This is part III. It was a little long so I had to cut it into two pieces.

4:11 AM 3/16/1977

I was a juvenile. I couldn't be legally punished as an adult. But that doesn't mean I just left the scene as it was. She lay there, amidst the broken condoms. Blood seeped into the carpeting, flowing from her neck and dripping off my hands. It looked like a rape scene.
She twitched one last time. I grimaced at the gory sight, hiding my eyes like the first time I watched a horror movie as a little kid. I couldn't stand it. I rushed into her bathroom, retrieving the shirt I had left there; the one covered in ashes and spit. Clutching the shirt, I turned on the faucet. I was cautious not to leave any more fingerprints here. The only things I vaguely remembered touching with my bare hands were the knife, the door handles and the girl's throat. Blood streamed from her neck, so that was no problem. I laid the knife in the sink, and let the water flush it out. I left the water running. That fingerprint was taken care of.
I put some soap and water on my shirt. I drained it out, careful not to let any drip. I went through the house, cleaning off every door handle. I felt as if I was a maid for some millionaire who was picky about door handles. What a bad analogy. I tucked the shirt in my jean's pocket. I went back into the bathroom one last time, and washed my face. I stared into the mirror. What I saw disgusted me. Ashes had burned me on my cheek, leaving me with a scattered pattern of little red dots. Blood was dry on my chin, so I quickly scraped it off. No evidence showed that I was ever here. The picture rested in my side pocket, my shirt in the back. The butcher knife was all that could possibly tie me here. If somehow that could be tied to me, I would be in deep trouble.
I walked up to the front door with the knife in my hand. Blood was still caked onto it. For some reason the blood was too stubborn to come off, like a tick buried deep into the skin, sucking away. The sun was just beginning to rise. I glanced around before heading out, sticking my head out of the door frame like a gopher peeking out of his hole. All clear.
I was out of the door before I saw the dog sitting on lawn. I nearly soiled my pants, thinking it was a little boy standing there, but instead it was a shaggy haired dog. It was soaked, and for some reason I got the feeling of foreboding. This dog was different from all others I had encountered. "Scram!" I shouted. Best to shoot and then ask questions later. But, the dog didn't budge. I closed the front door, and quickly got into my car. I didn't even realize that the knife was so visible until I saw my reflection in the car's driver side window. I quickly wrapped the knife up in my shirt, and got into the car.
It rumbled once and then twice, and started. Thank goodness. I started to back out when I looked into the passenger seat. Horror took hold of me as I saw the decapitated head of the girl. I froze. That couldn't be there... I didn't cut her head off... I glanced back towards the house, making sure nobody was there. I turned back. It was gone. No head lay there, but instead a picture. It was the same Polaroid as before, but another note was on the back. "We know what you did." The bottom was signed J.D.
My best friend (or former best friend). He signed everything he had J.D., apparently even notes about murder. How could he know? He had left at least 4 hours ago. My mind raced, and I began to panic. All that preparation was for nothing if they leaked it to the cops. My mind scanned for a way out, like a mouse racing through a maze of cats, trying to find the one way out. I screamed inside the car. This ruined everything. My life was over.
I revved the engine. The tires screeched like the bats that had haunted my childhood nightmares. I sped out of the driveway and onto the road. I had to get to the highway. I drove for miles, but I knew exactly where I was going. I exited the highway and drove out into the countryside. I took a left onto a small, secluded, one-way street. I parked my car in an empty space beside the road, and got out. I would have to walk a little ways, but it was better than giving myself away. The scene was dreary, right after a hard rain. The sun would not show it's face. I started to walk, and then an idea struck me. I turned back, and got back into my car. I fished inside the dashboard, and after rattling several random items, I pulled out exactly what I was looking for: Leather gloves. They were the ones I kept for a rainy day, when I would need them. And funny, it started to drizzle again. I unwrapped the butcher knife.
I walked the three blocks to the house, and I began to look inside. No neighbors, and nobody around for at least a mile. This house was secluded, a perfect place for a marijuana junkie like J.D. to live. His parents were also away, off on a church trip; the same that my ex-girlfriend's parents were off on. My heart began to hurt as I thought about what they would do when they got home... Suicide, homicide, and grief were the things that shot to mind... Too late now.
I peeked into one window. Nobody sat in the living room as far as I could see. I angled it differently, and was shocked to see a guy standing not 3 meters away from the window, peering into the fridge. The ideas popped into my head. I decided on one, and then rang the doorbell. Satisfyingly, the guy opened the door. I could tell he was high from the expression on his face. I crouched behind a bush beside the door, and waited for him to check around. Sure enough, he walked around towards the bush.
Sweat dripped off of the butcher knife; my hand was numb from gripping it so hard. The kid was about 19, judging from his size. His eyes were dilated and puffy, his face bore the expression of an incredible high. I recognized the kid, he went to my school and graduated last year. He was at the party. He walked past me, and I made my move. I tackled him, and got him down to the ground. I punched him in the jaw twice. He struggled to push me off, but my knees were planted, each holding down one of his arms. I thought it best to save the knife, so I raised my elbow, and with a satisfying crack, hit the kid in the temple. He had been one of the ones to burn my shirt with the ashes. Blood from his temple oozed onto my elbow. He began to spasm, and I quickly jumped off, suppressing the gag reflex. I calmed myself down. Then after a few seconds, I whipped out the shirt and wiped my elbow off, and proceeded inside.
I saw two guys sitting in the living room. They were concealed by a wall from the point I looked into from the window. I was in the kitchen now, and from the looks of what was on the T.V. these two guys weren't too concerned with their buddy that I just dispatched. The depictions of multiple nude women on the big screen T.V. were quite erotic. It was a lesbian flick, the kind that me and my friends used to be "into". I picked up the nearest thing to me: a frying pan. With a sharp whistle like that of an old steam engine train, I crouched behind the refrigerator. "Dude... I'm stoned. You go see what Chamberlain wants..." One said to the other. The other responded with a quick "rightey-ho!". I knew it was Cameron, one of my good friends; he was one of the three my ex was boning. His response to anything was "rightey-ho!". I closed my eyes and prayed that he would just run out the door and into the woods. But I knew what I had to do.
He pranced into the kitchen, right past me. He whistled a short tune, the one that played on the local ice-cream truck. He saw the open door and headed right for it, not even looking around first. I stood, and raised the pan high. With one good clock to the head, he was out. But, I knew that wasn't enough. I had to finish the job. I was reluctant to kill him, but as I closed my eyes and remembered the note, the rage started to come back. I slammed the pan into the back of his head; it sounded like someone cracking their knuckles. Again. Again.
Last edited by Greenguy32123 at Mar 18, 2007,
I couldn't take it. Dropping the pan, I went over to the sink and puked. I looked back to the pan. It looked as if someone had made scrambled eggs with ketchup on top, and poured it all over Cameron's head. I puked again. I ran the water to flush the vomit out. My stomach was empty and it ached. I couldn't stop now though. I was in too deep. I had to finish the job. I headed into the living room silently. Surprisingly, I didn't personally know the teenager sitting on the couch watching the T.V. He was just known around high school as a junkie. He stared intently at the graphic images of girl on girl action. I had seen this movie before. It was one of the group's most talked about thing. Shots of breasts and other female parts flashed across the screen. The girls were quite attractive. But the kid turned his head and saw me. "What the... Hey dude who are you? You came to smoke some reefer?" What a shame. All the rumors about him were obviously true. He smiled at me like I was his friend. He was another one from the party. "Hey wait man... Don't I know you from somewhere? Ha..." I smiled, and walked over. "Whatever..." He said, and turned back to the girls. He made some grunting noises as the girls did more kinky things.
Nothing was near me that I could use to easily get rid of the kid. I scanned around as he made some stupid comments about the video. The only thing was the remote. That was ludicrous. But short for time, I picked it up and walked around in front of the kid. He looked around me, and I slammed the remote into his neck. He flopped over and shouted, clutching his neck. I struck again, this time in the face. It broke his nose, but he was still conscious. I clutched half a remote in my hand; pieces lie everywhere. It wasn't enough to do any damage, so I chucked it aside. Clutching the kid, I hoisted him to his feet. I kneed him in the stomach to get his legs to go limp. Holding him in my hands like an action figure, I rammed his head into the T.V. Sparks flew like stars being scattered across a dark sky, and I felt a slight shock before releasing the kid. His neck was cut up from the glass screen. Another dead kid. Two more parents that would die inside. I was starting to feel soulless.
I headed up the stairs to where J.D. most likely was. I walked down a hall towards his room. I picked up a lamp post and snapped off the light. At the other end there was a sharp point. It was like a spear. How convenient. So, I creeped up to the room. I kicked down the door with a bang. Ready to strike, I looked in.
Nobody was inside. Instead, there, on the seat, laid 5 polaroids. Each depicted the dead bodies of the 4 people I had killed. My mouth dropped open as I flipped through them. The shots were angled as if the camera was right in front of me. How could someone take a picture of me killing that junkie and running it up here that fast? I flipped through the rest until I saw one more, overturned, face down in the seat. I flipped it over. It showed a picture of myself, clutching a Polaroid in my hand, standing in front of a seat in someone else's room. I was looking at a picture of myself. There was a shadow thrown across the floor. I saw a pair of eyes in a dark corner.
Behind me was someone clutching a butcher knife.

5:33 A.M. 3/16/1994

I rushed upstairs. I just saw the teenage version on myself run up. He was about to kill my old high school buddy, J.D. He carried the same spiked pole as I had the first time I murdered all of my friends. There he was. But wait... Where was J.D.? Instead, there sat a chair, with polaroids on top. This wasn't what happened before. What the hell?
Shit! I watched silently as someone came out from another door on the hall, clutching a knife. Who was that? He was right on top of the other me, and was about to hack him in the neck. "Duck!" I shouted. The person carrying the knife glanced back in my direction. All I could see on his dark face were his eyes. They looked right through me. As he turned his head back, the teenage version of me dropped to the ground and swept the feet under the dark faced one. He shot upright, and then raised the pole. With a smack, he whopped the butcher knife-wielding person. He coughed up blood, but then swung the knife. I closed my eyes. I reopened them.
The sharp end of the pole was stuck through the hand. Blood splattered out, resembling a watermelon exploding from a shotgun's shot. The teenage me let go of the pole, and with one quick kick, cracked the dark-one's neck. His eyes drifted softly up to me. I looked him in the eyes.
And then a gun fired. I saw myself's head explode like a volcano erupting horizontally. My lip began to tremble.