A female serial killer is an elusive and rare creature.
Or so they say..... Psychopath. We hear the word and images of Bernardo, Manson and Dahmer pop into our heads; no doubt Ted Bundy too. But they're the bottom of the barrel. The most heinous serial killers are never even known to exist. They're outgoing and persuasive, dazzling you with charm and flattery. Often you aren't even aware they have completely fooled you or that they really mean nothing they say.
Think you can spot one? Think again. Psychopaths aren't the product of broken homes or the casualties of a materialistic society. Rather they come from all walks of life and there is little evidence that their upbringing affects them.
My name is Samantha Matthews. This is a story of my past and present, a horror to those that call themselves "normal". I am not your average woman. I am a psychopath, a serial killer, a woman with no constraints of morals.
I grew up in a normal home with loving parents, good schooling, and friends galore. Yet, I was always alone, empty of emotion that was suppose to keep me in line out of moral decency. I knew I was different and I understood why.
I do not have a conscience, none at all, no feelings of guilt or remorse no matter what I did. Unlike "normal" people I had no sense of concern for the others nor felt love for others. Emotions seemed to be a burden to those around me and a hassle to pretend but necessary.
I learned the ability to conceal from other people that I was radically different from everyone else. Since everyone simply assumed that I was a good person from a good home it was almost effortless to fake the emotions necessary to fool the masses.
I am free to do as I please, with no pangs of conscience. I have a strange advantage over those that are kept in line by their conscious and I doubt I will ever be discovered by any except those that are like myself.
As a teenager, I found it entertaining to be the cause of strife in school. False rumors spread like wildfire among the gossip hungry teens. High school lives damaged with one simple sentence. I felt no pity for them. Even though I was the popular pretty girl, surrounded by adoring fans and sex hungry boys, they disgusted me with their beliefs of trying to "do right" and "be good" and fair and honest. This is where I began to master my charm, deceitfulness and manipulation. Rather useful things to get what you want, whether it be money and power to simply toying with someone's conscious.
The first time blood flowed over my hands, my first kill, was barely a year after I graduated. Attacked from behind and forcibly thrown against the wall of an alley near my college, I was instantly worried that I may lose my life. When I felt the hand squeeze my ass and a voice whisper in my ear to be quiet, I realized what he truly wanted and began to fight back. Anger rose like a snake ready to bite its prey. I elbowed him which caused the bastard to step back. A nearby pipe caught my attention and the fight continued. Strength was not my strong suit but wits was. In moments the pipe connected with the skull with a sickening crunch and the man collapsed. The rage that filled me kept going, striking the man over and over in the dimness of the alleyway. Blood splattered my face and hands, warming the cool skin. It was somehow exhilarating and I kept hitting the bastard as hard as I could. The rage and stress that had built disappeared slowly with each blood splattering blow. The sounds of crushing bone and wet thuds filled the air and only after some time did I seem to remember where I was. It was almost like I was in a trance of some sort but it caused me to feel something. Power. Control. I wanted to do it again. The man that lay on the ground was no longer a man visibly just a huddled mass of blood and brains. Within moments, I was cleaning up the scene of any evidence that I may have left behind in my brutal release upon the stranger.
It was this that caused the beginning of the fantasies. Vivid fantasies, meticulously planning out every way in which murders could take place. I began to study about ways in which I could dispose of victims without getting caught, clean up crime scenes to leave no trace of myself behind nor any evidence that could possibly lead back to me. I worked this knowledge into my fantasies and rehearsed them over and over again in my mind. Forming the perfect crime.
At first my fantasies did not revolve around one particular victim, it was a faceless victim. This was also when I realized that my violent thoughts and actions are another thing to set me apart from the "normal" and even not so normal people. I had begun to change. I began to think of individuals that I could kill with no link to me that would be hardly investigated. It took a matter of seconds before one word came to my mind. Criminals. It was simple really. No one cares what happens if a rapist, murderer, child molester, gangster, drug dealer or any other miscreant disappears. These would be the people that I kill throughout my time.
My next victim was someone in my college. A frat boy known by many as a rapist but those with prestige get away with so much. Truly, he was a psychopath just like me although a very clumsy one, a disgrace to the title. My plan went into effect. I wanted to try out something a little different than my first kill. He was an easy man to seduce, flaunt a little skin and the man was drooling all over me. I lured him away from the club and got him to a secluded place in the alleyway, I let him touch and caress where he wanted while I pulled a syringe from my bag. I slid the needle into his neck and the man became paralyzed. Fear took over his eyes as he realized the gravity of the situation through his drunken haze. I drug him to a dark spot in the alley and began stabbing him over and over in the chest, all the while watching his eyes as the life fled from him onto my hands, once again warming the skin. No trance like state this time, no exhilaration like the last. It wasn't quite the same but it was still gratifying. The ultimate control, taking the life of someone else.
This continued for about six years, I am now 25 years old and have killed over 20 people and all of them in a glorious bloody way. I work as a reporter for a very well known newspaper called The New Tribune. It's my source of the worst of the worst offenders. A wonderful pool of victims to bleed the life from. I am now working on a piece about a recently released child molester that was said to be freed due to jury tampering. I will be finding evidence on him to make him pay for his crimes. Although his punishment will be my way.
Samantha was walking through the dark streets of a middle class area. The houses were a safe distance from one another without being overly far from each other either. She left her car some distance away to make sure that no one knew she was around. Her grey eyes scanned the houses for the address that she had memorized before getting here. Her eyes landed on a woman nearby and a smirk turned her lips upwards.
