Happy Face Killer – Prologue

NOT EDITED

Prologue

Tuesday: January 1, 2020
12:00 AM; CLINSTONE, IVORY HILL

The beautiful thing about New Years Eve and the hours that followed once midnight struck was how easy it was to lure people out of a bar. Not only were they drunk, they wanted to ring in the New Year with a bang, and she would make damn sure that part of a person’s personality always worked to her advantage.

She slid into a booth near the middle of the bar, dark eyes scanning the people dancing in the bar. She bowed her head against the loud country music blasting at the other end of the bar. New Years parties and their annoying themes. Despite her hatred of country music and everything it brought out in wannabe country folk, she had dressed up for the event. The last thing she wanted to come of the night was for people to remember her. She didn’t want to be picked out of a crowd, and without the red flannel, dark jeans, boots, and cowboy hat, she would be singled out as odd and memorable.

Memorable wasn’t exactly what she was going for. When one scouted for a target, one did not want to stick out. If the cops went around showing a person’s picture to the targets at the bar, the goal was to have blended in so well that they would all say they had never seen that person before.

She had been practicing that technique for a while now. She would lurk in bars for a few hours and leave with a target that night. The next day, she had sent in a ‘friend’ or family member to the bar, adorned with a picture of her. In the beginning, she had been absolutely terrible at blending in. The bartenders almost always recognized her.

Recently, she had made it through four bars in a row without the bartender recognizing a picture of her the very next day. It had been an achievement in every single sense of the word. With the small success in her corner, she had gone out to the bar that night with the full intention of finally taking a target’s soul, a target’s life.

Finally, her eyes landed on a target she knew would be easy to sweet talk into her trap. It leaned against the wall, arms crossed over its chest. While everyone else was busy dancing, its eyes were on the singer on stage. It wanted so desperately to be with what it presumed to be a fellow ‘human being’. It wouldn’t be hard for her to convince the target that she was that human being.

She slid out of her seat and headed for the dance floor. She sidled up beside the target, laying a hand on its arm as she said, “Hey, handsome. Little too lonely over here, dontcha think?”

Whoa, lady. Great boyfriend and loving father here. Lay off.”

She realized too late that it wasn’t just some target in the bar. It was the goddamn police chief of the Clinstone Police Department. She held up her hands. “Calm down, dude. Get off the dance floor if you don’t wanna be danced with,” she said.

Its eyes narrowed at her. Shit. She was antagonizing it. That hadn’t been the plan. Deviating from the plan was deadly. The target would remember every single thing about her if she kept this up. “Go find someone else to harass. I assure you I’m perfectly happy right here.” It gestured to the drunken targets still dancing and shouting the lyrics to whatever country song the singer was singing. “Take your pick, darling,” the cop said.

She rolled her eyes, but she walked away without further argument. The last thing she needed was for the damn police chief to recognize her when a picture was shown to it.

She considered scrapping the whole plan and coming back to the bar in a few days, maybe in a week, but when she glanced back at the target and saw him happily cozied up with a fellow target–probably its girlfriend–she fell right back into the comfortable swing of the plan. The target would remember the night it had with its girlfriend, not the fact that some woman in a cowboy hat had touched its arm.

She turned, finding herself face-to-face with another target. “Hi.”

It smiled. “Hey. I’m Angie.”

“Angie,” she echoed. “I’m Allie.” It was a terrible fake name, far too close to ‘Angie’, but she didn’t care. Angie was probably rather close to being drunk anyway. She wouldn’t think there was anything off about the name, not like a sober mind might.

“Are you up for a dance? Or are you only swinging for taken guys tonight?” Angie asked.

‘Allie’ sized the target up. It was short, thin, not particularly muscular. Its hair was long and fell over its shoulders. It’d be easy to pull and gain control over a situation in a matter of seconds. It would certainly be easier to take down than a male target.

‘Allie’ flashed a smile. “Sure. Let’s dance.”

3:02 AM; CLINSTONE, IVORY HILL, PARKING LOT

“Shouldn’t drive,” Angie said simply, an arm hooked through the woman’s arm.

‘Allie’ nodded. “Too drunk. Right.” She cleared her throat, eyes scanning the parking lot. “Well, I live pretty close. Wanna walk?”

Angie snorted, laying its head on the woman’s shoulder. “Sure.” ‘Allie’ walked down the sidewalk for a moment before turning down the alleyway outside the bar. Angie, much to her surprise, didn’t complain or ask any questions.

Clearly, Angie had gotten a bit more drunk than ‘Allie’ had ever expected her to.

In the dark alleyway, as Angie opened its mouth to speak, ‘Allie’ pulled her pocket knife out and flipped it open. “What’re we gonna do at your place?”

“Oh… I dunno,” she said. “I’m pretty new to this.”

The target giggled. “I’ll show you.”

‘Allie’ turned suddenly, shoving Angie back into the wall. She clamped a hand over the target’s mouth, smiling as Angie’s wide, panicked eyes found hers. “Sorry about this. Sorta.” Angie let out a muffled scream as ‘Allie’ drove the knife into the target’s stomach over and over and over again.

Breathing heavily, ‘Allie’ took a step back, letting Angie slide to the ground. She shook out her shaking hands and jogged down the alley. She tossed the knife into a garbage bin at the end of the alley and shoved her hands into her pockets.

She hadn’t bothered to wear gloves, but she knew that was more than okay.

Like her momma always said, you only needed gloves if you were planning on getting caught.


A/N: Let the rewrite begin!!

Enjoying the story? Consider dropping a comment or a like down below!!

New update every Tuesday!


Love what I do and want to help support me? You can ‘buy me a coffee’ on Ko-fi!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: