>clink<


I don't like horror stories. I never have. They're silly, and unreal. All those stupid girls with their big boobs and perfectly curly hair - they never run the right way - they're never interesting. The boys are even worse, trying to save the girl only to end up impaled on a meat hook somewhere.

Don't even get me started on Zombies; not only do they not exist, they're clumsy and messy. Gray fingers digging at a perfectly good chest only to become some reddish hole on the screen.

And hacking up a corpse- what's the pupose? If you're trying to hide a body making an even bigger mess than before makes absolutely no sense to me at all.

And forget the "people of the damned" or the devil's children or anything else like that - completely riduculous, invented only to give make-up artists in Hollywood something to do.

>tinktinktinscrapetinkscrapeshuff<

Yes I know, I'm going on and on. But do you know what I really hate about horror movies?

They get murder wrong everytime.

Murder is something perfect and beautiful. It's not a struggle, like so many vapid plot lines insist. That's killing. That's what horror movies are really doing, killing and not murdering.

>tinkshuffle,mmffggg<

You don't think there's a difference? There most certainly is. Killing is just that, dead meat dead because someone hit too hard or was driving too fast. Murder, is plotting; it's work and study and execution of a plan.

>zcraape<

Take this instrument here - a scalpel. Clean, precise, effective. Take the chains that you are attached to, and the chair, all which are bolted into the floor. The perfectly molded plastic gag - not as crude as a cloth, but yet again, very effective.

Now the plan. Your family thinks you are taking a drive in the country, which you did so far as it goes. You stopped to get gas, which I planned becasue I emptied your gas tank. You had to stop here.

>tinktinkscrapescrechmfffggggtinktinktink>

Tsk tsk tsk, such struggles. I'm telling you how perfect this is, and how it will end. I am wearing gloves, and you are positioned over a barrel, which will collect the blood. It is New Year's day, everyone is sleeping off a hangover so no one knows that I am here, and that you are here, and by the time the fire has burnt out you will be burnt bones piled neatly in a blackened chair.

>mffffg>

I know I know, why you, everyone always asks. Well, I a master of my art, and I chose you as my subject. That simple, always simple and clean just like it is supposed to be. A slit throat, a tidy cleanup, the beauty of a perfectly executed death.

>mmmm-

>slllllllligush>

>pat pat pat pat>

>sigh - tink, tink>

>pat pat>

There, see? Nothing horrible about it.

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