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 The following story is a purely fictional account.  Any relationship to any
real person living or dead is absolutely coincidental.  The narrative deals
with torture and slaughter of innocent human beings.  The author in no way
condones or promotes such acts.  This is the world of fantasy and fiction
where the hidden corners of the psyche may be explored.  The author
believes that exploring such subject matter in this realm keeps it from
ever needing to be explored, and much less fulfilled, in real life.  There
is violence in all of us.  Otherwise there would be no crime, no war, no
destruction.  We must acknowledge the beast inside of us if we are to tame
it.  To ignore it and repress it is to invoke its appearance in our midst.
   Medicine
   Gotta tell ya.  Killing is the best medicine.  Killing the young, the
helpless, the innocent.  When life is nothing but a goddamn dead end with
no place left.  When everything pretty much sucks.  When the money is
barely enough and food doesn't hit the spot anymore.  When you're getting
older s' fast it becomes visible.  Yeah.  When God's work is at last
completely revealed and you realize its all a great big crock of stinking
shit that's when killing is the best medicine.
   Hell, its the only fucking medicine.
   Why the young, the helpless and the innocent?
   Let me rephrase that.
   I only kill the ones that give me a hard on.  The ones you're not
supposed to fuck legally or the ones that are too good for you, or the ones
that are easy to overpower (except old people.  Don't get no hard on from
old people.) I say you but I mean me.  Well, me and the others out there
reading my messages: you of little imagination who are triggered to all
sorts of obscene delight by the sight of young sluts suffering and dying,
sluts, who need I remind you, would not give you the fucking time of day in
real life.  I've seen the snuff stories written in hack prose that have as
much going on as a WWF fake wrestling match.  Or the stories by that silly-
ass fool who puts celebrities in his little sicko fantasies like Pam
Anderson or Courtney Love or Sarah Jessica Parker or that bitch Anjolie,
whatever her fucking first name is, all fresh, prime cut cunt that wouldn't
even consider thinking about sitting next to you on the last empty seat in
a crowded subway car.  Come on, dudes.  Fantasy is as much a dead end, as
much an illusion, as everything else in this fucked up world.  But, what
the fuck, I'm just like you.  I read the stories anyway. Read em and jerk
off to them and sometimes think about them.  But I go further. And its the
innocent ones, the young ones, the helpless ones, mostly female ones, that
take me there.
   You see, I'm in a bad place.  Bad, showdown at high noon place.  Bad
zombie flesh-eating junkies kinda place.  Come right down to it I'm in the
worst place anyone can be, biblically speaking.  My moral ground, fellas,
is quick sand. Do you get me?  There is not a jury of my peers that would
not sentence me to the ultimate penalty for what I've done and for what I
plan to continue doing without so much as a whiff of a regret.
   But could I help it?  Could I have stopped myself from getting hard and
jerking off to pictures of women tied up in extreme bondage?  Could I have
tried to not feel pleasure at the sight of a woman bleeding from a
whipping, or crying, or striped with welts across her bit pretty tits?  Who
would say I'm not the most evil of persons when nothing makes my pecker
throb like the sight of a little girl hanging by her neck or bleeding from
her precious little twat?  Or a young black pregnant woman with a knife
stuck in her fat bleeding tit?
   But its not always girls and women.  No sir.
   In fact, I have just come inside a young boy.  Mmm, yeah.  The sweetest
little thing...you should see...
   Yeah, he's right there, lying on the floor, a few feet from my desk,
blood and cum leakin' out his butthole.
   I'm looking at him now.
   He's such a perfect young thing.
   I don't regularly go in for boys, not at all.  But this one was so
fucking sweet and tender, and he cried just like a little girl when I hung
him up from the hook in the ceiling and tore into him with my whip.  I used
the special whip on him, the one with the lead fishing weights on the end.
Did I say cried? The little fucker screamed his little head off and pleaded
with me.
   So you see how fucked up things are for me, dontcha?
   I love when they plead and scream.  It makes me harder.  It makes me
angrier. It makes me want to kill them all the more.
   Now, I ask you, did I have a choice when the little fuck climbed the
stone fence in the back in his little Nike sneakers, Adidas black shorts
and red Pokemon t- shirt?  Did I have a choice when I watched him through
the kitchen window sneaking into the big barn out back?  The little fuck
was curious, I guess.  And you know what they say about curiosity.
   But the point is I did not and do not have a real choice.  The demon
that lives in me wanted the little blonde boy.  Wanted him badly.  Knowing
full well it was a bad thing I wanted him for.  A very bad thing.  That's
why I'm in fucked-up city, boys.  Not just because of this boy-toy but
because of all the others like him that got me riled up and are now posters
in the missing persons departments across the country.
