The Night Hunter

I am called the night hunter. At least that is what the people are calling me. I have been ‘hunting ‘for several years now. They are nowhere near catching me. They never will. I am called the night hunter for just that reason; I am so good at hunting and evasion I could hunt the night itself. If I wanted to that is. But why would I hunt the thing that has offered me so much? It has allowed me to use my ‘gift’ to my full potential.

I talk to myself quite a lot. I don’t think it is strange. When you lead such a lonely life as I do you need to do something to protect your sanity. Although some would say that I lost mine years ago, I am in actual fact very sane. I just like killing.

I took my first life aged seven. I borrowed my father’s air rifle and shot a bird. It was a great shot, hit the bird straight in the head and ever since that moment when I saw the birds bleeding wound I was hooked. Now I am twenty four, still alone but none the less enjoying life. I have never felt the need for company. By day I am Peter Marke, the most successful stock broker this city has ever seen. But by night it is a different story. Ever night I get home and watch television until it gets dark. That is when the transformation takes place. I change into my darkest cloths, head out of my flat and enter the lonely city.

I have been able to climb since as long as I can remember. Now, after years of practice, I am able to climb the cities buildings. They are not large, so I can climb them very easily. And it is from this rooftop position I make my way around town to spot my next victim.

Despite what people say, I do not just kill women. I have killed many men before, but it just so happens that women are usually the only ones out alone at around midnight. I have to select a victim carefully. They need to be in the right position, the right place. They can’t be too near to any police station, or any place that is awake.

I slip out of my window as ever. I can’t go out every night, but I haven’t been on a kill for days. Climbing up my own building is not difficult. I am soon at the top, admiring the cityscape. And then I run. Most of the houses are terraced, so it is easy to get from part of the city to another. When the houses end, I jump, and then silently as a mouse, land on another. Silence is the key here. I can’t make any noise.

I travel for about fifteen minutes before I see an ideal target. I can see from a distance that she is a woman, aged about twenty with long blonde hair. She is wrapped in a duffle coat to keep out the winter chill. She is walking briskly, as if anxious to get home. As she should be. The dark streets are no place for a young girl.

I follow her, gradually getting closer to her. She is still walking briskly, but I can easily make up the lost ground. She goes down an ally, trying to cut through to some sort of park, but it is a long alley. She won’t see the end of it.

I drop down effortlessly, like a shadow. She senses nothing and carries on walking. I follow silently, keeping in time with her footsteps. I draw closer. I can see the definition in her back, the material of her coat swaying in the wind. I pull out my knife from my trouser pocket.

I don’t kill because I don’t like the person. I do it because I like the power, the feeling of absolute domination over someone. There is nothing like it on this earth.

This girl was no different than the rest. I quickened my step, knife outstretched, and before she had time to turn around, I placed the knife in front of her neck. I am sure she would have uttered out a scream, except her brain didn’t have time to vocalise the terror she must have felt.

I wiped my knife of the blood. It smelt fresh, pure. Letting her body drop to the ground, her designer coat now stained crimson in the pale light of the street. I admired her for a few minutes. She had been beautiful. Way beyond my league.

I climbed back up the buildings, and ran to a safe spot. This is something I always did after a killing. I found a safe place on top of a building and waited. It didn’t take long for what I was waiting for. The police in this city patrol regularly. Far more often since I have been at work here.

I could hear the long, shrill noise of the policeman’s whistle, followed by a long cry for help. The policeman’s words echoed around the streets:

"Night Hunter! You spawn of Satan! You will be hung and burned for this! Hell waits for you, devil!"

Ah. Satisfactory. I always wait for something like that. It is what makes the whole thing worth while.

I run back to my flat atop of the roofs, satisfied with a good nights work. With the moon sinking in the sky behind me and the sun just beginning to rise, the whole sky was illuminated a ruddy crimson. Quite apt really; it was the shade of blood.

END