Bad Feelings

There’s something dark out there, something terrifying. Granite could feel the monster at the edges of his perceptions. But the reality of it all was there were no monsters, not in the traditional since. True monsters were fables, possibly based on horrific events, but born of the imagination. They were fictitious, without real substance. The monster Granite felt was not one of these. It was real, though it was human.

This human, however, was not natural. It survived on pain and torture, not of itself, but of others. It feasted upon suffering. It reached euphoria through killing. And from what Granite could tell upon first observation, this monster was good at killing. So good, in fact, a background in surgery might be something he'd look into tomorrow. Maybe it would give him his first list of suspects, though he doubted any of them would pan out. And all the while the real killer would laugh from behind the scenes as he watched Granite fumble for clues. This much Granite knew.

But what to call this...thing, he wondered. Unfortunately, Granite didn't have the chance to give this creature a name, though the press had, which unset the balance even more because Granite knew this human monster was going to thrive on this notoriety. It was going to feast on the publicity making it hunt victims in a rushed way in order not to lose the media’s attention. The worse part of it, Granite knew, was this person would garner copycat crimes which would only hinder the investigation further, his investigation.

But that was the nature of the beast.

So, against the media’s will, Granite didn't refer to this creature, this haunter of the night, this macabre machine of death, by the name the media had given it – The Symbolic Slayer. Even the thought of the name made him mind roll in absurdity had it not been for the seriousness of the crime. Instead, he just labeled the man a murderer, a killer, though sooner rather than later the word serial would be added. Just how soon it was coming, he didn't know, but he suspected it wouldn't take long. That he was sure of, though he kept these thoughts to himself.

On the other hand, he wanted to strangle whoever had come up with this label no matter how appropriate it appeared. And whoever the killer was, he’d created a ghastly sight using the victim’s body parts and blood to create some sort of demonic symbol and grisly totem. Even now, miles away and long devoid of its visage, the scene scratched at the back of him mind like an infection as he wondered who was next and what would be the tie between the victims. Only then could Granite start to narrow down who the murderer could be, but if the man took this much pride in his work then he was sure to be careful as not to leave an easy trail. However, whoever did this did so with a purpose and as vague as it may be it’d eventually cause him to be captured. The only question was how many victims would lose their lives before those tiny interlocking pieces formed the right picture leading him to the mastermind behind it all.

That would be his test, his moment, because he doubted anyone else in his department had the systematically logical, intensely detailed, and patient mind like he had. That was the true reason he was called Granite, for his rock-steady nature, though few remembered that part of him. They only saw his size and stern face before forming their mistaken opinion of him and the source of his nickname. He knew, however, this case was going to test his very core, his inner self, and he couldn't, wouldn't, fail at the prospect.

But who would do this? What kind of person tortures someone for pleasure? What does it take to chop someone up out of joy?