“Portrait Of A Professional Psycho” Part 2 – Short Story

“Portrait Of A Professional Psycho” Part 2 by James Cater

Click to read Part 1 Here

The scent of early morning dew over the dense forest always served to wake Lisa. Dressed in a dark blue tracksuit, she bounded along the dusty pathway, revelling in the exhilarating feeling created by the cool air rushing over her face.

Today would be hot. The sun was already growing in strength, although still low in a blue cloudless sky.

Occasionally she passed dog walkers, and her smile was returned by each and every one with enthusiasm which matched her own.

As the path wound deeper into the woods, the leafy canopy dimmed the light to a sullen and quite romantic grey.

Lisa, becoming aware that her lace was undone, stopped and bent down to attend to the Adidas shoe. It was then that the chirping of the multitude of birds abruptly stopped.

Lisa looked around her, the trees seeming to close in, the light no longer romantic.

She shrugged off her sense of paranoia, rising to her feet, but before she took a step a loud noise made her turn back the way she had come. A large stone bounced on the path a few feet from her, crashing into dry leaves and fallen branches. In the oppressing silence the noises seemed much louder than they were, and Lisa’s heart pounded against her breast.

Something much bigger thumped onto the path behind her, and she turned again, wondering where on Earth the rocks were falling from.

A dark shape was stood before her. It was the same figure she had seen following her on Tuesday.

He must have jumped out of a tree, and he looked like he was struggling to stand on a twisted ankle. His hand began to reach for the injured area, but then he quickly straightened up, gritting his teeth and staring at Lisa. He opened his long overcoat, and Lisa thought he was going to flash her. Underneath the coat, however, he was fully clothed.

The bad news was that he also had a firemans’ axe, and slowly but definitely he drew the weapon from a home-made sheath.

Lisa was no mug, and was already on the run, bounding through the undergrowth and dodging past trees. She glanced behind her, knowing she shouldn’t, and the opportunist brambles wrapped her legs and brought her crashing to the floor with a yelp.

The man was limping after her, axe held across his chest in both hands. She couldn’t see his face, as he had his head down as he came at her in a capering run.

Rolling from her back, her feet slipped on the scattered debris of the forest floor, and absurdly Lisa imagined herself as a cartoon character, legs spinning in mid-air before she shot off again.

She could hear the blade of the axe scything through the air just as she found traction, and she stumbled into a run once more.

Trees flashed by on either side of her as she cut sharply around them in an attempt to put some distance between them. Lisa didn’t know where she was, and didn’t care where she ended up, as long as she got there alone.

She ducked under a low branch, and as she broke into a small clearing her foot caught in a hole and again she was sent sprawling. She tensed, waiting for the whoosh of the axe, eyes closed tightly.

After a few seconds, Lisa tentatively opened an eye and swivelled it around slowly in its socket. There was no maniac stood over her.

She took a deep breath, realising that she was on the verge of passing out. The sound of her indrawn breath bounced around the trees and then disappeared into the silence once more.

Nothing stirred between the shadows of the ancient trees. If the birds knew anything, they were keeping it to themselves, as were all the other creatures usually heard in such a place.

This is where he appears from behind a tree, Lisa thought, getting slowly to her feet. She turned in a slow circle, saw nothing, and then looked up in the trees, remembering where he had first appeared from.


Lisa sought out the sun, trying to remember whether it rose in the east or the west. Japan, land of the rising sun, she thought, so it must be east. Knowing that a dual carriageway ran along the eastern side of the forest, she set off in that direction, walking as quietly as she could so that she could hear the slightest movement.

Eventually she reached the road, only having one scare along the way. A pheasant had been sitting on a branch above her, and only when she was directly beneath it did the bird take to the air with a loud slapping-whistling sound. Lisa nearly wet herself.

Still swearing at the bird under her breath, she traversed a low fence which marked the perimeter of the forest and started the jog home.

Rolling over, Ezra reached out to hit the top of his talking alarm clock.

His fingers bent back against the earthen wall, however, filling the pit with agonising clicking sounds.

Ezra was now fully awake, and realised that he was not, in fact, lay in his bedroom, but was lay three feet below ground level in what appeared to be a collapsed rabbit warren.

Small, dark tunnels lead away on all sides of him, and a grey rabbit watched him with eyes that looked like they were under severe pressure and might pop out at any second.

“Sod off.” Ezra told it, and the huge back feet thumped the ground as it spun away, tail bobbing into the darkness.

With a groan, Ezra reached upwards, grasped the grassy turf around the edge of the hole, and pulled a considerable amount of soil on top of his up-turned face.

After much flailing and trying to get soil out of his eyes, Ezra finally stood up, his head pounding. Looking up at a thick low branch which had pieces of a familiar looking scalp attached, Ezra realised why.

“Four hours!” He exclaimed, looking at his watch and estimating how long he had been unconscious. “Right, that’s the last bloody straw! I’m going to finish this once and for all.” He looked around at the deserted forest. “Once and for all!” He shouted at the top of his voice. A mad cackle began deep in his throat, but he cut it short and nervously looked around.

“Where’s that old lady?” He asked himself quietly.

Convinced that she was not going to show up, he continued his mad cackle.

“Once and for all!”

It was half past ten, twilight was fast turning to night. Streetlights had blinked on, but were still mildly glowing with a red light, not having changed to the glaring orange which shrouds much of the country at night, and does a good job of hiding the stars from prying eyes.

It was very humid, and even the few cars which passed through the streets did so with an air of laziness, the traffic as fatigued by the relentless heat of the day as the people.

The smell of cut grass floated upon the night air, accompanied by the droning of television sets and stereo systems through the open windows.

Two figures walked down the street. One wore a long, dark coat and a large flat-rimmed hat, the other black jeans and a long-sleeve tie-dye shirt.

“A tie-dye shirt?” Ezra asked his companion.

“It’s all I had.” Adam Hemmings answered in a defensive tone. “Anyway, it’s mainly dark blue.”

“Well, that’s all right, then” Scowled Ezra. The two walked on in silence.

Adam wiped his brow with the back of a hand the size of a spade. “Aren’t you hot in that great big coat?” He asked.

“Shut up.” Beads of sweat ran down Ezra’s face. He couldn’t explain to someone like Adam about how it was the look which mattered. Even if it did mean wearing a full-length coat on the most humid night for the last ten years.

They passed the house belonging to the monster with whom Ezra had almost had an unfortunate encounter with previously. This time he wouldn’t get the wrong house.

The two strode down Lisa’s path in silence, stopping by the door. Lights were on inside both upstairs and downstairs. They listened for a moment, heard nothing, and Ezra pulled a lockpick kit from a pocket.

Within a minute, they were inside.

Lisa lay in the bathtub, the old eighties hit ‘Don’t Leave Me This Way’ by the Communards sounding from the radio on the shelf. It was her second bath of the day, the first being when she returned from her jog, and this one because she thought it might help her get some sleep.

She’d spent most of the day at the police station looking at photographs and telling her story again and again. Assuring her that they would find him, and she shouldn’t worry any more about it, Lisa had been sent away with nothing but a detectives telephone number as protection.

Being a modern, independent girl, Lisa had found her grandfather’s old Luger pistol from the war, and this lay to the left of the radio. Not really being a pistol expert, She had nevertheless soon figured out the workings of the gun, after all, she did watch films. A full magazine was locked and loaded, and she thought the safety catch was broken anyway, so it was ready to go.

Maybe she was just paranoid, but either way, having a gun certainly boosted her confidence. Lisa just hoped that she wouldn’t need it.

She pulled the plug and stood up in the bath tub, listening to the water being sucked into the swirling drain before reaching for a towel to wrap around her body.

Ezra stopped as he entered the living room, and turned his head towards the gurgling sound, recognising it instantly.

“She’s in the bath.”

Adam failed to notice his partner stop, and lumbered into his back. Ezra stumbled forwards into the low coffee table, his shins crunching into the sharp wooden edge.

“Ow!” He cried as quietly as he could, slumping into the nearest chair and rubbing his injured legs with his hands.

“Sorry.” Adam whispered. “You wait here; I’ll go and get her.” Before Ezra could call him back, Adam had disappeared through the doorway and started the climb up the staircase.

Ezra tried to follow him, but as soon as he put his weight on his feet the pain in his shins made black and white spots appear around the edges of his vision.

“Oh, bugger.” He said, falling back down and trying to rub the pain out of his legs.

The bathroom door was flung open just as Lisa was reaching up to turn the radio off, and several things happened at once.

Firstly, Lisa screamed at the surprise intruder, who stood in the doorway and said “Ah, ha!”

Her finger slipped on the radio, knocking the volume slider all the way to its’ loudest position, and her towel dropped to the floor as she reached for the Luger with her other hand.

As the door was flung open with such force, it bounced against the pine towel rack and closed at much the same velocity as it opened at, striking Adam full on his nose, and finally rebounding with a crack and a squelch, to stand open once again.

