Serial Hearts
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of its characters
Warning: Trigger words, death, and serial killers.
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I, Arthur Kirkland, solemnly swear that I am up to no good.
Growing up Harry Potter was one of my favorite reads. Still is to this day. But while my head fancies the dragons, pixies, and dashing cut throat pirates I find my mind often seems to drift elsewhere.
It started when I was a child. While my mum would read me my favorite story of witchcraft and wizardry I would listen attentively. The first time she read it to me I was positively enchanted. A captive to the author's script and my mother's fantastic story telling skills. But while the years passed I paid less and less attention and I had developed a new habit.
Does one count killing stray cats and dogs a habit?
My first kill was on October 31, 2003. Four years old. My big brother begrudgingly took me trick or treating, of course I was dressed like Harry Potter, and it wasn't long before he was distracted by a woman with more than perky assets stuffed into a nurses costume. All it took was a smile, a wave, a flutter of lashes, and he was distracted. I didn't notice he had stopped and I kept going. And it wasn't long before I was noticed by children older than I.
Innocent in my youth I didn't notice their ill intentions when they surrounded me. The largest one smirked. For some reason he reminded me of a scraggly tom cat. He was plump, freckled, and missing a few teeth.
I asked them politely, "What do you want?"
The obvious leader replied, "Wanna make four bucks, mate?"
I agreed because I didn't know any better. I walked off with the band of mischievous boys, holding my candy tight in my tiny fist, and I watched the leaders back as they led me down a path I could never return from. Originally I lived in a small village, and my brother had led close to the edge of town, so it didn't take long before we hit the pathway leading to the dreadful cursed woods.
The woods were large and frightening. For your average run of the mill child of course. I shown no fear. Knowing my nature I could probably laugh in the face of Death who could strike me down with his malicious scythe and not even muster up a flinch.
The trees stood tall and proud. They hugged close to their brothers and the branches connected into a quilt of beautiful green. But at night they were sinister spirits out to eat the hearts of small children. They were gruesome with their black trunks, their splintering bark, their curling branches, their twisted bodies, their blackened leaves. Funny how the mind can play such tricks at night. A little call from an owl in the midst of a spooky night and suddenly everyone's pissing their pants and screaming for mother. I admire the ones who stand tall, toss their head back, and laugh while pissing their pants. At least they have dignity.
I detest cowards. Like the children who led me to said, "dark and scary woods," that night. We stood at the edge of the woods and secretly, hush don't tell papa, I had a hunting knife stashed away in the bag I carried. It's not as if I needed it to feel safe or anything I just liked the blade. The smooth metallic gleam, the sharp edge, the sensation I get while holding it. It was my favorite toy so I brought it with me.
That night they told me they would pay me if I walked into the woods. Alone. That's when I began to suspect them. But none the less I went anyways without any argument. I didn't even say a word actually. I just stared blankly at them and made them feel uncomfortable. In my defense that's not weird. That's bad social skills.
I turned and began down the pathway leading into the gloomy wilderness with nothing but the knife in my bag. It wasn't long before I heard a rustle. A twig snap and movement among the trees. I stopped and my mind raced.
I looked around and scanned the area. Not a moment too soon they jumped out wearing skeleton masks and began to dance around me like miscreants. Instead of showing fear, because I had none, I wiggled my arms and danced with them. I might have looked like a duck now that I think about it. I wanted to fit in so I danced. I waved my hands, I shook my tush, and almost smiled. I didn't understand what was happening but I thought it was all in good fun.
But when they realized they weren't scaring me they stopped, took the masks off, and stared at me like I was a freak. That's when the real fun started.
"What are you? Some sort of freak?" Ah, the classic bully line. He even pushed me down for good measure. I'll remember that pillsbury doughboy of a leader for as long as I live because he's what got me started down this path.
Red eyes glowed from the darkness and a deep sinister growl froze the air. The children tensed immediately and looks of pure fear and dread fell upon them. They turned towards the direction of the noise and without hesitation they ran. They ran as fast as their skinny and pudgy legs could take them. The wolf stepped out from under the disguise of darkness and he set his eyes upon me. It was a brown wolf with pink stained teeth and blood dripping from the matted fur on his jaw. It oozed hostility and dominance. A predator who found new prey. Me. The child with a makeshift lipstick scar on his forehead.