   So I went out there in my best hunting outfit, tight jeans, hiking
boots, plaid shirt.
   And was the little shit surprised when he caught sight of me in the barn
door, a coil of rope in my hand.
   He tried to run past me but I tossed the rope aside grabbed him by the
scruff of the neck and punched him in his little belly.  I don't want to
say I'm all that strong but I'm a grown man and I've had a hard life.  I've
done my share of construction work, carrying, loading, busting my ass,
scraping and bowing to men who were half wits.  I put a lot of energy into
that punch and I wouldn't be surprised if the sweet little thing doesn't
puke his fucking gall bladder out soon cause I took him down pretty fierce.
   And while he was still crumpled up there on the ground I kicked him a
few times, probably busted a rib or two.  Then I bent over him and ripped
off his clothes and socks and shoes.
   I like my victims, male or female, buck naked.
   Sometimes I'll take a woman with frilly little underwear and shit,
Frederick's of Hollywood or Victoria's Secret.  I'm just like a regular guy
in that respect.  But, I don't really need the packaging.  The naked human
body, unadorned, fresh and real, just the way God sent it into this world
is all kinds of fine with me.  Some victims that don't even look half-way
decent in clothes look pretty good in their birthday suit.  The color of
flesh, brown, pink, red, yellow, olive, black but specially bleeding always
gets me going.  And as far as boys nothing but naked works for me. Nothing
but sweet bare ass jaybird naked.
   So back to the little boy blue.
   Once I got him nude I strung im up out there in the barn, up off the
ground by his little wrists, his legs wide apart to the wooden support
columns, just at the right height and I unzipped my jeans, took out my
pecker and put it to his tiny little screaming ass.  He screamed something
awful.  All kinds of babbling stuff.  His legs kicked out real pretty, his
bare feet stretching out, toes pointing straight down, hands way up there
grabbing at the air.  Just like most victims.  Cried for his momma when my
ten inch meat started to push into his shit- chute.  Cried for me to stop.
Like there was a chance in hell I would.
   As I said I'm not real partial to boys but, I gotta tell ya, there ain't
nothing like a sweet boy-ass-rape, no sir, I'll swear to that.  Mmmm.  My
cock is still sore and throbbing from fucking that little honey.  I made
sure I tied him up there real tight, not just cause I didn't want him to
get away, but because I like the way rope bites into tender young meat. 
The little fuck was strung up there like a little starfish, all spread out
and crying while ole Poppa Bear grabbed his skinny little hips and put the
old sausage up into his poop hole...right up to my balls.
   Trespass on my property, will ya?  Here's what you get.
   I shoved that meat hard up into blonde babe there.  Gave em a good what
for and more.  Fucked his hot little butt for almost an hour out there
until he was sweatin', slobberin' and hoarse from screaming and snot was
comin' up outta his nose and blood out his asshole drippin' down his leg
and off his toes.  I squeezed his little balls too, just for good measure
while I fucked him.  Squeezed them hard and yanked on em and punched em a
couple of times.
   Then I cut him down and dragged him across the yard by his bound wrists
into the house cause by then he couldn't even walk
   If you're thinking about the neighbors catching sight of something
forget it. The nearest one is a mile and a half down Pineville road.  The
little scumbag picked the wrong place to be curious about.  My house is
real private and real quiet.  Hidden behind oak and pine.  I gotta admit
once in a while I'll take a chance on a screamer out in the barn but I'm
not real comfortable with that and I usually end up bringing them in here
where the walls are soundproof and there's nothing for anyone who might be
noseying around to hear.
   So mainly that's why I brought the little pup in here, and hooked him up
to the ceiling on the chain by his ankles.
   Coulda done im in the barn.  I sure was ready to.  But sometimes it pays
to be cautious.
   I do love the way that chain rattles when its got a live one on it.
   I guess there's not much life in him now but there was when I started.
   Look at him, lyin' there, half dead, bleeding on my floor.  Mmm yeahh.
Its makin' me hard just looking at im.  Not my first choice, exactly, but
hell, I'll take any pleasure that comes my way.
   I hooked him up just like a calf, hauled him up bout four, five feet off
the ground.  Wooh, Lord, its nice to watch em fly upside down.
   And then what?  Is that what you're asking?  Look at you fucks, all
waitin' there droolin', wantin' to know what happenned next after I hung
little bobby boo up by his little wriggling feet.  Little bo peep.
   Well, hell, I already told ya.  I used that lead-tipped whip on im.
   Used it well.  Used it hard.
   Shit, the truth is I stripped m' clothes and boots off and whaled into
the little sonofabitch.
   Ain't nothin' like being naked when you got that whip in your hand...
   The fucking goddamn truth is I hate little motherfuckin' boys and I
hated this one specially.  I made him take my big meat in his little mouth
too, while he hung there bleeding down his pretty little legs from the
first thirty cuts from my lead- tipped lash.  Tore up his sweet little
calves and thighs real good.Ahh yeah, he bled so nice and sucked me so good
when I put a choke grip round his scrawny little bitch neck...Little
innocent blonde fuckmeat, noseying around where he didn't have no business.
Goddamn tempting little angel ass.  I was just sitting here watching TV,
minding my business, not a goddamn killing instinct in me, all mellow and
shit, all relaxed after a long day up at Simon-Freely's Department Store,
dealing with jerks and stupid fucks in the hardware department, wanting to
get their goddamn keys made or needing to know what kinda of fuckin'
sprinkler works best.  Like to cram a sprinkler up their ass sometimes I
would.  Then I see his bare legs comin' up over the fence in the back, pink
and smooth, and his little blonde head, and his pretty little face.  Not
like that MacCauley Caulkin kid in Home Alone, nah.  That kid was a babe
back then but just not my type.  The kinda boy I like needs to look a
little bit like a girl, enough like a girl that I get hard off him.  You
know, full pink lips and pretty eyes with long eyelashes and baby cheeks.
Like a sweet little angel that's lost his wings and fell to earth.  And
this sweetie had that look, all blue-eyed and innocent, like a goddamn
Easter bunny rabbitt.
   Didn't take me but a second to grab the coil of rope and go out back and
get me some boy meat when I first saw him.  Didn't hesitate or second-guess
it at all. Just went right into action.
   So you see why I'm in deep trouble here, guys.  Deep-ass trouble if
you'll forgive the pun.
   Right now my cock is smeared with this little sweetie's shit and blood.
In fact, I'm pretty sure I know him better than his own mama.  After I
whipped him real good and choke-fucked his throat I let him down on the
floor and had another go at him, my big hard joystick way up his tight
little boy butt, as hard and as deep and as cruel as I could make it,
ramming him into the floor, slammin' all my weight into him, until I
emptied my balls deep in his fuckin' guts.
   And now I got the ice-pick in my right hand and I'm a-jerkin' off
thinking of where I'm gonna stick im first.
   See, most of you think right now I have a choice here, free will like
they say in Sunday school.
   I can choose me the right path or the wrong path.  That's how you see
it. That's how the prosecutin' attorney would put it.
   Mr.Woods knows right from wrong.  He's not insane.  He could have chosen
to let the boy live....(the boy and the other five boys and the twenty
teenage girls and the seven young women and the black girl who was the
parking attendant at the public lot downtown.)
   I can let this little honey live, wrap im up nice and cozy in a blanket
and drop im off somewhere and call an ambulance for him even though I think
he's lost a lot of blood already.  Still I think they could save him.
   Sure he'd be fucked up his whole life and a-course he'd tell the police
on me and they'd come a-callin'.  So I would have to leave the old
homestead or give myself up.  Or hell, I could just drive im to the goddamn
hospital myself and turn m' own self in.
   What would you fellas do in my shoes?  You think you would have free
choice?  Free will?
   There he is, the little sweet thing, mewling and moanin' on the floor
not five feet away and there you are, still tired from whipping him until
he was striped red and dark purple, until he was almost passed out from the
pain you caused him.  I mean this was a good whipping.  A great whipping by
any standards although from personal experience an adult female will take a
lot more than this young pissant boy...a whole lot more.  Hell I've torn
whores to shreds with my whip and they were still yelling and carrying on
something awful.  Still it was a pretty intense and enjoyable whipping and
an even nicer fuck.  I would say a very highly-rated little-bleeding-tender
boy-shithole fuck.  Oh yeah.
   So, do you think you could choose to stop the insanity right then, when
your pecker is again as hard as a two-by-four and pulsing like a hydraulic
compressor, hard as a rock again, killing hard, so soon after draining your
cumjuice in the little worm's guts?
   Do you think God in his wisdom gave us the hormones and the chemicals
that would drive us nuts so that at the last fucking minute we would take
it all back and say I'm no killer, save me Jesus, I repent, Satan get thee
behind me, like the phonies in the revival tent, like the preachers on TV,
like goddamn Bobby Graham, telling us to repent we will be saved, to love
each other as Jesus commanded us to do?  Do you think when your cock is
hard for the third time and your balls full for the third time and the
victim waits on you to finish what you started, lies there in mortal terror
of you, in awesome respect and fear of you, do you think then that you will
find that blessed peace and forgiveness in your heart of hearts, that you
will be come truly merciful and human, that you will walk in the valley
with your Shepherd singing psalms of glory?