By the time the door was still, Lisa was stark naked and pointing the gun at Adam.

Adam grinned stupidly, several teeth felling from his mouth as he looked her up and down, and then he fell backwards and into a deep unconsciousness with a final “Wow” coming from his leaking face. He was the happiest looking unconscious person that Lisa had ever seen.

Lowering the pistol, Lisa switched the deafening radio off. She bent down and felt for the mans’ pulse. She found a weak one, which surprised her, as he lay with both his open eyes crossed so badly that only a tiny part of his iris could be seen to each side of the bridge of his nose.

“Who the hell are you?” Lisa said. By the look of him, he would be out cold for hours, maybe days, but she quickly bound his hands and feet with towels to be safe. She had become quite adept at improvising bonds from playing ‘Cowboys and Indians’ as a child with her two older brothers.

Was this the man in the hat who’d been following her? This man looked taller. And his tie-dye t-shirt was in contrast with his other more sinister clothes. Well, she hoped he’d got a good eyeful of her, as he wouldn’t see that again in prison.

She pulled on some clothes on without drying herself, and went downstairs to call the police.

Ezra had heard the brief commotion upstairs, and thinking that Adam had succeeded where he had failed, had summoned the willpower to stand. His legs were not broken, merely bruised across the tendons and the bone, and he tenderly made his way bent-double across the room.

Lisa reached the door at the same time as Ezra.

Ezra saw her curvaceous tight denim jean-clad legs first, and before he had time to straighten up, was struck as one of them rose in a graceful arc to meet his chin. As Lisa screamed again, Ezra’s hat flew across the room to land atop the television set.

As Lisa turned and ran back up the stairs Ezra quickly recovered his equilibrium, and dived at her feet.

“Come here!” He yelled, grabbing hold of her ankles and tripping Lisa.

Lisa kicked and tried to squirm free of his grip, but it was solid. The Luger, which she’d placed in her pocket, dug into her leg. Lisa knew it would be pointless to try to use the pistol now – this psycho would be on her and overpower her before she could raise the barrel. She had to get away.

Ezra kept hold of her ankle with one hand, reaching into his coat with the other. The hand came back into view almost immediately, the chrome-bladed hunting knife reflecting the overhead light bulb and casting sinister fairy-beads over the walls. He brought the blade down in a scything arc, missing her legs by mere inches.

This gave Lisa the extra incentive that she needed to snatch her legs back from his grip, and she scrabbled up to the top of the stairs, screaming “Stay away from me!”

Ezra roared in frustration as Lisa broke free, and bounded after her with the knife held high above his head.

Turning through the nearest door to her left, Lisa flew into the spare bedroom. She slammed the door behind her, but Ezra was closer than she thought, and his foot stopped the door from closing. Lisa threw her back against the door and pushed with all her might.

Thrusting his arm through the gap, Ezra slashed wildly at the air with the knife, eliciting several sharp screams from the girl behind the door. On the fourth or fifth attempt the blade sliced across Lisa’s shoulder.

She leant forwards at the shock of the cold steel, releasing the pressure on the door, which opened another six inches.

Lisa quickly realised what had happened, and flung herself back at the door, crushing the flailing arm, which finally withdrew. The door banged shut and Lisa turned the lock and fell back to the neatly made bed which lay beneath the window.

Ezra stood for a moment clutching his crushed arm and sucked air in gasps through his clenched teeth. Then he started to fling himself shoulder first at the door.

Lisa fumbled in her pocket, and produced the pistol with a shaky hand. The door bowed but did not give as the man flung himself at it.

Lisa pointed the gun at the door, but the barrel twitched around like an epilectic slug in a bucket of salt.

The next thump from the other side was accompanied by a dry splintering sound.

Lisa took a deep breath. The gun steadied slightly. She braced herself for the next attack on the door.

Ezra came through the doorway with a crash and a shower of wood splinters, and Lisa closed her eyes and pulled the trigger.

When she opened them again, Ezra lay face down on the floor in front of her. Between the doorway and her.

“Oh, God.” She whispered. She held her breath and listened. After the roar of the Luger, everything was slightly muffled, but she was sure that the body before her was not breathing.

She edged towards him, keeping the pistol pointed at the man. There was no way to get out of the room without stepping over the body.

Lisa had seen this sort of thing a million times in horror films. The supposedly dead psycho springs back to life, and all that. She considered firing a bullet at point blank range into the back of his head, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. Instead, she opted for a good old-fashioned kick.

