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- Herausgeber: John Hellgren
- Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
- Sprache: Englisch
Lapland can be a lonely place for many, but for a serial killer like Max, it's a deserted playing field. Quiet roads, isolated people, and huge forests for bodies to disappear in. Max can't help himself. It's all he thinks about. All day, every day. Everything in his life disguises the real him, his real purpose, his driving desire—his need to kill. In this environment, people never see it coming. Robert didn't see it coming—he was too interested in the cement mixer. Remember that old abandoned house? The one that creeped you and your friends out when you were kids. Still does doesn't it—if you're honest. It's malevolence spills onto the pavement and makes you walk as close to the kerb as you can when you pass by. These houses don't like us. They don't want us near them, and they certainly don't want us inside them. Every now and then someone stops and looks up at the house, but it's only fear that keeps them from moving on. Sometimes the house will draw them in, play with them, and then maybe, just maybe, let them go.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018
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Kackerlacka & Eaten Duet
Arctic Chiller Series
John Hellgren
Published by Arctic Publishing, 2018.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
KACKERLACKA & EATEN DUET
First edition. May 31, 2018.
Copyright © 2018 John Hellgren.
Written by John Hellgren.
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Also by John Hellgren
Arctic Chiller Series
Kackerlacka
Eaten
Watch for more at John Hellgren's website.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Also By John Hellgren
Kackerlacka - Chapter 1
Kackerlacka - Chapter 2
Kackerlacka - Chapter 3
Kackerlacka - Chapter 4
Kackerlacka - Chapter 5
Kackerlacka - Chapter 6
Kackerlacka - Chapter 7
Kackerlacka - Chapter 8
Kackerlacka - Chapter 9
Kackerlacka - Chapter 10
Kackerlacka - Chapter 11
Kackerlacka - Chapter 12
Kackerlacka - Chapter 13
Eaten - Chapter 1 - Edmond, Peder & Anders
Eaten - Chapter 2 - Urban and Lars
Eaten - Chapter 3 - Jimmi
Eaten - Chapter 4 - Runo and Magan
Also By John Hellgren
About the Author
About the Publisher
Kackerlacka - Chapter 1
Do you think you would sense your impending death? A psychic premonition a few seconds before the murderer’s axe crunched its way through the back of your skull? Or the moment before a killer thrusts his knife up into your rib cage? We can’t ask the victims can we—they’re already dead.
Robert didn’t see it coming—he was too interested in the cement mixer.
“It’s up here Robert, just over the ridge.”
“Kind of you to show me this Max. It’s so interesting to see construction work, especially in the middle of the forest. Office work can be so boring. How long will it be before the cement is ready?”
“Oh, it’s ready now Robert. The mixer’s been running for a while and all that's left is to add a little water to the drum. You’ll hear a motor kick in now and then while it’s churning around. It’s difficult to connect to power when we are this deep in the forest, so we use small petrol generators to drive all the equipment.”
I’d met Robert at lunchtime, by chance, but great timing for me. I’d finished a job just a couple of kilometres outside of town and treated myself to a decent lunch. When I arrived at the cafe, customers stood in-line almost to the main door, all clutching their plate and cutlery waiting to be served. After I’d finally collected my meal, I ended up sharing a small table with a man called Robert. We ate our sizeable fixed menu lunch of pork cutlet, boiled potatoes, and a chunky salad and chatted about our lives.
He told me about his boring job as an investment banker in Stockholm, and that he lived with his mother in a huge apartment in the financial district of the city.
He was forty-two years old and a baby wearing a suit. Daddy had taken him into the firm, despite not being able to find him much to do due to Robert’s limited abilities. He wanted to work with his hands as a farmer, a builder, or a carpenter, but Daddy wouldn’t allow it—and he was right. It was all just fantasy. Robert was the type of man who had trouble buttoning up his own shirt.
He had visited the town we ate at a few times before, looking for office premises, one of the few jobs Daddy trusted him with. I jumped at the opportunity fate had dropped into my lap and invited Robert to take a look at the construction site. He couldn’t resist a voyeuristic peek into my world, a thirty-minute taste of how his life could have been. He wouldn’t even scratch the surface.
“This is very exciting, very exciting indeed. Thank you so much for this.” Robert’s continued excitement at the mundane had already become irritating. “It was a splendid idea to leave my car in town. I would never have come this far along the unmade road in my Audi, just as you mentioned. Are you sure you need to go back into town in a while Max? It’s very kind of you to give me a lift back.”
“Yes I do Robert, and it's my pleasure.” I had no intention of going back into town, well, not if everything worked out as I wanted.
