Dark Tales: Volume 1

By Brandon Penrod

This book contains five short stories that are dark or/and violent in some way shape or form.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 5, 2024
• ISBN: 9798891573215

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Dark Tales

Volume 1

Brandon Penrod

Copyright © 2024 Brandon Penrod

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2024

ISBN 979-8-89157-306-2 (pbk)

ISBN 979-8-89157-321-5 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

A Dangerous Match

Rebecca

Nathan

Rebecca

Nathan

Rebecca

Nathan

Rebecca

Daniel

Rebecca

Nathan

Rebecca

Nathan

Rebecca

Nathan

Daniel

Nathan

Rebecca

Blissful Revenge

Fate

Jefferey's Cabin

Soon

About the Author

A Dangerous Match

Rebecca

Iwalk into the laboratory, looking for Dr. Fletcher. As I walk through the laboratory, I walk by the cages where we keep our bats. I am Dr. Fletcher's assistant, and Dr. Fletcher is a chiropterologist; which is a bat scientist. It is my first day as his assistant, and I feel nervous to meet him. I am an attractive woman in her early twenties, and I am about to start a business with a lifelong best friend in Florida. I walk into Dr. Fletcher's office and stand by the door, waiting for him to turn around. Eventually, he does, and I am amazed to see how attractive he is. He is a tall man with dark-brown hair, light-brown eyes, skinny with a good amount of arm muscles, and full red lips.

Hello, you must be my new assistant. I'm Nathan Fletcher. He smiles and offers a handshake.

I shake his hand but with sweaty hands. I don't even realize that I have sweaty hands until after I shake his hand. Right after I realize my hands are sweaty, I realize that he is talking to me. And your name is? he asks.

Oh, uhh…my name is Rebecca, sir, Rebecca Welton, I say nervously.

I am so nervous; I didn't know my new boss was going to be so handsome. I was expecting a fat old man with wrinkles. Instead, I got a middle-aged doctor with beautiful hair and adorable dimples.

If you don't mind, Rebecca, I would like for you to wait outside while I finish my work here. I will show you where everything is in a minute, Fletcher says as he closes the door.

I cannot help but blush when I get out of his office. I try to calm myself down as I wait outside. I rub my hands as I wait for him, trying to calm myself down. I have already met the other four doctors who work here. Three of them are older men who are married, and the other doctor is a young woman named Janet. I also meet the receptionist, who is another woman by the name of Natasha Gordan. She is a gothic woman who is ironically antisocial for the most part. Soon, the door opens, and Dr. Fletcher walks out of his office and into the laboratory.

I stand in front of him, praying to God that my cheeks don't start turning bright red. He smiles and then starts to show me where everything is—where the medicine cabinets are, where the needles and all the other medical equipment are.

As he is showing me these things, I pay attention to his body movement and his words. I am always trying to figure a man out before I actually get to know them, and I am very good at it; especially since I have an associate degree in behavioral psychology. By his body language, I can tell that he is a charismatic and confident man.

After he finishes showing me the laboratory, he tells me to go to the back room to organize the new order of shots in alphabetical order. While I am alphabetizing the medications, I start to fantasize about me and Fletcher being together. I imagine him and I kissing each other, hugging each other, and having an intimate conversation over dinner. Then I start fantasizing about being in bed with him, having kinky and wild sex. I imagine him tying my hands to the bedposts and then having his way with me. I imagine myself tying his hands to the bedpost and having my way with him. All these thoughts going through my mind make me smile, and I almost giggle out loud.

When it is lunchtime, I walk toward Dr. Fletcher's office, prepared to ask him to have lunch with me. I open the door, and I am surprised to see that he is talking with one of the other doctors. He is talking to Dr. Williams or Janet Williams. By her body language, I can tell that she is flirting with him. I don't like it. As a matter of fact, I hate it. I feel like grabbing the pair of scissors on the desk and stabbing her on the forehead. Don't get the wrong idea; I would never actually do that, but I do feel like it.

I close the door, and I listen by the door. I can hear them from the outside. Dr. Fletcher, I am asking you out. I can pick you up, and we can go to the Olive Garden near your house, Janet says.

No, sorry, but I already got plans tonight. I am going to my brother's house for his birthday party tonight, Dr. Fletcher answers.

Yes! I am glad he turned her down. I walk casually toward the sink to wash my hands with a smile on my face. Janet comes out of his office and walks back to her office. I smile to myself and make my way back to Dr. Fletcher's office. To my surprise, he opens the door right before I can turn the knob. Oh, sorry, Rebecca. I am just heading off to an old friend's house for lunch. I will see you tomorrow, he says.

Tomorrow? You are not coming back after lunch? I ask.

No, I got to go pick up food and beers for my brother's birthday party, and it is about a three-hour drive to his house, Dr. Fletcher replies.