She curled her toes upwards and gently kicked his shoulder with the ball of her foot. That was pathetic, she told herself, I could have stood that without moving.

Drawing her leg back, she launched a powerful kick towards the prone figures’ head.

Ezra grabbed hold of her leg before it hit him, and Lisa shrieked and fell backwards and onto the bed, the Luger falling from her hand and skidding off across the other side of the room.

Slowly standing, Ezra tore open his coat to reveal the Kevlar bulletproof vest which he had bought at a crazy discount price.

“You should always use protection.” He said, looking down at where the bullet had punctured the Kevlar Ezra pulled at a corner of the vest, and Lisa jumped at the sound of tearing Velcro straps when he exposed his bare chest.

Laughter racked his body as Ezra saw the look of horror on Lisa’s face. She looked scared stiff! She was like a captured animal, knowing that she was going to die, and staring at the spot where her bullet, her final chance, had failed to kill him. The uncontrollable laughter shook his body once more, but this time a spray of blood exploded from his mouth.

Stopping the laughter immediately, Ezra looked down at the hole in the centre of his chest.

“Ah,” He gurgled as he fell forwards, “That’s why I got it so chea-”

This tim e, he was not getting back up.

The End.


“Portrait Of A Professional Psycho” Part 1 – short story

Portrait Of A Professional Psycho” By James Cater

Part 1

Whistling along with the radio, Lisa traced her hands down her trim waist, over her shapely hips. When she was in school she’d always dreamed of being a dancer, and had worked hard with her friends to create inventive routines, dreaming of performing on Top Of the Pops. At the age of twenty-four, she’d given up on this dream long ago, but thanks to an active life-style and supreme dietary control had managed to keep the body for it.

As she tied her long, brown hair back into a ponytail, she stepped along with the music, over to where the smell of freshly baking carrot cake wafted from the oven.

This was the first week off that Lisa had taken from her job as a legal secretary for a long time. To mark this as the first day of her holiday, she had decided, in the tradition of her mother, to bake a cake. Living away from home since she was eighteen, Lisa was a competent cook, and the sight which greeted her as she opened the oven brought a self-satisfied smile to play on her lips.

“A few more minutes to brown, and you should be a masterpiece.” She told the cake, happily.

The hourly news broke the flow of music from the radio, and Lisa switched it off, not wanting to break her mood with reports of murders and disasters. Being at her home in the week in mid-afternoon was a relatively rare occurrence for her, and she found the silence almost eery.

She jolted as the telephone rang.

“Hello.” Lisa said into the receiver.

“Hello, is this Lisa Russell?” A voice like a rusty razor slicing through a bass drum.

“Yes, who’s this?”

“Do you still like to dance?”

“Well,” Lisa looked out of the kitchen window – there was nobody in sight. “Yes, I do. Who is this?”

“Do you always talk to strangers on the ‘phone?”

“Actually, I don’t get many strangers calling me.”

“I’m not that much of a stranger.”

An uneasy silence.

“Michael! I thought you said you wouldn’t call until Wednesday-”

“No, no. I’m not Michael.”

“But you just said you’re not a stranger?”

The answer was sharp in her ear.

“I’m not a stranger, because I’m waiting outside your front door!”

Lisa spun around, looking down the hallway to the front door. Three small panes of frosted glass failed to reveal if anyone stood on the other side.

“Oooh! A scary crank-caller!” She said, waving her fingers in the air in the ‘spooky’ gesture. “I suppose you’ve got a big knife, as well?”

“Er, yes.” The voice sounded puzzled. “I really have, you know.” He pleaded.

“And if I hang up on you, I suppose you’ll gut me like a fish!?” Lisa smiled again as she thought of the film ‘Scream’.

“Well, I-”

“I’m going to put the ‘phone down and open the door, now, so I’d make sure your mask is on properly.”

With this, she hung up the phone and went to the door.

After a few steps, she returned to the kitchen, and picked up an all-purpose knife. Just in case.

Standing facing the door, Ezra quickly put the mobile ‘phone back in the inside pocket of his full-length leather jacket. He pulled the large flat-rimmed hat low to cover his eyes and readied the Rambo-style hunting knife.

The call to his victim hadn’t gone like it was supposed to.

He had put on his best voice, which gave him a sore throat and made him want to cough, and even that didn’t seem to rattle her. Still, now he’d show her.

He tensed himself, ready to spring when the door opened.

Further up the street to his right, a door was flung open and a young woman stepped outside, looking around her.

Oh, shit, Ezra thought.

