Page 38 of The Art of Being a Psychopath

“Yes. Honestly. I’m so sorry to disturb you. I’ll pop in for that cuppa soon, though,” I assured her.

She smiled, and after saying our goodbyes, she closed her door.

My door was still open; the light from inside spilling out onto the dark path ahead. My gut told me not to go in there, but my head screamed, ‘You have to look at the parcel. See what it is. This is your home, and no one is going to scare you out of it. Least of all some S.K.A.M. artist’.

I walked back to my house, stepped inside, and closed the door. Then I crept over to the parcel and peered down at it. There was no parcel tape on it; it was the kind that opened by a flap at the front. Cautiously, I pulled the flap free and lifted the lid, and when I saw what was inside, I let go of the lid and scrambled backwards, slapping my hands over my mouth to muffle my screams.

I took deep breaths to stop myself from passing out and try to calm my racing heart. My ears rang as adrenaline coursed through my body. I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking as I took them off my mouth and whispered, “What the fuck is that?”

The box sat still on the table, waiting for me to take another look. Beckoning me with its macabre contents.

I took slow steps towards it, this time using my finger to prize the lid open again. I wanted to throw up when I saw the bloody organ lying there, nestled in bubble wrap to stop any leakage to the cardboard around it. Underneath the lid were the words ‘Here’s a heart, seeing as you clearly don’t have one.’

I didn’t need him to sign it to know who it was from.

He’d sent me a heart.

A fucking heart.

Still red with blood, and I had no idea if it was an animal’s or... Oh, God, the alternative didn’t bear thinking about.

What sort of fucked-up madman was I dealing with?

Grace was right, this was ridiculous. All this over a bad review. There had to be more to it than that. Noone would go to these extremes because of a newspaper article. Unless it was a fucking psychopath, which clearly, he was.

I grabbed a brass candlestick from my fireplace for protection and headed into my kitchen to check my back door. It was locked. So I went around checking all the windows to find out where he’d broken in, but they were all secure. Even the lock on my front door didn’t appear to have been tampered with.

How the fuck had he managed to enter my home without breaking a door or window, and without Ethel seeing him come down the path?

Was he a fucking a ghost?

I didn’t know what the fuck was going on, or how things had become so messed up in such a short space of time. But I knew one thing, I couldn’t stay here. Not after he’d been here. The fucker knew where I lived. He’d been in my home. I felt dirty and wretched, and it made my skin crawl. I had to get out.

I grabbed a plastic bag from my kitchen to place the box into and held it at arm’s length as I marched out of my front door to take it to the bins outside.

Then I locked up my house and sent a message to Grace to ask if I could stay at hers. But I had somewhere else I needed to visit first.

CHAPTER

FOURTEEN

S.K.A.M.

Iwatched her holding the rail, swaying with the train as she made her way home. She had no idea I was watching from down the carriage. It was morbidly thrilling to observe her, knowing her days were numbered. That I was in control of her now. She didn’t look like a girl with a death sentence hanging over her, but she would soon.

When the train pulled up at her station, she got off, along with two other passengers... and me.

I found myself falling into step behind her, following her at a distance as she strolled down the platform like she didn’t have a care in the world. Her dark brown curls bounced vibrantly in the breeze as she walked with a spring in her step. I knew if I was coming in the opposite direction, walking towards her, I’d see her blue eyes sparkling. Eyes that I had the overwhelming urge to pluck out like sapphires mined from the dirt. I smiled as I imagined how her sockets would bleed so beautifully with crimson tears. Her screams would fill the air like a perfect symphony. I’d give her an ending to be proud of. Something poetic. A death that a heartless philistine deserved for having the audacity to step foot into my world.

She skipped up the steps of the train station, and I stayed behind her, following her home.

I stopped and waited in the shadows as I watched her walk up her path and unlock her front door. I couldn’t keep the grin off my face as I imagined her finding the box in her living room, opening it and seeing the contents for the first time. Reading my message and knowing it was from me.

It took every ounce of restraint I had to stay where I was and not enter that home to start my work. But I had to be patient.

There was no rush.

This was a piece of art I was going to take my time over.