I do a half-assed wave goodbye and make my way to my car. I go to the local Subway by myself and get their six-inch steak-and-cheese sandwich. I have been trying to get a boyfriend but have been having zero luck with it. My friends tell me that I am too aggressive, but that is just the way I am. I don't like waiting for guys to make the first move. I like making my intentions known and to set things up quickly. I try in person, and I have even created my Tinder profile, but the people there always flake out or unmatch me. It pisses me off when they do that, and what makes me even madder is when we set up a date, but they don't show up. I don't like having my time wasted like that. I like taking the lead, but I guess it is weird for guys; I don't know why, and I don't care. I just want someone who thinks like I do.

Nathan

Every day, I think about how stupid people are in this society. Guys try so hard to get at women, women always play hard to get, and others experiment with their sexual orientations as if they are a toy. The world pisses me off. All these thoughts pop into my mind as I am shopping—zip ties, hammers, kitchen knives, and many other lovely objects right here at the hardware store. Every man has their pleasure. Some men like playing games, some enjoy watching television, some enjoy working out, some enjoy dating, and rare people like me enjoy stalking and killing people in their free time. Why do I kill? Simple answer: It feels good.

There is no other satisfaction to me that feels better than stabbing someone and feeling their life leaving their body. Some serial killers like stabbing, some like strangling, and some like shooting. Me? I like everything. As long as I can see their lives leaving the body, I am satisfied. A good supply of duct tape, zip ties, tools, and my own creative thinking are all I need for this hobby. I laugh at criminals who get caught because they use credit cards. Always buy with cash, you morons!

This is an exciting week for me. I have been stalking about three women in the last five months, and this is finally the week that I can kill them.

Stalking people is so easy. Get the license plate, and the rest is cake. Everyone has their routines, and once I find their routine, they are as good as dead.

From the driver's seat, I can see her—Jennifer, a nineteen-year-old nurse school student. Every morning, she leaves for college classes. Classes end around two in the afternoon, and from there, she goes to her part-time job at KFC. She gets home around 10:30 p.m., goes to shower, talks to her boyfriend or mother, and then goes to bed. So predictable. I watch her as she lies in bed, reading a book. She finishes reading the page, reaches over, and turns off her lamp. Now it is time for me to have a little fun.

I reach over to my bag that lies in the passenger seat. I put on the black gloves, grab my gun and duct tape, and head out the car with everything in my pockets. I walk down the street and make my way to her garage door. I try to turn the knob, and it opens. As I said, people are stupid. Nobody thinks that someone like me might choose them to be their next victim. I make my way to her circuit breaker and turn off the power to her house. I exit the garage and make my way to her back sliding door; she always leaves that open. I slide the back door quietly and make my way inside the house.

I take out my revolver and make my way down the hallway and to her bedroom door. I quietly open it and go inside. There she is, lying in bed sleeping, completely unaware that a stranger is inside her room.

I walk over to her and give her a little nudge on the shoulder. She wakes up and nearly shouts out of fear. I put my gun to her head and place my finger on her mouth. In a quiet tone, I tell her, Shut up. This is a robbery. You cooperate, and you will be fine.

Okay, okay! Please take everything and go, she replies.

I told you to be quiet. Now lie down on the floor and keep your hands behind your head, I tell her.

She lies down on the carpet, and that is when I start to duct-tape her hands behind her back. This is just for precaution. Don't start squirming, or I will shoot you. Stay down and you will be fine, I tell her.

I duct-tape her hands behind her back and duct-tape her feet together. I go to her cabinets and pretend to be searching for her goods. After I fake-rob her for about a minute, I make my way back to her, pick her up by her arm, and push her on her back. She falls on her back onto the bed, and I come on top of her.

She tries to squirm, but I mount her, and my hands come around her neck. I love it when they squirm; it puts a smile on my face. My fingers go around the back of her neck, and my thumbs press down on her larynx. After a few moments, I see her eyes start to dilate and see the life in her body start to leave. Her eyes roll to the back of her head. After checking her pulse to make sure she is dead for sure, I immediately start to wipe down everything that I touched.

Even though I am wearing gloves, I don't want to take any chances. If I get caught, I am getting the death sentence for sure.

I don't want to stop killing. I have to do it; I just have to. I pick her up and put her in the back seat of my car. I drive away and toward the secluded woods. I drive through the secluded woods for a few miles and then drag her body out of the car. Her body is so stiff and cold now.

I cannot help myself. I start rubbing myself, and I have sexual intercourse with her dead body before leaving. What always amazes me about victims is how much compliance I get out of them just from the sight of a gun. She thought I was just some robber who was going to let her go but would shoot her if she did not obey my commands. It is a shame that she didn't know that I never even loaded my revolver. I used to have it loaded when I first started, but over time, I learned that I don't need to. The sight of a gun alone is enough to make all my victims listen to what I tell them.

I started off killing prostitutes since cops and other homicide investigators would do very little to find out who killed them. There are no families of those victims asking for an autopsy, and the investigators don't want to spend money using forensics to find the killer. I used to only strangle my victims, but now, I have grown and found other methods of killing. Not only does using other killing methods make things more interesting for myself, but it also makes it hard for investigators to tie all the murders to one person. I used to take criminology classes in college and even got my bachelor's degree in criminal psychology.