A huge face pressed itself against the frosted windows at the door in front of him, and Ezra dived with all the grace of an unconscious sparrow into a small bush.

The face peered around slowly, then opened the door.

Ezra was only about five foot ten and slimly built. The thing stood in the doorway must have been six-eight and looked like an ex-pro-wrestler. A very heavy-looking mixture of muscles and flab rippled beneath a dirty string vest as the monster looked both ways along the street.

“…thought I heard something…” It mumbled in a mountainous voice, before thankfully lumbering back into the house.

Ezra decided it was safe to breathe again, and stealthily extracted himself from the greenery. Lisa had gone back inside.

“I can see you!” A voice screeched, making Ezra jump so badly he feared his soul had been jolted from his body. “What’re you doing in there?! I’m calling the police, you know.”

A tiny old lady. shopping trolley in tow, was stood at the top of the path. She frowned at him from the midst of a flowery headscarf.

“Shh!” He held his finger to his lips, quickly creeping out of the garden and glancing back regularly at the front door, a look of abject horror on his face.

Ezra pulled his hat even lower over his face, and ran, not wanting anything less than to hear the sound of that door opening.

Lisa closed the door behind her and ran to the oven, dropping the knife in the sink as she did.

“Just in time.” She placed the cake on the side to cool using a pair of bright pink oven gloves.

Crank-callers, she thought. Still, it was a novel twist saying that he was outside. For a moment she considered what she would have done if he had been stood by the door. No, he was probably some bored accountant picking numbers at random.

Well, not random, because he knew my name, so it must be from the telephone directory. Yes, that was it.

No point in getting worried over one sicko, after all, the world was full of them.

Several hours after reaching his home, Ezra Murphy sat in front of the television drinking a cold can of Budweiser.

The living room looked a lot darker than it really was, which was probably due to all the walls being covered in posters from splatter-movies and other selected horrors. He couldn’t understand what was wrong with the world these days. All he was trying to do was bring a little drama to people.

Six weeks he’d spent planning out his tactics. He’d spent hours watching Lisa, although that was the first time he had been to her house. He could have just gone storming in with a big bloody knife and lopped her head off, but no, he’d had to inject some drama into the proceedings. It was hard work stalking a potential victim – something they don’t tell you in the films.

Back in high school, Ezra had dated Lisa briefly. For about two hours to be precise, but that’s not the point. The victim, if it was a good-looking girl (an understatement for someone in Lisa’s league), had to be an ex-girlfriend. It was the same in all the good films.

The only thing that Ezra hadn’t planned for was Lisa being awkward. All she had to do was pick up the ‘phone and get scared. Then there was the wrong address business. Hmm, the less said about that the better.

Still, tomorrow is a new day, he reflected, checking his neatly listed plan. He crossed out a couple of things on the list, and checked his scheduler.

Tuesday, was Lisa’s shopping day.

Lisa used her Visa card to pay for a pair of grey marl leggings from BHS. As she was waiting in the queue she thought she had seen a man in a long grey coat and a flat-rimmed hat staring at her from across the shop floor, but when she turned to get a good look she could see no one. It was strange, because she thought she’d seen him across the road when she had arrived at the shopping centre on the bus.

The plastic carrier bags were cutting into her hands, which was painful, but was also a sign that she had enjoyed a productive mornings shopping. Her stomach was starting to make funny groaning noises, and although she loved McDonalds, she decided to leave the covered shopping centre and head for a small cafe she knew around the corner.

The cafe had wooden tables situated out front, next to a two-lane road. The traffic passing on this road wasn’t too heavy, and the sun was floating in a clear blue sky, so Lisa ordered coffee and a salad sandwich and took a seat outside.

“Lisa!” A short, fat woman with dyed red hair waddled over to Lisa, dragging a small child.

“Hi, Clair! How are you?” Lisa motioned her friend to the table.

“I’m absolutely knackered.” Clair said as she lowered her ample frame into one of the chairs. “I’ve been walking around all morning trying to find some shoes for Michael.”

A tiny, freckled face pouted up at Lisa.

“Hello little Mike.” The boy did not reply. He was looking at something across the road.

“He’s just pulled a temper-tantrum in the middle of a Kays.” Michaels mother explained. “We need to find some shoes for his fourth birthday next week.”

“Are you nearly four already?” Michael continued to ignore her.

A woman brought out Lisa’s coffee and sandwich, and Clair asked for a cup of tea. Michael started waving at something across the street.

“Have you heard about Louise Hall?” Clair asked, in the tone of someone who’s ‘not one to gossip’.