   I don't fucking think so.
   What you would do is what I'm a-gonna do just as soon as I turn the
computer off.
   You would get up and stand over your little angel, your sharp weapon
gleaming in the last rays of sunlight coming in from the window across the
room. You would kick him over on his back and take a good look at his
suffering and your handiwork while you stroke your cock real slow and easy,
with lots of love for yourself and your wicked desire, with lots of manly
energy and passion and delight, for after all what else is there for you
now that everything else has obviously turned out to be a stinking crock of
shit like I said earlier.
   And he will look up at me, knowin' what's comin', cryin' and yeah, for a
minute I'll be sorry for him, for his momma and daddy and for whatever
other family he might have and how they'll miss him.  They won't hear him
wakin' up in the mornin' and rushing off to school.  They won't watch him
grow up or ask for candy or get a haircut or talk about how Tim Barnes up
the street has Nintendo and why don't he.  They won't know what its like to
feel pride for him when he's in the school play dressed up like Father Time
or Joseph in the Christmas pageant.  He'll be gone and they won't even know
where he is.  They won't ever find him or know what befell him.  And
sometimes when I feel sorry like that for the family of the victim my cock
gets even harder.  I rejoice in my wickedness.  I revel in my savagery.
   How about you?  Yeah, you.  You sick pitiful fools who jerk off to these
inane and repetitive tales of killing and fucking, sex and death...Think
you would get harder and meaner at the thought of that little boy there at
your feet, pleading with his sweet blue eyes as you go down on one knee
beside him?  Think you would do just like I will?  Do you have what it
takes...or are you just dreaming about it?
   Satan says: don't dream it boys.
   Satan says: be his tool, let it happen, let it flow, boys.
   Satan wants you, remember like Uncle Sam in those old World War Two
posters?
   Satan will not get behind us, boys.  He wants to be up front on this
one.
   He'll be with me when I go down on one knee, respectfully, beside my
victim and lift my icepick high.  He'll be right there owning my soul when
I grab the boy's little blonde head to hold him still.  After all, didn't
Abraham do the same with his own flesh and blood...raise the knife high on
God's own altar?  Only I will not be a forgiving God.  No fuckin' way,
Jose. My balls will be full of fresh hot cum when I plunge the pick right
into his warm little cock, ripping it in half, pushing it right through his
scrotum into the floorboards, and then in his round little belly, right
through his little gutsack.  And he will cry out sweet like a woman, boys.
Can you hear that?  Oh dear God its a lovely sound when they scream those
last shrill hopeless screams.  I have recorded some of my victims and
played it back with headphones, their dying voices ringing in my ears, late
at night, while I jerk off out in the garden, naked by the light of the
summer moon.
   And would you have the nerve to stab and stab, again and again, making
him suffer and hurt.  Stab him hard and deep.  Stab his little legs and
thighs that he may never run again his hair blowing in the wind.  Stab his
pretty little feet that will never feel the moist morning grass.  Stab his
arms and shoulders that will never catch a ball or wave at his momma from
the school bus.  And finally, fellas, would you be strong enough, as I know
I will be, to put that icepick in his little heart, then in his throat and
watch him choke to death in his own blood while you lift him up all bloody
on to your upstanding cock as you sit back in the creaking chair to fuck
him again, fuck him senselessly, lovelessly, brutally, inhumanly,bestially,
up his little broken asshole, he facing you, his pretty eyes looking right
into yours, his balls bleedin' on yours, while he dies in your arms, loving
you with his death, a gift of warm life spilling all over you to please
you, to serve your manly destructiveness as you spurt your cum up into him
as you kiss his bloody mouth and watch him die.
   Most people will call it a cowardly act, to kill a young defenseless boy
this way, but we know different, don't we fellas?  We know its a deeply
courageous act. An act of manhood, a test of bravery and defiance, a
challenge for the soul.  Its a chance to stand up to the Creator himself,
isn't it?  and to spit in His face with this cruel, vicious, obscene and
merciless act.
   Right now, little boy blue is starting to cry louder for his momma and
he's making me hotter and harder.  As I say...  what the fuck kinda choice
does a man like me really have?
   Jesus almighty...look at the little sweetie squirm all tied up and
hurt...mmmm.....
   I'll be goddamned if I'm not drooling for it now, fellas.  Positively
drooling...
   I'm gonna have to sign off here.
   Don't expect me to answer no e-mails for a while.
   I'm gonna take my time with this little fuck.
   Mmmm, yeahh...
   ...I'm gonna take my long - sweet - time...'cause like I said before I'm
sick. Real sick.  And killing...you know it...killing's the best fucking
medicine.
   WOODBURN