RED RIVER RIPPER STRIKES AGAIN!! 10 MORE BODIES WASH ASHORE
It was a curious headline to read since I was quite sure I hadn’t killed anyone that week, let alone ten people. The nerve of some people, acting as though I’m some sort of inhuman monster. No. I am nothing if not careful, and killing ten people all at once was but. Which begged the question: who or what had killed them.
Thankfully, I was in the position to find out. Linel was a frightfully small town tucked away into a forgotten corner of the American outback. It was a timid little place that was maybe five years away from total collapse. Already the cracks could be seen, starting with its absolutely pathetic police force. There were maybe five officers in total and none of them knew what to do in the event of a homicide. So they turned to the next best thing: a doctor, specifically me.
Being the sole medical profession in Linel, I alone had the knowledge to aid in the investigation. It was what made killing there so easy. So imagine the irony when there came I crime was actually entailed to solve.
As stated above, the bodies were all found washed up upon the river shore. Strangest thing was they were all found on the same shore. I assumed the killer had thrown the bodies into the river to hide the evidence. If that were the case, it’d have been impossible for them all to wind up in the same location like they did. They also didn’t suffer from the bloating and decomposition associated with waterlogged corpses. Someone was trying to make these bodies look like my handiwork. Or, judging from the wounds, something.
I am no mere killer, dear reader. A “killer” would chase someone down with a meat hook and mangle the body like a child with their toys. I, on the other hand, take good care of my victims. I start at the neck, delivering a single decisive cut before they can regain consciousness. I also keep them suspended by their feet so the blood doesn’t stain their body. When all their veins have dried up, I clean the skin with formaldehyde, let it dry for six minutes, no more, no less. After that, I apply a moisturizing cream to all relevant body parts. Their bodies are speck less and pristine by the time they’re ready to be chopped.
Those ten, however, were mutilated as if by a common dog. The skin and meat was splashed open, the edges of every wound jagged and unkempt, and the bones were splintered as handled by the world’s worst gardener. There was no respect for the bodies. None. It was despicable.
It had to be an animal, I lied to the officers. No human would go through the trouble of desecrating the bodies in this way. There was some truth in that, but their condition had not been deliberate. Some scoundrel had figured himself the next Jack the Ripper and started slashing up the bodies with a semblance of thought or skill. As if that wasn’t disgraceful enough, they had the gall to try and pass this sloppy work as my own.
I was furious when the news spread. In a single day, almost five years of careful cultivation had gone up in flames. My name meant nothing. The fear it incited was a boorish sort that even a child could conjure. No longer was I the eye in the shadows you told yourself wasn’t real; I was an animal that needed to be put down.
Something had to be done and being so close to the police gave me just the opportunity. Their investigation was as mismanaged and juvenile as always, but what clues it did unearth proved invaluable. All of the bodies had been last seen in the same location: the old hunting grounds up by the lumber mill. According to their remaining friends, the trip was a collective decision in order to celebrate one of their own recently getting engaged. The hunting lodge has them checking in at 3:07 in the afternoon. 16 hours later, a hiker happened upon them, faces bloated with river water. It was as good as any place to start.
Of course I had to be somewhat more discreet in my inspection than the police, an act I was more than prepared for. When I recognized my passion for the homicidal arts, the first thing I did was shave my head and face of all hair. It was easier to paint a new portrait with a blank canvas. All it took was a wig, fake eyebrows, color contacts, and a surgical application of makeup. The lodge attendants had no idea it was me. No one ever did.
There wasn’t much to find in the hunting grounds, though. It was, after all, a forest. There were no shreds of fabric, no missing guns, not even a body part. Even the section that ran by the river was devoid of evidence. With the mess that had been made of the bodies, there should have been some trace of a struggle. If there was, the forest would not forfeit it. However, in the end, it did not need to.
I found my first lead upon returning to the lodge after a long, fruitless day of scouring the forest. Passing through the main lobby, I overheard a peculiar conversation.
“Get this. The creep wasn’t even wearing any neon or whatever. I almost thought he was a deer what with all that skulking.”
My ears perked up at that and I lingered near the hunters.
“Should’ve just shot the guy and spared the world an idiot.” The other said.
“I almost did! But the fucker scampered off like a fucking rat or something. Couldn’t exactly shoot straight with how dark it was. I couldn’t even see my fucking gun.”
