The title of this creepy serial killer story is an ode to the disturbing short story “A Good Man is Hard to Find” by the indomitable Flannery O’Connor. This is another tale inspired by a photograph, though again not the one posted here. The original picture, which I don’t have a license to post, was a view overlooking an urban nightscape. Looking at it, I was struck by an image of a serial killer brooding over the city in the dark of his apartment, narrating his thoughts as he prepared to go out for another kill. I’m no expert in pathopsychology, so I make no claims of accuracy. Nonetheless, I do hope you enjoy (in a skin-crawly kind of way).
Tonight, I hit the town, as I do every Saturday night. Because every Saturday night, there’s a fresh one. Sometimes, it’s a just-off-the-bus dumb fuck from Podunk. But not usually. Most nights, it’s some snooty city slick too smart for their own good.
Jesus! It’s so damn gratifying to see that look on their stuck up faces when it finally dawns on them just how screwed they really are!
I mean, hell – half the time I actually go out of my way to act like a creep. I truly do! But, you see, I’m a goddamn good looking man. And tall to boot. I swear, the creepier I come at them, the harder those bar flies fall.
I chalk it up to there being a shortage of attractive men in the city. I don’t mean them sissified sexy boys. There’s more a them than you can shake a stick at. I mean the kinda guy they really go for – dark and mysterious and maybe just a tad bit dangeroso.
Well don’t you fret, thirsty ones! I’m coming for you, hehe. I guaran-damn-tee you this night ain’t gonna turn out how you hoped. But at least you won’t spend it bored, stuck with some chirpy Johnny Regular, am I right?
And for that, I’ll expect some damn gratitude. In fact, you uppity little snot, I’m gonna have to insist that you thank me with your goddamn life.