This is a much better prize. The woman who got away with murdering her child despite the evidence against her, circumstantial or not. Bethany Cortez. She moved from the street into a nearby yard of a darkened house.
I can't let her see me just yet. She moved to the side of the house and watched Bethany. It seemed like she was looking for something. Samantha moved farther into the shadows to make sure she wasn't seen by anyone that could be looking outside their windows. Something caught her eye.
Huh? With a turn of her head she could see that something was covering the window that obscured what was inside. Her curiosity was peaked.
Now I must see what all this is about. Samantha moved to the back door of the house and slipped her black driving gloves on. She tested the door but was met with disapointment.
Damn! Locked! She rummaged through the small purse that hung at her hip and produced some tools and begin to work at the lock on the door. In a few moments an audible click was heard as well as a sigh from the lips of Samantha.
Perfect. She slipped inside, silently making her way toward the room she saw earlier. Plastic sheeting covered the doorframe which caused her curiosity to rise even higher. She moved the sheet and was quite surprised to see that every single thing was covered in plastic. Not only the walls and floor but the furniture and knick knacks as well. A chair, also covered in plastic, was in the center of the room. It was creepy in wonderful sort of way.
Change of plans. Time to lure Bethany here. She ran out the back door and stuck to the shadows as she headed to the front of the house again. It took her only a second to find Bethany.
She looks completely lost. Samantha settled herself in the bushes right by the street, with the needle that had become part of her kit, as Bethany made her way toward Samantha's hiding spot. Samantha kept herself hidden as much as possible so no one could possibly recognize her or pick her out of a line up. She rarely changed her plans but this seemed too perfect an opportunity. As soon as Bethany came within arm's reach Samantha made her move. An arm shot out of the bush and pushed the needle into the woman's leg and shoving the plunger down, sending the liquid into the body.
Bethany looked up from her phone, wincing, "Ow!" She stopped walking and bent to grasp at the injection sight.
Samantha took this opportunity and came out of hiding to grab the woman. The meds began to take effect but were slower than normal due to the injection sight being so far from the rest of the body. The woman began to sway just as Samantha came up to her. "It's alright I got you.", she whispered comfortably as the paralytic took full effect. She quickly pulled the woman into the darkened yard and toward the back of the house.
Everything is going smoothly. This is perfect. The anticipation was climbing in Samantha as she dragged the limp body into the plastic covered room. She dropped the woman unceremoniously on the ground and took a breath and looked over the tools that lay on a small table near the chair.
This is all a gift. A wonderful gift. She hoisted the dead weight of the woman into the chair and quickly strapped her down.
This has to be the set up of someone else just like myself. I have to be quick. No messing about. She grabbed a scalpel and a mischievious smile danced across her lips.
Why didn't I ever think of this? She stepped next to the woman and leaned down to meet her face to face. Bethany's eyes were filled with fear, probably just like her child when she murdered her.
What a pathetic woman. "I am sure you know why you are here. This is punishment for your sins. For the murder of that innocent child.", she whispered slowly to the woman, emphasizing every word.
Samantha moved the scalpel along the woman's face, not cutting through skin but scraping it so that Bethany could feel the sharpness of the tool she was about to use. She moved the scalpel to the woman's collarbone and barely cut into her skin, watching the crimson life essence flow from the wound slowly. A smile stayed on her lips as she moved about the various parts of the woman's exposed skin. Slicing and cutting in random spots, lengths and depths. She enjoyed watching the blood form and fall from every knick and cut. Samantha quickly ran out of space on the woman and cut off her shirt, exposing the woman's chest and stomach. She looked at Bethany and saw the pain and fear that flooded her eyes, causing her to laugh, "Now you know what your daughter must have felt."
Samantha set down the scalpel on the table and grabbed a larger knife. She ran her gloved fingers over the sharp edge with a wicked gleam in her eye. This was her favorite part. The dying breath and the large amount of warm blood. She pointed the blade at the woman's chest, just to the side of the woman's heart, before speaking seriously, "This is your punishment for all the evil you have done." She pushed the blade slowly into the skin and between the ribs. Slow agaonizing pain was the best form of punishment. The woman's eyes were wide as the blade disappeared into the woman. With one final push, she shoved it into the woman's heart causing the worst pain ever. She withdrew the knife and sent it home one more time, causing the blood to splash on her hands and arms. The warmth was invigorating. She quickly grabbed a vial from her bag and filled it with the warm blood that flowed from the huge wound. She set the knife back on the table, happy that she had left her gloves on.
No fingerprints... She looked around the floor and on the body to see if she could see anything else that could identify her. After a few minutes she was content. She shook the excess blood off her hands and looked at her work for a moment before she heard a noise from outside.
Damn! Can't even enjoy my work.... Time to go. Samantha moved through the house towards the back door when she heard a hand on the knob.
Just my luck... She hurried to where she thought the front door might be at. She had to get out quick. She located it pretty easy and unlocked it quietly. She slipped out without a sound.
I wonder how the person will react when they see what I left them... Curiosity got the better of her once again. She kept to the shadows and headed to the window that originally got her attention. She knelt underneath the windowsill, head cocked upwards to the window.
Don't underestimate a dangerous woman. And don't judge by appearances;
evil can be pleasant and pretty on the outside.
Just like poisoned candy.