I’d parked my truck at the side of the track leading to the site, and we’d walked over the ridge and into the clearing I had been working on that morning. The digger drivers had been there the day before and the path to the site was pretty even and dry. Robert’s handmade Italian leather shoes were dusty, but far from ruined. Robert didn’t care. He was so excited about being near an actual construction site, he was close to wetting himself as we made our way to the centre of the clearing.
“My father would be so angry if he could see me now,” Robert said, brimming with defiance.
“Even more enjoyable then I guess?” I smiled as he nodded like a five-year-old.
Robert beamed as he looked at the freshly dug pit that would soon become the foundation for a small, high voltage junction box, and his new home for the next few hundred years. He stared into the pit, hands jangling his keys in his designer suit trouser pockets as the concrete mixer churned around and around. I reached down and picked up one of the wooden packing stays from the equipment lying nearby.
Robert had turned his attention to the cement mixer, so he didn’t notice me when I swung the solid length of wood in his direction. It connected exactly where I’d aimed it. The familiar thud of timber on human skull, one of my favourite sounds, mixed well with the high pitched scream.
“Ahhhh! Jesus!!” Robert’s flimsy trousers didn't protect his knees much when he hit the ground. The blow had kicked off an adrenaline rush, but the shock had debilitated him and turned his legs to jelly. As he leant forward and placed his hands flat on the forest floor, he tried to muster some insight into what was happening. I brought the wooden length down again, this time harder, but on the same spot. Blood poured through his hair as he fell flat on the floor, wriggling in the dust, moaning.
I often wonder what normal humans think about when these moments pass by, hearts racing, time running in slow motion. It’s been hard to muster up the enthusiasm to ask my victims, so I haven’t created any form of useful survey yet—sorry. They’d probably answer my questions in a vain attempt to connect with their attacker, to improve their chances of survival. We’ve all seen the movie, haven’t we?
Does Robert regret accepting my offer to see the site? Of course he does, now—stupid question. Does he think if he’d taken the career path he’d wanted to, against Daddy’s wishes, then he wouldn’t be here? Maybe.
I grabbed one of the thin, strong, plastic packing strips and sank to my knees, onto Roberts back, pinning him down with my full weight centred over his lungs. My folded legs leant on his outstretched arms as I threaded the packing strip under his neck and twisted the two ends together, turning them around and around into a corkscrew shape. He coughed, choking for air.
I pulled the strip back and lifted his head and neck up, and at the same time I twisted the strip a little more. The noose became tighter and tighter as his face became redder and redder. Blood rushed to his brain as it screamed to every nerve ending it needed oxygen.
I loosened the plastic noose two turns—to let him breathe—just a gasp to taste some hope. Hope brings a renewed energy to a victim and helps me savour their departure longer.
Robert wriggled a bit as he lay on the dusty clearing, all alone with his killer in the middle of the Lapland forests. Bliss.
I twisted again before he could cough out whatever desperate plea had popped into his head in that second of relief. This time I kept twisting, and twisting, until the life drifted away from his body and into the ether.
When it’s my turn to leave this planet, I wonder if I will meet all the people I have killed? Probably not. I won’t be going where they are that’s for sure.
Robert’s body went limp. His head tipped forward, and his forehead fell into the dust, his neck suspended at a strange, 90-degree-ish angle.
I sat next to him for a while, soaking up the forest and lake views—and my latest kill.
Nothing else comes near this feeling, not even close. My neck and spine tingled, small explosions everywhere. A euphoric wave ebbed and flowed through me, my heart raced with excitement as adrenaline forced my eyes wide open, almost unblinking. Heaven.
After twenty minutes, I’d calmed down and refreshed the cement mixer with some water. I reflected on the last hour and stared into the drum as it rolled around and churned the wet cement.
The drum was big, but it would still take several loads to fill up the pit with concrete and create Roberts final resting place. I had all afternoon. I work alone in these remote areas and spend my days planning my next kill, and how best to take advantage of future opportunities that present themselves—just like the one that day, Robert’s Day as it’s now called.
It’s a simple life, that of a killer.
Kackerlacka - Chapter 2
There are thousands of people reported missing around the world each year. Hundreds are reported missing each month. Abductions, young adults who find their lives unbearable, women who flee abusive relationships, and people trafficking. The majority return home to their families and loved ones—but many don’t.
The ones that don’t return are part of a core group of people who disappear forever. Some of them fall into the hands of killers like me, well practised killers—born for the job. Killers who have developed a network and a social system for sharing ideas on our craft. Ideas for finding victims. Ideas for disposing of bodies. Ideas for all aspects of making people disappear in a modern world. I plan to let you into a few secrets. Trade secrets. My secrets. How I started and found my mentor. How I built my little kingdom of death in the forests of Swedish Lapland, my killing ground.
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