The two hunters enjoyed a hearty laugh whilst I was left to ponder what I had heard.
For those who don’t know, it’s common practice for hunters to wear bright clothing as opposed to camouflage. It prevents other hunters from mistaking them for animals and the like. If what I’d heard was true, then someone had been skulking around the grounds at night whilst wearing dark clothing. There was no better suspect.
My nighttime proclivities had left me well prepared to capture the mystery man. The first step was making my way onto the hunting grounds undetected. I couldn’t go through the front door, even whilst disguised. A careful enough eye could spy details even make up couldn’t hide. I dressed for the occasion, wearing nothing but black, and snuck my way inside.
The forest was an eerie place to be at night. Not for the long shadows cast under a plump, full moon nor the chill that slithered through the air. It was the sounds that came creeping from every unseen corner. I hated being in the middle of it. The snapping twigs, the whistling branches, the alien calls of animals skulking in the undergrowth. It gave one the impression that at any moment, something would leap from and drag you back into the shadows.
I hate that sensation of being at the mercy of some figure in the dark. It gnaws at the corners of the mind, robbing me of any piece of mind. In my younger years, it followed me wherever I went. It was in my closet, under my bee, and down the hall; fucking my mother. I feared such an itch would drive me mad. As I grew older, however, I found a solution. Why fear something in the dark when that something is you.
That all changed in the forest. Once again, I was caught in the dark with all manner of monsters staring at me. As if I needed another reason to despise that cretinous amateur.
The hunt was easier than any before it. In the forest, there were no prying eyes or passing witnesses. I only needed to worry about the hunters, but barely. They were far too focused on their own prey. Resisting the urge to drag them away was difficult. If only the temptation had been greater than my rage. I needed them, afterall. The trick to hunting a predator is not to track them, but rather, their prey. I knew they couldn’t resist for long.
Sure enough, when the hour was at its latest, I spied someone moving through the undergrowth. I had been lingering near one of the hunters and spotted something approaching them. It started as a mere shade slinking through the underbrush and gradually evolved into a figure clad in black. They were remarkably skillful at stalking. Had I not expected them, I might not have spied their approach.
Seeing them for the first time, I noticed something odd about the figure. It took me a while before I realized what exactly put me on edge. The figure made no sound. Not a little sound; none. Every shrub they brushed past and twig they stepped on were as quiet as corpses. It was as if someone had muted the figure. Had I not seen them with my own eyes, I’d never have thought anyone was there.
How were they doing that, I remember thinking as my hands crushed into fists. There were just an amateur. I’d ought to rip open their throat and hang them by their veins! And just when they were about to croak out their last pathetic breath, I’d cut them down and…No. Calm down. Be professional.
As talented as the figure was, they seemed to have trouble watching their back. I crept towards them with unrivaled skill and drew a syringe from my coat. In the past I had strangled or even taken to knocking my prey unconscious. When such methods proved too messy or slow, I turned to chemical alternatives. I crept through the undergrowth until I was right behind the figure and then, in one swift motion, stabbed the needle into their back. It was a routine I’d practiced many times over and like then, it did not fail me.
The figure started to wobble before they could give any sign of alarm and collapsed without even a whimper. I caught them before they could fall and slung them over my shoulder. We were far enough away from the hunter that my actions, subtle as they were, remained undetected. The amateur was mine.
A grin grew across my face as I rushed back through the woods. It had been some time since I’d been so excited for a kill. The mere thought of them tied up in my workshop almost made me squeal with glee. With how impatient I was, it is amazing I returned to my car without being caught. I zipped tied the figures wrists and ankles before shoving them in the back and driving away, breaking every speeding law known to man.
I drove not towards the town, but deeper into the woods. I had learned through a great deal of trial and error that it is better to keep one’s workshop far, far away. First it was a storage container that some nosey attendant looked inside. Then it was an old cabin a teenager broke into. Finally, I bought an old camping trailer from a stranger online and parked it out in the middle of nowhere. The inside was then covered in a fine layer of plastic wrap before I moved in my tools. They hung from every wall, rows and rows of blades from delicate scalpels to meat cleavers. They were laid flat against the wrapping, the cold metal complimenting the lifeless plastic. You never knew what each victim would require, so it was best to come prepared. It was there, my shrine of steel, that I drove the amateur to and here I would begin my work.
I abandoned all pretenses of professionality once I stepped inside. The amateur was not to be my victim. They were meant only to suffer. I tied them to a chair and ripped off their morbid attire, piece by tattered piece. Beneath was a hairless, detailed face quite similar to my own. It was hard to tell if they were supposed to be a man or a woman, but it would not matter. The sedative would wear off soon, afterall, and then I could start having some fun.
It had been a while since I let myself indulge in my more unpolished impulses. I couldn’t decide where to start. Perhaps I’d peel their skin or cut off an arm and feed it to them. Maybe I’d mangle their face and hang them in the town square, a dire message to those who dared insult me. Yes, I thought to myself as I drew a blade from my work bench, my smile caught in the reflection. That would do just nicely.
My wait was short lived. Mere minutes after gathering my tools, the stranger began to stir. I had never regressed so much in a single instant. All at once, I was a child again, skinning stray cats with a butter knife. What fun times. I turned to face my plaything just as their eyes opened.
“I’m almost disappointed.” I began. “It was no trouble at all finding you. Were you even trying to hide? Did you think I would not find you? It wouldn’t be the greatest insult you’ve made.”
I stepped forward and placed the knife edge up under their chin. “Do you know who I am?”
It was another second before they fully returned to consciousness. My heart thundered in excitement. First would come the screaming, then the struggling, and finally, the begging. Sweet, succulent pleas for me to leave unabated. I held my breath and waited. A minute passed and I still waited. And then a second. A third. Fourth.
“I said, do you know who I am!” I spat at the amateur, digging the knife deeper into their jaw, but my demand fell on deaf ears. The figure stared at me not with fear or alarm, but the wide, curious eyes of a child. My excitement turned to anger under that gaze and I dragged my dagger across their chin. A little motivation to help them play along.
Yet they still did not scream. There was not one sign of pain anywhere on their person even as blood trickled down their chin.
My anger turned to confusion and then to fear. What was happening? They hadn’t even flinched. The bastards had to be mocking me. They were in pain, any person would be, but they refused to let me enjoy it. That pompous bastard!
Anger burned through my veins like hot oil. I gripped the knife so hard my hand trembled and clenched my teeth until they felt as though they would shatter. I raised my dagger high over my head and brought it straight down on the amateurs hand.
It was only then that the figure reacted. They opened their mouth as if to scream, but what emerged was far worse. Their lips peeled back and didn’t stop at their cheeks. Their mouth stretched further than should have been possible, cutting up into the rest of their head until it looked as though it would be cut in two. What was under that hellish grin wasn’t flesh or bone left naked as the skin peeled away, but a face. My face to be specific.
I stumbled back at the sight of me. I touched my own face as if to check it was still there. The one I stared into was more just a replica, however. It was a copy more perfect than my own and behind it, those barren eyes staring out. The sight overloaded my mind in a single instant. All at once, I was a child again waiting for the thing in the dark to come find me.
“Give it back.” I remember saying. “That’s mine. My face! Give it back!”
I raised my danger once again only for the figure to open their mouth again. Their head peeled back and this time, revealed my face from before my alterations. The bright hair, the chaotic arrangement freckles, even that mole I’d cut off were all present. Every detail I hated stared back at me while the eyes remained as simple as ever.
I wanted to bring the knife down. I thought with all my might, trying to command my hand to rise, but I couldn’t. It was my face. Before it, I was just the frail man who’d been trapped behind it.
It was the figure itself that finally freed me. He opened his maw again and this time, revealed a face I did not recognize. This was followed by another and another and another. Faster and faster the mouths opened until not even faces were revealed anymore. There were only rows upon rows of teeth stacked atop each other and perpetually pulling back. By the time I noticed one pulling back, fifteen others had emerged from the maws and raced away. There wasn’t even a mouth anymore, but mouths within mouths within mouths like a twisted nesting doll.
It was maddening to witness. My eyes tried and failed to follow the pattern only to sting from the effort. My civility melted away in the face of such impossibility and was replaced with a single minded drive: survive.
Without thought, I ripped the dagger out of that redundant beast’s hand with the intent of stabbing something more vital. However, the entire arm divided in two so whilst there was indeed a limb tied to the chair, another was caught on the blade and dragged out of the first. Another arm divided from the side of the one my blade was embedded in and then lashed back to said knife. The hand wrapped around my wrist and began splitting, hands sliding out from each like cards from a deck until a net of fingers had spread over my arm. I was trapped with that thing mere inches away, folding and unfolding.
