Jul 27, 2012
kosmo - See all 772 of my articles
Many of your know that I’ve been working on a serial killer novel for a while now (and it’s very far from finished). Until this point, I’ve shared the writing with almost nobody. However, today I’ll tease you with the prologue for my novel, Casting Stones.
When she regained consciousness this time, she was blinded by the early morning sun spilling in through the open door. She quickly closed her eyes to block out the light. Her brain slowly processed the information. The door was open.
She scrambled to her feet, her sneakers struggling to find purchase on the straw-covered floor. When she felt her foot finally touch down on the grass, she knew that freedom was within her grasp. Run like the wind, she told herself. She was quickly twenty yards away from the barn, then fifty yards … racing toward her freedom.
Her heart sank when she saw him angling toward her from the left. She forced herself to channel her adrenaline and pushed forward with a burst of speed. She was still twenty yards ahead of him when she reached the fence. The woven wire buckled slightly under her weight as she scrambled over the fence. As her feet hit the ground, she felt his arm encircle her chest. He pulled her roughly back over the fence, and the barbed wire that topped the fence sliced into her.
He straddled her as he yanked the knife from the sheath. She felt the blade prick her skin as he sliced open her dress. She saw droplets of blood on the knife as he held it to her throat with his right hand while groping her breast with his free hand. His sweat dropped onto her face as she struggled for her freedom. No! No! This can’t be happening to me.
His left hand released her breast and moved under her dress. She felt him yank down her panties, and she was filled with disgust as he entered her.
The blade cut into her neck with each movement, but she fought through the pain. She would not submit to this monster – ever. Her attacker responded to her struggles angrily, slapping her roughly across the face. He moved his face within inches of hers and snarled. He sounded more like an animal than a man.
She smashed her head into his and heard him grunt from the force of the impact. She wrenched the knife from his hands and plunged it blindly into his body. He howled as the blade punctured his flesh. She left him on the ground, grasping for the handle of the knife.
As she raced for her freedom a second time, he struggled to his feet and pulled the gun from his waist band. A single shot brought the exercise to a halt.
He hefted her body back toward the burial trench. He threw her next to the others and covered her corpse with fresh, black earth.
Another failure. Once again unable to restrain and kill with the knife. Forced once again to use the impersonal weapon to prevent an escape. He needed more practice. He would spend a few days recovering from his wounds and would then troll the highway again, seeking another hitchhiker – a disposable victim to serve as his sparring partner. The game would soon begin, and Je’Mien needed to hone his skills.Share this article via email Kosmo is the founder of The Soap Boxers and writes on a variety of topics. Many of his short stories have been collected into Kindle books. Like this site? Subscribe via RSS, Subscribe via Email, or Follow us on Twitter or Facebook. The permanent URL for this article is: