Jeff snuck behind the hedges, being careful not to get in the line of sight of the security cameras concealed in the cherub statues. He made his way closer and closer to the light blue house.
He had been targeting the MacGregor family for seven days now. He had been through this garden many, many times before. He had climbed the tree next to the house and peered into the windows late at night, watching them as they slept. Eavesdropping on them when they thought they were alone. There were four of them. A mother, a father, a young girl, and a baby. Gladys, Tory, Medea, and Angel. Or maybe it was Angela. He swore he distinctly heard an "Angela" once. Well, it didn't matter. They would soon die anyway.
He would have snuck into the house and killed them long ago, but there was a problem. That goddamn cockatoo. Jeff swore, whenever he so much as TOUCHED a goddamn windowsill, that feathered freak would shriek its head off and wake everybody up. He knew from owning a budgie as a kid that birds are sensitive to drafts, but this was ridiculous! For this reason, he decided to try to get around the stupid dustball by entering through the basement and working his way up to the bedrooms.
He made his way down the stone steps and twisted the knob. Just as he had hoped, it was unlocked. He didn't even have to use the key which he had molded earlier. He cautiously stepped in, and closed the door behind him as quietly as he could. It was pitch-black in here, and he'd never really taken a good look at the basement; he'd been concentrating on the bedrooms so far. Jeff had excellent night-vision, but even he couldn't find his way in total darkness. Well, shit. He fished in the pocket of his hoodie, pulled out his Mag-Lite keychain, and turned it on.
On the wall directly in front of him hung various tools, including a large, sharp hatchet. "Looks like leaving my knife behind wasn't such a stupid idea after all," Jeff thought as he took the axe. He walked up the stairs and opened the door. He was now on the ground level. In the kitchen, it looked like.
That's when the sensation came over him. That horrible, familiar, raw, animal craving. The hunger.
No...no! Not now! NOT NOW!!! He dropped the hatchet on the floor and he fell to the ground and his stomach felt like it was on fire. He clutched his abdomen and fought back screams.
Ever since he had "turned", he discovered that the incredible strength he had somehow acquired came at a price. He needed to consume lots of protien to maintain it, and for this reason he always seemed to crave meat. Being a fugitive, meat was hard to come by. He would often steal food or scrounge it from garbage, but he also ate the flesh of his victims. To him, the meat of fellow humans was like ambrosia. Delicious, sweet, and nourishing.
It had been three days since he had eaten last. He needed to get to some meat. And quickly. He couldn't let his hunger mess with his thought processes. Whenever that happened, he got sloppy. The last time, he had come dangerously close to being caught. He dragged himself to the fridge and opened the door.
No! Vegetables...nothing but vegetables! And...soy-based meat substitutes! The MacGregors...were vegetarians! Just his luck. He figured some protein was better than none, so he grabbed a chunk of Tofurky loaf and ate it. Ugh! It tasted horrible. But his stomach was no longer hurting. He stood up, and went back over to retrieve the hatchet. He was still really hungry, but at least he felt better.
He came out of the kitchen and went through the dining and living rooms, and ascended the stairs as silently as he could. Upstairs, he was relieved to see that the damn cockatoo wasn't in the hallway this time. The harsh moonlight from the bay window shone through its empty cage. It seems he had taken this alternate route for nothing. He was still cautious, though. Now, who would he kill first? The baby, or the little girl?
Then he had a thought. Perhaps he would get real meat soon after all. He headed for the baby's room and slowly opened the door. Angela looked just like a Renaissance cherub in her brightly-painted crib, all rosy-cheeked and plump. So delicate, so innocent.
Jeff lurched closer towards the sleeping infant. He grinned, baring a mouthful of long, jagged, sharp, uneven, slightly yellowed teeth. A wicked glint of hunger flashed in his bloodshot eyes. Soon, he would feast on the tender flesh of the baby and his hunger would at last be sated after those three long days of starvation. Then, he could concentrate on slaughtering the rest of the family.
Slavering, he raised the hatchet high over his head. He was so excited that he was shaking. But just as he was ready to slam the axe into Angela's face, a large black beak emerged from under the blankets. Oh NO! It couldn't be!!!....
It was. The cockatoo had been with the baby all this time. It opened its eyes, saw Jeff, and screamed so loud that it was actually painful to listen to. He stumbled backwards, dropped the hatchet on the ground, and covered his ears. The baby woke up and started crying.
What was supposed to be a perfect kill had been messed up by that stupid bird. It had ruined everything. And soon the parents would be here. He could confront them and kill them easily, but he'd seen that the father kept a gun under his pillow and also had a few rifles in his closet. He didn't like it when he got shot. He decided it would be best to leave for now. He opened the window and leapt onto the tree branch. He climbed down the tree and ran away as fast as he could.
Jeff continued to walk down the street. He was still furious that a BIRD, of all things, had stopped the mighty Jeff the Killer. And...the hunger was flaring up again. ARGH! He clutched his stomach. Need...meat...
He then spotted a woman in a heavy coat lying down on a bench, asleep. A shopping cart filled with plastic bags was next to the bench. This was a "bag lady", one of the homeless people. No one would miss her if she were to...dissapear, right? He quietly snuck up on her, and grabbed her. She woke up and screamed, but he knocked her unconscious. He flung her over his shoulder and carried her to his current lair, an abandoned warehouse.
Delia Mayflower awoke to find herself hanging upside-down and naked. Bones littered the ground, and there were piles of clothes in a far corner, including her own. The stench of death was thick in the air. She appeared to be suspended over a huge bucket that was caked with dried blood. The same white-skinned teenager with the horrible face whom she had caught a brief glimpse of before she blacked out approached her. He was holding a huge, sharp knife. The light of the rising sun reflected against it and it almost seemed to glow. Delia struggled, but her hands had been as well-secured with rope as her legs. The boy came closer. She screamed. "Shhhh," he said. "Just go to sleep." The last thing she ever saw was him plunging his knife into her throat.
Jeff wiped blood from his chin with his sleeve, and let out a heavy, satisfied sigh. He was absolutely gorged on flesh. The raging hunger had been sated at last. He rubbed his belly, and considered wether he should dispose of what was left of the woman's corpse yet. Hm...probably later. No one ever came here, and as far as he knew he was in no danger of being followed. Besides, he needed time to digest all this meat.
He flopped onto the pile of clothes, and pulled his hood over his eyes. He didn't even try to fight the rising tide of drowsiness enveloping him; he knew this was what happened whenever he binged like this. The world went dark and he became light-headed as he slipped deep into the void of unconsciousness.
Written by laserpotato/Furbearingbrick.