Why, yes. Yes, I just did that.


Oh good, you're here!

I know you hear me, trembling as you are. Suddenly weak at the knees, short of breath, can't see three inches in front of your face, is that right?

Aha, you thought I wouldn't come. I can see it now: you showering yourself in optimistic confidence, oblivious to the fact that your worst fear is pacing just outside the door and imagining the perfect way to rid the world of your retched existence.

Oh, don't scream, don't even open your mouth. I see your lips squirming. I bet you want to yell, call, scream, plead for help. Am I right?

Of course I am.

You see, I do this often. I know very well the look of petrifying fear on my prey's features. Even handsome men become ugly with their eyes wide in anxiety and cheeks dripping with nervous sweat. Their teeth clench when they realize sound does them no good-and if they can't call for someone to save them, why not just bite their own tongue off? Skin goes pale white like the foam in spit and it's hardly an appealing color for you, my dear.

I should give you a mirror to show you how very appetizing you look. Or unappetizing, depending on who you ask. I for one find nostrils flaring in an attempt to regain lost oxygen a very delicious sight to accompany that of your corpse rotting on my dining table. I like human ornaments, of course. They're the only company I see down here and they look simply ravishing on the gleaming wood next to a silver plate of whatever my stomach hungers for.

Oh you're really shaking now! I suppose I shouldn't have told you that as you might get sick. But then again, a dead body in a pile of its own regurgitation is almost…artist, no?

Don't try to reason with me. I am unforgiving. You told yourself I wouldn't come so it's not up to me to hold up any end of your self-made bargain. I do what I please and right now, to slit your throat open and take a look at your esophagus (or perhaps your pharynx) would make me almost giddy with joy. Can you see in your mind's eye your own respiratory organs open for my visual pleasure? I do have a fascination for the body's breathing mechanisms.

My favorite way of killing is by strangulation, so doesn't that make sense?

Don't nod in the affirmative. To have your killer suddenly seem sensible will do nothing for your mental health. Not that you'll have to worry about that from this time on…

No, no, no. No running for you. I've got quite a bit of work ahead of me, don't I? Carving you up carefully is the hard part because sometimes I can't help but play in the mess I make. All those entrails are rather entertaining, don't you think? They go on and on and on from one point to the other, a single tube running through your body. That's right, it's just a tube! Just a tube that's been looped and rolled and expanded here and tightened there.

But enough chitchat, let's get to business. I'm dying to get my hands around that imminently lifeless neck of yours!