I should have been scared. I should have been downright terrified. Any normal child would. But I suppose I'm no normal child, am I?
As it lunged at me, fangs ready to sink into my soft unblemished skin, I pulled out the knife from my bag and kept it right in front of me. I stabbed it right in the skull.
The force from it sent me back and I hit the ground but the wolf was dead before I even made contact with the woodland floor. I was shocked, truth be told. I wasn't mortified but I was reeling in surprise when I saw that the wolf had stopped growling and ceased making noise completely.
Blood seeped from the wound and bleed out onto my robe. I looked down. It had impaled itself onto the knife. I could see it's blade begin from the base of the wolf's throat and disappear upwards right into it's cranium. Dead. My first kill.
And it was invigorating.
The euphoria I felt was incredible and I was quickly addicted. They say that your first time is always the best. To be honest I believe that all of my kills were just as magnificent.
That night my brother found me wandering the streets covered in blood. I never told them what happened. I didn't even say a word and while they examined me for wounds and such my mind was racing. I found a sense of purpose in my life.
A serial killer's M.O. varies. Some fancy killing women because of their mummy issues, some fancy killing men because of their sexual abuse, but I like to think of myself as a righteous killer. A gentleman perhaps.
And that is my official name in the papers. The Gentleman.
From ages say four to thirteen I tried to satisfy myself by killing animals...but they became boring after a while. The same thing over and over again without a different result is pure insanity. Hey, Albert Einstein said it; not me.
By the time I turned fourteen I was going mad with frustration. Then I overheard something I shouldn't have. I was a hall monitor in the high school I was going to at the time and I overheard some juicy gossip. Now usually I wouldn't dare eavesdrop in on another conversation but a key word grasped my attention. "Rape."
I stopped and listened. There were two girls. One was obviously a mess. Her hair was messy, make up ran down her make up caked face, and her lips were puffy from being nervously chewed on. I could hear it. Her heartbroken sobs. I leaned against the wall, my eyes softening just slightly. Her friend was consoling her the best she could but I could also detect anger in her voice. She wanted blood and justice.
"-And h-he seemed really nice," She sniffled, I could hear her back dragging against the wall as she sank to the floor, "So I let him buy me a couple of drinks, no big deal." I could hear her trying, but failing, to contain a sob. I could picture her. Her bottom lip wobbling, her arms wrapping around her knees as she dug her nails into her skin. "M-My mum," She detoured for a moment, "W-Would always tell me i-if you go to a bar o-or a frat party always watch your drinks. I-I didn't listen I-I should've listened!" She cried and cried and cried. She stammered out her story and I listened to all of the details. Each uttered word she spoke broke my heart. Funny, I thought sociopaths weren't supposed to feel.
But it was something about hearing the helplessness in her words. The pure anguish and pain. It made me want to rally the villagers and start a riot. Never in my life have I ever wanted blood on my hands than in that moment.
Her friend asked her to describe the guy the best she could. She couldn't come up with a single detail except brown eyes and a skii mask. It wasn't much but lucky for me I could work with that. I waited until her friend managed to get the name of the bar she went to out of her before I disappeared down the hall.
I was done with hall monitor duty and I had a motive to kill. My blood pumped like fire and I was filled with a rush. Just the thought of having this guy's blood on my hands gave me a jolt of energy like a shot of adrenaline.
Usually I'm not one for justice or hunting down criminals like some wise cracking crime fighting stereotypical duo who spout out ridiculously corny lines but something in me wanted to extinguish this evil. And I knew just how to do it.
