. Wearing a face-concealing metal mask, he’s utterly brutal, far beyond anything we’ve seen in those slasher horror films. He stalks, then abducts beautiful women, subjecting them to hours of unspeakable torture before he finally kills them in the most obscenely graphic ways imaginable. Gwen, I’ve arranged for you to receive this letter shortly after your twenty-second birthday, so if you’re reading this, it means I managed to track him down. It also means I’m likely to have become his latest victim. I’ve enclosed a thumb drive with everything I managed to learn about him, plus his webserver’s address and the hidden login I managed to insert into his server. Janice
Using the information on my sister’s thumb drive, I quickly located the serial killer’s website and, using the hidden login, started watching his horrifically gruesome videos. The site contained hundreds of videos, each more horrifying than the last, but none more horrific than the one created on the night of my sister’s disappearance, a video entitled “Bad Things,” the video starring my sister Janice.
Back tracing his server’s encrypted satellite uplink, Janice discovered he was currently located at an abandoned farm about thirty minutes north of Baton Rouge. Chillingly, the final entry in her log, “Leaving in the morning to drive to Baton Rouge, where I hope to meet this serial killer, known to his audience simply as ‘Ghost,’ and I know just what to wear for the occasion.”
The video began with Janice, dressed all in black, wearing a leather corset over a revealing lace mini dress, matching stockings, high heels, and gloves. Ominously she was standing upon a blood-stained floor with her gloved hands gripping the steel restraint frame, smiling at Ghost’s look of surprise, as she explained that she desired to be the victim of his next snuff film.
Janice explained that she wanted anyone who sees this video to know she’s a willing victim. Her final request, that he skip all his usual mutilations and allow her to keep her clothes on until she dies. Then, with a look of eager erotic anticipation on her face, Janice reached up and locked one of the restraints around her right wrist. “I’ve already taken the liberty of switching on the cameras, so why don’t you put on your world-famous mask and simply say, Action.”
As I watched Janice’s video, the Ghost, wearing that scary metal mask, stepped into view and locked my sister’s left wrist in the other restraint before securing an oversized black rubber ball gag deep within her mouth.
What came next came as a surprise. Instead of honoring Janice’s request that she keep her clothes on, Ghost picked up a knife and proceeded to remove her black leather corset by cutting its laces, then ripped off her black lace mini dress, leaving her wearing only her gloves, stockings, and high heels.
Then, ignoring my sister’s gag stifled complaints, he selects a long needle and, using the torch, heated it’s sharp-looking tip until it glowed red-hot before cruelly pushing it through her left nipple and deep into her breast.
“Sadly, for you, as a serial killer, I’ve never seen the point of honoring any of my victim’s last requests.”
Over the following hours, dozens of red-hot needles pierced my sister’s breasts, buttocks, and back. She was repeatedly electro tortured using a cattle prod. Tightening a tourniquet around each of her wrists, Ghost proceeded to remove Janice’s gloved fingers, joint by joint, using a pair of razor-sharp shears.
Positioning that large blood-spattered yellow bucket between Janice’s legs, Ghost picked up a sharp-looking knife. Knowing what was about to happen, I watched in horror as he positioned the tip of the blade just below Janice’s sternum and stabbed that blade deep into her belly.
Briefly pausing to enjoy the look of agonizing torment in my sister’s tear-filled eyes, Ghost savagely pulled the knife downward. The razor-sharp blade effortlessly slicing through Janice’s guts as it opened her belly from her sternum down to her crotch in an obscenely gruesome explosion of blood and gore. Surprisingly, even after being brutally disemboweled, Janice managed to stay conscious for almost three more, horrifying to watch, minutes before she finally finished bleeding out.
I spent the next two months watching all the videos on Ghost’s web server. Over the last few years of his videos, I noticed that the level of physical mutilation had decreased dramatically, unfortunately in favor of far more prolonged torture, with most of his recent videos lasting for up to three hours. The things he did to those women were horrific, almost beyond comprehension.
I was torn, what should I do. Should I call the police or the FBI, or should I do nothing? Was I unsure? And yet, somewhere, deep down, I longed to surrender to that powerful masochistic need to submit, without reservations, to a monster I knew would, without hesitation, brutally torture me to death.
Well, what can I say? After all these years of serial killer erotic nightmares, I contacted him and asked to star in his next snuff film. Ironically, it was eight years to the day he tortured my sister Janice to death. At least tonight, unlike my sister, I don’t have to worry about red-hot needles stabbing deep into my breasts. It turns out that while Ghost has been harvesting breast implants from his victims from the beginning, lately, just before the closing credits, he’s started surgically removing their implants for his collection. I’m sure that the triple D implants I treated myself to on my twenty-first birthday will perk his sadistic interest.
Ironically, it wasn’t until after he finished dumping the last of Gwen’s dismembered corpse into the acid, that the Ghost finally had a moment to read the note she’d left for him in her purse. Shaking his head, it explained why Gwen looked so familiar, sisters, Janice eight years ago and Gwen tonight, both the first and the latest of his willing victims. Smiling as he watched the last of Gwen’s body dissolving in the acid, perhaps after he washed the blood off her implants, he should investigate sisters of his previous victims, willing or not, such an utterly intriguing possibility...