Maniac (ver.1)
Meet me in the woods. Her Hinge match wrote. At sunset.
“What an asshole,” she thought.
Her profile prompt read:
THIS YEAR I’D LIKE TO GET OVER my fear of going on dates in the park and running into a serial killer who drags me kicking and screaming into the woods, only for my dismembered corpse to be discovered days later in a pile of black trash bags.
And he had the nerve to write that in response, like some kind of maniac!
Naturally she had to reply.
You’re a dick.
His response:
😏
I’m not hearing a no.
“Dick,” she muttered aloud, putting the phone aside. A notification chirped. She checked the screen.
🐔
She bit her lip.
Fine She wrote back. But you better not try anything. I come prepared.
His response:
I bet you do.
And don’t worry
I’ve got a bag set aside, just for you. 😘
She smirked. “We’ll see about that.”
An hour later she left her apartment in a polka dot dress and the cutest little shoes, armed with the bare essentials:
- one 2.5oz blue dye pepper spray with 1.33% Major Capsaicinoids
- one 23 inch telescopic defense baton
- one pink cat-eared alloy defense ring
- one 30,000v taser
- three tactical defense pens
- and one glitter heart keychain with a 125 decibel push button alarm
As she rode on the subway, she listened to her favorite podcast: Crime & Wine w/ Jan and Joyce. Each episode, the middle-aged co-hosts knocked back boxes of Franzia Cabernet while tittering about gruesome murders. Today’s victim: a blonde cheerleader who got decapitated in the back of a Winnebago somewhere in Wisconsin.
She was in high spirits ’til she got to the park. Then the Fear hit.
A notification chirped.
His message:
👁️
I see you.
Come to the old bridge.
Or don’t.
The old bridge spanned a 50 foot ravine, flanked by abandon train tracks.
The Crime & Wine motto popped in her head: “DONT GET CORKED!”
As the sun bled and she stepped onto the bridge, it dawned on her how incredibly stupid this was. The flirting was fun, but he might actually be a killer. She palmed the spray and taser, spinning in slow circles as she crept.
When she reached the center, she exhaled. “Huh.”
She checked her phone. No new messages.
As she walked back to the foot of the bridge, a shadowy figure lunged from behind a pylon.
“Gotcha!”
She screamed, blasting him with the pepper spray.
“Ah fuck!” He staggered back, wailing in agony. She jabbed the taser into his side while beating his head with the telescoped baton.
The assailant crumpled to the ground and convulsed, arms curled, foam frothing on his lips.
She fled, her heart hammering with an exhilarating pride. But it didn’t last. The further she went into the woods, the darker it got. She gripped her taser and spray, frantic eyes scanning the long shadows.
A maniac could be anywhere. Ω