Don't scream, or call out, I'm just here for a chat. As far as you're concerned, I'm just the product of a heavy mind. I'm not real, you can think, and I can't hurt you, not in the safe embrace of your bed. Like any respectable man of my standing, I decided we should have a talk.
For you to understand anything that I'm about two say you'll need to know two very simple things, that come with heavy explanations. I know you saw it, but I'm not a murderer. If anything, by your own definitions, I am just a butcher. Every day I come into work, I do my job, I console families and help solve crimes, before going home to my family. Never have I hurt any bother, sister or child of my kind with my two hands, and I've never had any intentions to. This isn't a confession of guilt, as I'm not guilty of anything. Why I do what I do is just for support; I'm a single father, caring for my decides sisters child, my niece, and I struggle with the bills. I'm not admitting defeat, and I'm not going to give into anyone's the chance to take from me the little I have. In short, I'm not letting you take away what I have.
I left my home in Russia with my siblings as soon as I finished the american equivalent of med school. We had lost everything we just wanted a better life. Yet now I am the last person alive in my families generation, and still I find myself on tiptoes in rising water. Ever since I was a child, I wanted to be a doctor, I wanted to help the sick and wounded, I wanted to be a hero. Though I had a job I loved, doing something I always dreamed of, I couldn't do it. I was smart, I knew what to do and how to do it but the 'difference' between us made it hard, so unbearably hard. The final straw that broke the camels back came in the form of my brothers diagnosis. I tried to save him, I honestly did. Ever day, in whatever free time I'd have, I'd work to get enough money to pay for his medication, or attempt to find someone who could do what I couldn't. I guess I just missed the signs of my sisters impending suscide. She couldn't handle watching her twin die, and even with her baby, she was unable to cling to any reason to keep herself in the living realm. When my brother died, she took all my sleeping medicament, and drowned herself in her own mind before passing in my arms in the early hours of the day.
That spring I left my job and moved as far away from that place I called 'home' as I could. With all my power I tried to stay the same, but I just continued to feel less. As stupid as I believed I sounded, people started to notice my lack of soul, so to speak. I started to become less patient with people in my care, I'd catch myself becoming aggressive, I grew more hungry by the day. I quit my job as a doctor, only to stay in the medical proficient as a mortician. I got job, a semi acceptable apartment with thick walls to block out the loathsome noises of the world and I was finally able to take my Niece into my full care. Yet, I still couldn't find happiness.
For you to understand me, I am what you call a freak. I wear the skin and face of any other man, yet I'm not what anyone would call human if they rearly knew me. Getting food was so much easer at the morgue. People didn't rearly check if bits of bodies went missing. The unclaimed remains where often just incinerated, but I didn't always burn everything.
But that's where you come in. You saw to much. Most people give me space, they know where they shouldn't be. They have sick minds, blind eyes, but you, you're different. I saw it in your face the first time we met, when you came in for identification. You where the one who made my complexion crack. I know you saw yourself in me, and that's why you continued to stay and tried to get into my head. Honestly, I don't know why, but you wanted to know.
Now, I'm not a violent man, I'd never hurt one of my own, and generally I like to be kind to animals like you. See, I don't want to butcher something that might be missed. I'm willing to let you go, I'm willing to just allow you to fall back asleep and act as if this was a bad dream, but something about you makes me wonder if I can trust you're morals. What is to stop you from telling? Sure, people may not believe you but they might, and even still you'll probably be awarded with a warrant on my home. It seems these days it's against the law to have a healthily staked pantry. No, I need security. I want to know your dirty secrets, I want to black mail you. I want you to run in fear of my actions, and for me to maintain my happy little game. Sadly, I know you won't tell me anything, but I've been wondering around your house for a while now. I question if you have morals at all, why would you sell me out when I could sell you out?
We both know my work interest, and we both know about that body. I honestly don't care about the proper carriage of justice, I just want to get payed. I'm willing not to let anyone important know about the photos. Sure, you can lie your way our of kidnap, rape, murder, but how long can you do it for? There's already a lot of evidence here, and I can always make more come to light.
Your kind sickens me, the way you stalk the living and do unspeakable things to something you share blood with? Who was she to you anyway? A sibling, a cousin, a daughter or was she just a stranger? Did you rearly just think you could go unnoticed if you pick someone up off the street and snuff out their lives?
Let's make a deal, shall we. You never tell another living soul about what I put in my daughters lunch box, or serve up at the dinner table, and I won't tell anything about the crimes you committed. As long as you keep your mouth shut, I'll keep my eyes averted. But know this, pig, if I ever see you again, poking your nose where it doesn't belong, I won't hesitate to stock the freezer with your flesh. I'll follow you home, and I won't be as kind as to kill you as you dreams as I have thought before you. I'll make you know I'm here, I'll make you cry and I'll make you hurt. I'll break every finger in your hand, and grind what's left of your hooves into mince; I'll gut you alive, and let you die with a view of your own fat and stolen stomach. Challenge me again, enter my territory again, and their will be all hell to pay. No one will ever find you, no one will ever miss you, after they learn of your perverted body, and no one's going to come looking for you.
I've wasted enough of my time with you. I'll expect you'll not learn from my little threat to not bother me again, but still, I feel as if you won't have enough gusto to sell me out. Still, I wish you a good sleep and a well rested night, just don't let the monster bite.