I could not comprehend what I was seeing. Arms unfolded from arms in a swirling cascade of fractal limbs. Body parts split only to rejoin, twisting themselves into impossible shapes. Three arms sprung from the shoulder only to fuse at the wrist, leaving a single hand to be shared between them. Five other limbs wrapped around each in a helix that ended in a flower of hands and fingers. It was a redundant monstrosity with too many limbs and not enough space. An impossible nightmare that would no longer stay in the dark.
It pulled me close, its endless grip wrapped tight around my arm, but I refused to be this demon’s victim. My free hand fished through air until my fingers grazed one of many blades still hanging from the walls. Whichever knife it was, I quickly brought it down on the arms holding me and cleaved through meat and bone in one swift chop.
Newly freed, I leapt away from the living paradox. Already it’s endlessly unwinding figure had filled the space in my RV, blocking the door with a tangle of body parts. There was still, however, one way out. In the back of the trailer, where the creature had trapped me, there was a larger window that was easy enough to break. Using the knives, I shattered the glass and scurried out into the forest.
I planned to rush to my car, but the creature had the exact same though. Limbs exploded out of the side of the trailer and stabbed into the vehicle like arrows. They took deep swipes, ripping the car apart piece by piece until it was no more than a pile or scrap.
The hands retracted and pulled the rest of the monstrosity out into the open, letting it unfurl to its true shape. It never seemed to settle. There was always something more to unpack, always a new limb to unveil. It rose to tower over the trees with a forest or shadows cast from it. Atop the web of limbs rested a head made of mouth and upon each tooth rested an eye. Eyes that, one by one, turned to look at me.
I’d never felt so small in my adult life. With the knife in my hand, I thought of cutting the creature apart, but this insanity was short lived. I couldn’t deny what that creature was nor how powerless I was in the face of it. There was only one course of action left. I ran back into the woods like a fucking mongrol with it’s tail tucked between it’s legs. Pathetic.
The creature had no intention of letting me flee so easily. It surged forth in a cascade of hands and feet, weaving through the trees like a swarm of insects. Despite its unorthodox physique, the creature was quite nimble. It’s body was liquid, I believe, in that it seemed to morph to fit between the trees. The sight was quite entrancing, if I do say so, whenever I had the time to sneak a peek, but it was impossible to forget the danger it posed.
I saw it was nimble, but not enough to catch me. Its body battered against the trees with every step and broke off a number of branches. If I could be so bold as to speculate on such an alien creature, I do not believe it was comfortable with changing its shape. Compacting such a mass must have been more difficult than unpacking it. Wherever shrinking was required, it was slowed just enough for me to keep my distance. Though what little advantage this gave me could not last.
I wove and ducked around as many trees as I could, trying to slow the beast down, but the chase was stretching on for too long. My lungs slowly began to boil in my ribs, staining every breath with a tortuous dryness. Muscles ignited all throughout me, most so in my legs who felt as though they were trying to kill themselves. Already my pace had slowed and the forest’s unforgiving terrain offered no respite.
I needed a plan, but how could I hope to best such a creature? The short answer was I could not. As much as I longed to feel its flesh beneath my blade, it would always be my better. This meant the only option was to escape. But how?
The answer came to me when the forest suddenly ended. I came racing out onto a barren roadway bathed in moonlight and stopped. Through the cracking of branches behind me, I heard a far more mundane sound. That of rushing water and a lot of it. I saw a bridge passing over a rather tumultuous part of the river just down the road. The water wasn’t quiet at rapid speeds, but they could certainly run faster than me. I only hoped the demon was unable to swim.
It burst through the tree line as I approached the bridge. I knew it was a risk. The flat road wouldn’t delay the creature as the woodland thicket had, but there was no other choice. I ran with all my might, forgetting the pain in my legs and lungs, feet hammering against the asphalt. Behind came a thunderous choir of footsteps that shook the earth and stirred the air. The road quaked with such ferocity it became hard to keep my footing. I could imagine quite well what would happen if that strength was turned on me. I had seen the bodies. The image was fresh in my mind as I ran and gave me just enough motivation to make it to the bridge.