That night I went to the bar. Everyone in it was too drunk to question my age. So I immediately became suspicious of the ones who weren't pissed out of their minds. I sat at the bar and waited. To the left. I saw a girl. She looked young enough for nine grade finals to still be a pain in the ass to her. Although, she wore enough makeup to make her look of age she still had the underdeveloped body along with the style of a teenager. As I kept an eye on her I looked around and I noticed several underaged girls there. Mostly in groups so they could feel grown up and empowered. Honestly if they liked playing with fire they should've stayed home and poked the stove while it was on. It would be less dangerous and painful to their psyche. But Daddy issues overrule sense of decency.
I wasn't concerned about the ones in groups. They were safer. I turned my attention back to the single training bra and I saw that she was talking to someone. A brown eyed gent. I subtly kept my eyes on them and just as I predicted he pointed at something to distract her and slipped something into her drink. It easily dissolved and when she looked back the man held up his drink as a toast.
This man looked as if he could easily be a pedophile. Middle aged, ungroomed, not married (obviously), and has the fashion sense of a thrift shop mannequin. Poor but not poor enough to buy drugs.
The girl she began to mumble incoherantly, her eyes sliding shut as she stumbled out of the chair. Oh and what a samaritan. He helped her down. He dragged her out with one arm wrapped around her hips and no one noticed. What wonderful people inhabiting this waste of space people call an establishment. I followed them out and I saw him stuffing her into the back of his car. Probably going to take her to a motel.
As he was about to close the trunk of his car I struck him in the back of his head with a crowbar I kept tucked in the back of my pants. I sighed as I watched him fall and hit the ground ungracefully. The girl groggily looked up at me, her cloudy drugged up eyes showed gratitude as she weakly reached out for me. I took a moment and I examined her before I leaned forward and I took the skinny girl into my arms. I grunted, I wasn't as strong as I failed to look. I had to steady myself for a moment, "I'm here to take you home," I gasped out, my knees knocking together like dance partners.
"Thank you," I heard her whisper before she passed out. I sighed and then I straightened my legs out before I carried her to my car. I was slightly disappointed in myself for being so weak. Luckily I was strong enough to knock the serial rapist out before he could do any damage to her. I walked back over to said asshole and with determination I picked him up and I dragged him into the trunk of his own car.
The back of his head bled out onto my gloves. I groaned, "Fuck! Now I have to wash my brand new gloves, are you happy!?" I shouted at him in annoyance as I slammed the door shut. "You better hope you suffocate in there before I get to you." I pointed at the trunk with a scowl.
I looked through the girls phone when I returned to my own car, parents car actually I'm still underage and they taught me sharing is caring, and I called her parents. They were relieved to hear she was okay and they gave me their address. I drove her home while she stayed passed out in the passengers side. Safe and sound.
When I pulled up her parents were waiting their in the driveway and they quickly ran out to the car and they helped her out. She managed to gain consciousness as I pulled up and she started tearing up when she saw her family. Thankfully they were tears of relief. Her father shook my hand and patted my shoulder. I advised him to keep the girl from venturing out ahead of her age and he agreed. All was good.
And once the pleasantries were out of the way I managed to get back and start my work.
I couldn't stay out too late so I took him to an abandoned shed just on the outskirts of town and I tied him up. I left him there in chains for one night. The next night I returned and...well, let's just say he regrets ever laying his hand on a girl without their consent.
I even made a video.
He sat, broken like a housepet and colorful with blood, bruises, and cuts, in a rusty metal chair. All of his fingers were snapped like twigs, his skin sliced like ribbons, and his eyes were bloodshot. His voice was raspy and rough like sandpaper. He looked miserable and pathetic. Hanging from his nipples were rusty nails and carved into his chest was the label, "Rapist." Blood dripped from his nose and streamed over his lips. He hung his head in shame in the beginning of the video.
"I am...disgusting," The man began, each word dripped with pain and regret, "But...I will repent. I admit…" He coughed out blood, "To the rapes of these girls." He named them off and it was a long list. He looked into the camera, he was crying. "P-Please help m-" The video cuts out as well as his last attempt for salvation.
That video went viral before it was flagged as inappropriate. I posted it on every sight that I could think of. But no one really paid any attention to it until they found the body just several days later. That's when society went ballistic. My first kill was a celebrated one.
And there were a lot more to come.
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