Adam’s eyes followed the razor—the sound of scraping flesh throbbed in his ears. He closed his eyes as the scraping continued. One line. Two. Three. Then….
“Ouch!” his father yelped.
Adam opened his eyes. They widened as droplets of blood oozed down his father’s neck. Adam’s insides swirled at the sight of it. His veins pulsated. He wanted to rub the blood between his fingers.
He shot off the toilet and rushed to his father’s side. The blood called to him. He dipped his fingertip in a crimson drop glistening on the counter, but his father slapped his hand away. That was when Adam’s heart sank. The initial sight of the blood caused him more joy that anything he’d ever experienced.
“Don’t worry.” His father smiled. “It’s just a little nick.” He couldn’t tell his father that he wasn’t concerned about him. He could never tell his father that he was fascinated by the sight of blood.
After that moment, Adam’s urges escalated to a new level. He’d sit in his bedroom, repeatedly pricking his finger with a safety pin. He’d stare at his finger, watching the luxurious ruby red liquid flow from the tip, only to feel depressed when the clotting factor set in and his finger ceased to bleed.
During school, he did his best to contain his urges. Yet, he wanted to be front and center every time a classmate fell on the playground. He had rushed toward Marnie Parker as she scraped her knee against the blacktop. “Ahh!” she wailed.
Adam knelt down in front of her, fanning his fingers across the open gash on her knee. “Wow,” he gasped. He scooped up a dollop of blood and rubbed it into his palms.
Marnie winced and slapped his hand. “Adam, what are you doing?” she cried. “That’s gross!”
Adam shook his head. “No. It’s beautiful.”
Tears dripped down Marnie’s cheeks. She slid against the blacktop, backing up into a chain link fence—terrified. “Stop it,” her voice quivered, “or I’m going to tell the teacher.”
Adam’s blood lust was overwhelming. And it wasn’t long after the Marnie Parker incident that his classmates started to notice him lurking, waiting for someone to fall. Or Adam, even pushing down his classmates himself. He then decided to stay away from the kids in his class.
He thought that if he kept to himself, he’d be able to hold his urges back. But staying away from his classmates had the opposite effect.
By age twelve, he began experimenting with animals. Pricking his own finger, waiting for kids to hurt themselves, and his own diluted fantasies were simply not enough anymore. He wanted to see the life flow out of something living, to shiver in delight when he saw the red, sticky substance pour out of veins, like hot magma spouting from a newly-erupted volcano.
His sister’s pet hamster, Eddie, had been his first victim. He strapped Eddie down with rubber bands on top of his biology book and cut into him eagerly with a pocket knife. Ah, Eddie. He didn’t even see it coming.
Adam gasped excitedly as all of the hamster blood ran down the side of his text book. He watched, mesmerized as Eddie squirmed, squeaked, and took his last breath.
After draining the creature, Adam sat back and examined it. He knew what he’d done was awful. But why didn’t he feel awful? Why was he so different? He was certain that nobody who was sane would understand him. And why would they? He enjoyed watching blood pour out of flesh. He was obsessed with killing and death. That was not and never would be normal.
He stared at the dead rodent for a long period of time, waiting for the tears to fall out of his eyes. Normal people cried when they did something terrible, so why couldn’t he?
It was simple. He was devoid of emotion. He was numb—like a living robot—programmed to act like a human, but wasn’t human at all.
From that moment on, he decided to put on an act. He bought books on acting, practiced different facial expressions in front of the mirror, and adapted perfect manners.
He had to pretend like he wasn’t a freak. And if he could do that and do it well, then maybe it would hide the monster lurking somewhere inside of him...
A week later, he had sat in his tree house, binoculars in hand, canvasing the neighborhood for stray cats. Victoria, his kid sister, poked her head through the hatch. “Adam, what are you doing?”
Adam lowered his binoculars as a trusting grin spread across his lips. “Nothing. Just bird watching.” That was an excuse he used often.
“Have you seen Eddie?” Victoria asked, a tear dribbling down her cheek.
Adam set the binoculars down. “No, I haven’t.” He got up and walked over to the hatch. “But I’ll help you look for him.” He placed his hand on her shoulder and patted it lovingly. Of course, he’d help her look—and after they’d been looking for a while he’d fabricate a lie about Eddie running away. Even if Adam didn’t help her, she’d never find the mangy rodent because Adam made sure that after he was through with Eddie, he flushed his body down the toilet.