There was part of me relieved at the victory and so many more than wanted to grasp that feeling. Had I listened to them, I would not be here to recount this. I did not slow as I hiked up the bridge, although my progress had been accompanied by the creatures. It was close now, more so than I feared it ever would be.
I could feel the wind generated by its swiping limbs brushing against my neck. Sometimes I swore there was even a claw plucking at the hairs. But I was close, so close. I could see the edge of the bridge and hear the roaring water below. Just a few more steps. That’s all it would take. Three more. Two more. One and then jump! I was in the air. I was free. All I had to do was let gravity take me, but the fall never came.
By shirt snagged under my armpits as something snatched me up by the collar. A million fingers gripped the fabric and a shifting shadow passed over me. I didn’t need to look up to see that smile unfurling ad infinitum. Already I spied spindly hands reaching down to tear me apart. I had done most of the job for them after all, bringing myself right to the river for prompt disposal.
I could see it all play out before me. Tomorrow, they’d find my mangled body washed up somewhere. Then, the papers would come saying “RED RIVER RIPPER MURDERS LOCAL DOCTOR!!” and my body would be swept away to make room for more victims. It wouldn’t just take my life. It’d lose my name.
Fear turned to rage as such a thought crossed my mind. I looked up the creature and the impossible shapes it took, my gaze a light with utter fury. I may not have killed it, but I could deny it one more victim and everything that was mine.
I raised my knife one more time and in one quick slash, sever the part of my shirt it grasped. The other arms shot out to grab me, but the shock of my escape delayed them long enough for the river to take me. The cold of the water struck me like lightning and after the initial shock, caused my focus to lapse. I had just enough strength to break the surface. Not to breathe, of course, but to see what may be following me.
I spied the bridge, already a mere speck in the distance, and atop it stood the creature. It never moved to follow, even from the shoreline. It simply stood there, holding the only piece of me it would ever get.
“FUCK YOU!!” I remember shouting, overcome by my feeling of triumph. “I WIN! I WIN!!!”
It was a moment I savor even to this day. Rare is it that I find such ecstasy even from my victims. It was the greatest victory I’ve ever known, but it was not yet complete.
I floated on the river for hours, letting it carry me far away from the creature, until the sun finally rose. Only then, when I felt the monster could not find me, I drifted to the river’s edge and crawled ashore. I had been swept miles away to a town just south of my starting point. It was a tiny place as insignificant as the dirt blowing through its streets, but thankfully had a police station in town. I remember marching through the door, dragging river water with every step, finding the nearest officer and saying “Greetings. I am the Red River Ripper. Would you be so kind as to arrest me?”
They didn’t believe me, of course, but it was easy to convince them. I outlined my crimes in exquisite detail and took them out to see my trailer. Despite the damage, there was enough evidence within to finally arrest me. I plead guilty at the trial and was, to the shock of no one, sentenced to death. News spread fast of my crimes and the chilling efficiency with which they were undertaken. It was undeniable who I was and what I had done. I couldn’t have asked for more.
But that was not the best part. The ten men whom the creature had killed were all attributed to me and I was more than happy to accept such an honor. I hope that creature, whatever it was, knows what I did and I hope it hates me for it. Maybe it will come for me. I see no reason why it could not. Perhaps it will disguise itself as one of the guards or even the inmates. Perhaps no. Why be subtle when such a tremendous insult has been delivered, after all? I’m a dead man already. I would at least want to die knowing how great of a wound I’d delivered.
It has not come, however. The days have grown old and yet here I am, rotting in a cell. I wonder if it does not care like I do. Perhaps it was simply a bloodthirsty animal. Perhaps what it did was simply a means of covering its tracks or even worse, an accident. I fear it does not think of me.
It is now six months since my conviction. The media attention my crimes assumed has died down. Now, I doubt any of you know who the Red River Ripper even is. This is why I write this now. I have made friends with a group of smugglers in my prison. If they are true to their word, they will find someway to make this message public. I do not know if I will leave to see it published, though the hope that someone may yet see this gives me a drive like nothing I have ever known.
To whomever finds this, I leave you with this: I have killed a great many people. For their sakes, do not forget me or what I did. And if any you are to run across a beast with bodies upon bodies coalescing within, kill it and in its last moments, remind it of me. Let the last thought on that monster’s mind be me.