It was probably the third dumbest thing I’ve ever done.
No wait, back up a second. You’re probably wondering about the first two. And seeing how I’m here, on my knees with a bloody nose, surrounded by cops, your mind is stitching together assumed facts and broad strokes – none of them flattering. Let me explain.
The bastard deserved to die.
Strong statement, isn’t it? But that’s the thing about us humans, we don’t act like we’ve got reasons for anything most of the time. Well, I had reasons. I’m not going to bore you with too much backstory, but suffice to say it involved a girl. Formerly my girl, as if I had any real say in what she did, that is.
The first dumbest thing? Thinking she loved me.
The second dumbest thing? Trusting a liar.
And if you’re mentally hop-scotching to the final, and third dumbest thing, let me stop you there. It isn’t “killing my exes boyfriend” or “getting my just revenge”. I was just trying to save the goddamned planet. You see, there’s been a lot of cohabitation going on. You know that guy that doesn’t seem right, always laughs at the wrong part of jokes, and can’t tell you what year it is?
That’s one of them.
And how I found out was when I walked in to my apartment, early from work, and found him screwing my girlfriend. Well, not the classic scene of betrayal and lust, more like she got curious and invited him up, and he went to town in more ways than one. I think they’d done the nude mambo, only because of the excess of clothes on the floor. What was in the bed itself was something else entirely. Seems they like to use their conquests as future brood material.
There he was, snuffling up her internal organs like bon bons in a candy dish, when I walk in. Big faceted eyes sprouted out of his skull, and his mouth was stretched impossibly into an elongated tube with tiny filaments at the end. It was one hell of sight, let me tell you.
I keep a piece at home, so I ran to the kitchen and got it, with a butcher knife for good measure. There I was, girded like some idiot gladiator who couldn’t decide whether to hack his enemy to bits or shoot him first, when this thing comes charging out of the bedroom.
So, the third dumbest thing – I shoot and stab him at the same time. What the hell was I thinking? My neighbor, Mrs. Alcombe, isn’t so old that she won’t notice a gunshot, and the sound the thing made as the knife sank into its eye was raise-the-dead in intensity. There it is, wailing its ass off, and I start to hear the sirens.
I run back to the front door, make sure its locked, searching frantically for something large enough to wrap up this monster, which smelled horrible by the way, before the cops came in. I doubt they’d believe their eyes, and I didn’t want to be there when they showed – what if one of them was on the force?
So I lope back to the living room, sheet in hand, when I see the body on the floor. Dammit. Clever bastards – looks like they revert to regular form after death. Now I had some explaining to do, and I could hear shouts from outside and the heavy footsteps of troopers on the move.
So that is where you joined me, in the story I mean, outside and defeated. And they’re trying to nail the whole thing on me! It wasn’t even my damned fault, when you consider everything that happened, that is.
Please help me, I’m pretty sure I won’t make it through the night. One of the cops gave me that thousand-yard stare like I had just murdered his best friend, so I’m not optimistic about my chances. If you’ve got a way to get me out of my cell, that would be appreciated… but, uh… you’re not one of THEM, are you?
I certainly hope not…
I’d do it again in a heartbeat, I can tell you that.