Little did my professors know that they were actually teaching me how to become a better serial killer. So far, my body count is up to ten. As I drive back home, I throw my pair of gloves into the dumpster after soaking my gloves with bleach. I learned that forensic investigators can gather skin cells from the inside of the gloves and make a DNA match from them.

After I dump the gloves, I drive to a local gas station where I wash my hands. After washing my hands, I use hand sanitizer to kill germs; dead people have a lot of germs. It would be a shame if I have to stop killing because of an illness I get from having sexual intercourse with the dead.

I finally get home, and I go straight to my shower. After washing myself thoroughly, I get into bed. I have to have my rest before putting on the fake I am an outgoing and caring bat doctor persona. If only they knew how sick I really am, then they wouldn't be so glorified by the work I do. If they knew what I have just done, they would finally leave me alone, and I can spend more time killing.

I hope to God that Janet will not persist on me further than she already has. She is one of the other doctors who asked me out for dinner tonight; I told her that I had my brother's birthday party tonight. I lied to her just to get her off my back. Truth is that I do have a brother, but I don't talk to him anymore. He moved to California a few years back, and I never answer his calls anymore. I don't know why Janet even thought I was going to say yes.

Hopefully, the other doctors and that new assistant, Rebecca, will leave me alone. I know it is unrealistic since I am all their bosses, but being talked to all day gets very exhausting. The average person is ugly, stupid, and boring. No one in any room impresses me. People are always fearful, judgmental, and they are always trying to suck up to someone. I love it when people ask me how I managed to get my position as the lead scientist in bat studies. They ask me how I have grown attached to such scary creatures. My answer is always because I don't have fear, and if you don't have fear, these big things become so small.

I know I will be bothered tomorrow, but hopefully, Janet will never ask me out again. The audacity of people astounds me. When she asked me out, I wanted to take the pair of scissors on my desk and stab her with it. I thought about how much blood would squirt out from her neck or how blood-soaked her shirt would have been if I stabbed her in the stomach. I don't know why nobody else thinks the same way as I do.

The alarm clock goes off, and it is time for me to go to work. Every morning, I gotta get up at five in the morning so I can eat and get ready before arriving at work at seven. Every morning, it is a struggle to get up because I like staying up late every night. Putting on my nice and humble face for everyone is the main challenge. Every day, I get to put on my mask of being an outgoing and compassionate man even though in reality, I don't give a shit about anybody. I arrive at work, and I force a smile to come on my face before getting out of the car. Here we go again, I say to myself.

As usual, I greet everyone, and then I go to my office to work on bats again, examining some of their sicknesses and exploring more of their body functions. Most of our bats come from weird freaks who like to keep bats, and they give them to me when they are sick. The other bats come from some people I have who search and capture bats. In a way, I have created a bat museum for people. Many people come in to see the bats that I have collected from caves and various fields. I became a bat scientist because I grew up with them in a way.

During the day, I am always catching Rebecca looking at me. She makes our encounters very awkward. For that, I usually keep her in the backroom organizing shots. When she is not organizing shots, she is in the laboratory right outside my office taking care of bats. There is something definitely different about her, but I don't know what yet. She is always looking at me, but she is also not. She is almost looking past me as if she is in deep thought, as if she is staring at my soul or something. I start making my way over to her and am about to ask her some basic questions. It makes me look like the caring and outgoing man that I pretend to be.

Hi, Rebecca, how are you doing? I ask.

I am good… Do you want to go out to dinner tonight? she asks abruptly.

Okay, what the fuck? This is the second woman to ask me out in one week and only this week. I have never been asked out by anyone here until this week. I wonder if there is a bet going on. These fucking lizards are crazy. I am going to say yes just to figure out what she is trying to do.

Sure, we can go after work, I say.

Her face turns bright red, and she mumbles something before walking away and going back to work. I don't understand what her problem is. I am usually good at reading people's intentions, but she is different. She is definitely something else. I know she definitely likes me, but her intentions are confusing to me. I know what to do. I am just going to be charismatic with her and get her to reveal her intentions to me subconsciously or consciously. It will be interesting for sure.

The rest of my day goes on as usual. I work in my office while getting bothered frequently, while the other doctors deal with their own shit. After work, Rebecca comes into my office and waits for me by the door.

I look up and smile at her. Persistent bitch, I think to myself. I finish writing down my notes and then make my way to her. We make small talk about where to eat, and then we walk to the parking lot, where we both look at each other and pause.

We can go in my car, I tell her.

No, it is okay. Let's go in mine, she rudely responds.

No, the man is supposed to drive the woman—it is called being a gentleman, I respond directly.

She hesitates but then reluctantly follows me to my car. What the hell is wrong with this woman? Trying to take control of the relationship from the start is not going to work with me. She is crazy. I open the door for her and close it when she gets in. I make my way to the driver's seat and sit down.

As I put my seatbelt on, she surprises me with her weird comment: You know I am well capable of opening a car door?

You have never been a date before, have you? I ask her.

She leans her head back a little bit and then answers, Wow, that is rude.

You didn't answer my question, I remind her with a smirk on my face.

"Yes, I have! I