PRECISION

John Black always kept his implements in the finest condition, each one hanging on the rack with incredible precision like soldiers standing at attention.

His tools were always lined up by size, depending on his needs. They were clean and sharp at all times, at the ready whenever he needed them.

There were saws that could cut down the largest tree and mallets meant for pounding huge spikes into posts. He had screwdrivers and files of every shape and size, pliers to yank out the largest of nails and wrenches to loosen pipes rusted together for years. His planes could shave off the thinnest slice of wood and his blades could cut through the toughest leather.

John Black scrubbed his tools clean after each use; they were gleaming, just waiting for his next job. Whenever the call came, he was ready.

The calls came every day and into the night; John Black was a busy man. No one ever called him; he found his own clientele. 

John Black was not a carpenter or a plumber; no, his job was of a different nature and his instruments were weapons meant to inflict the most pain a human could endure. For you see, John Black was a psychopath, a stalker of the innocent, a torturer and a murderer.

Oh, yes, his tools served him well, sated his sadistic needs. His victims were so easy to find for John Black was an unassuming man. 

John Black lives everywhere so keep your doors locked and never go out alone, even to check your mailbox for he could be living right next door. And October is his favorite month, his time to spill as much blood as possible.

Scary business, isn’t it?

NAR © 2022

Written for Sadje’s What do you see #154

MISS JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

Their house sits high upon a cliff
With water and rocks all around.
But something stinks, just take a whiff;
You don’t need no bloody bloodhound.

Such a lovely couple when they were out;
Good looking and dressed oh so fine.
There was never a reason for people to doubt
Their union was anything but sublime.

However, one thing could not be denied:
The young lass she never did smile.
With eyes often red as if she’d just cried,
A certain fear one could sense for a mile.

As fine as they looked, one dared not approach;
They were cloaked in a dark shroud of danger.
She seemed to annoy him and he would reproach
With words filled with malice and anger.

She was prim and proper, always quiet and shy,
While the blade acted pompous and proud.
It was obvious to all; we soon found out why:
He liked mocking her in a voice overloud

A week or two passed with nary a sight
Of the couple we called Jekyll and Hyde.
We all had our theories which gave us a fright,
A feeling Miss Jekyll had horribly died.

Some folks say our claims are nothing but folly,
People getting carried away with their thoughts.
But Hyde came to town like a peacock so jolly,
To pick up a large jar he just bought.

Now on Hyde’s arm is a red-headed floozy
As flashy as the peacock himself.
Her perfume smells cheap while he is all boozy.
And a jar with Miss Jekyll’s head sits on a shelf.

NAR © 2021