“The one who works in the hairdressers?”

“She’s getting married to Adrian Donovan.”

“The one who’s just come out of prison?”

Michael was pointing at something.

“Three years for stealing cars, they say-”

Lisa followed Michaels’ gaze, and saw the man stood on the opposite curb. He was stood dead still, like a scarecrow, wearing a full-length grey trenchcoat. A hat was pulled low on his head, covering the wearers face in its’ shadow.

A blue double-decker bus passed along the road between them, obscuring Lisa’s view for a fraction of a second. Lisa had no time to draw Clair’s attention to the man, for in that instant, he had gone.

“Arghh!!” Cried Ezra as the bus hurtled along the street.

It was a little known fact that children actually notice everything that happens around them, as that kid with Lisa’s friend had proved. He had seen Ezra straight away. Lisa, however, had taken bloody ages to spot him. He’d had to move into several different positions, even resorted to dancing around in the hope that the little boy would attract Lisa’s attention

By the time Lisa had looked over at him, Ezra was standing right at the edge of the curb, giving his best menacing stare. Then the bus had passed between them.

Which brings us back to Ezra, coat caught on a twisted panel at the back of the double-decker, hopping as best he could between bouncing off the tarmac surface of the road.

“Arghh!!” Screamed Ezra again, as he couldn’t think of much else to do.

His fingernails clawed desperately at the back corner of the bus, trying to find some kind of handhold. Luckily for him, if that was the right phrase to use, the lower deck of the bus was almost empty, with just a few people sat on the seats near the front. They were all oblivious to his plight.

Just as the stitching on his coat finally gave, the big, red brake lights flared in his face as the driver reached the next stop.

Ezra slammed face-first into the back of the bus, and slid to the ground with a whimpering sound.

When the bus pulled off again, blasting thick, black exhaust fumes into Ezra’s gasping mouth, there was only one person in sight.

“I can see you!” Screeched a voice from the pavement. “What are you doing down there?”

Ezra stumbled to his scuffed feet and dragged his aching carcass home as fast as his pain would allow. He could hear the tiny old lady in his head all the way.

By Friday evening, Ezra had recovered sufficiently to continue with his plan. He paced around his murky living room, having just bid farewell to his friend, Adam Hemmings.

Following the bus incident on Tuesday, Ezra had spent his time reviewing his extensive library of horror films. He had come to the conclusion that the success of his campaign would be much increased if he employed a partner.

His long-standing friend had recently been released from the latest in a long chain of mental institutions, and appeared to fit the bill nicely.

Adam Hemmings could forsake of his hunched slouch to stand six-three. His general build was the wiry solidness of a troll, a title which was also adequate to describe his looks. If brain power was created by lots of little men pedalling bikes inside a person’s head, then a single drunken gorilla on a tricycle was to be found circling the cranium of Mr Hemmings.

Unfortunately, his partner had to attend a rehabilitation workshop all the next day, so would not be free until the night.

Ezra paced now, as he turned his thoughts to the forthcoming weekend. He wanted to finish this as fast as he could, so had decided to make one last attempt in the morning.

It wasn’t the first time Ezra had done this kind of thing. He had been booted out of University for playing practical jokes on the lecturers. It was following this that Ezra’s practical jokes became nastier, injuring several people before he turned into a professional psycho. He travelled all over the country, choosing a victim and stalking them. Lisa would be his tenth victim.

                                Click here to read Part 2…


Egging The Local Psychopath

When my brother and I were younger, we got up to all kinds of malarkey. We were generally little arsonist, trouble-making, mischievous shits.

Oh yes, we had fun!

I shall try to remember some of the things we’ve done, and some classic fights, and recount them on here. This story still makes us howl with laughter today! I think I’ve posted it before, but can’t be arsed to dig it out of the archives, so will re-write it:

Egging The Local Psychopath

One of the things we started doing was egging people.

It’s much funnier if they can’t see who’s done it, so we had A Plan. Bear in mind I was about 8 and him 10, so we could have planned it all better.

It was late on a warm Summers night, just after dark, when we grabbed a few eggs each from the kitchen.

We went out into the front garden, eyes ablaze and giggling in anticipation of what was to come. We took up positions behind the hedge at the top of the garden, and waited. In hindsight, it would probably have been much wiser not to have done this from our own damn garden, but at that age, you’re immortal, and don’t even think about the possibility you may get in Trouble… or even get caught!

There’s a service road on the other side of the hedge, then a steep grass bank that leads up to the path that runs along the main road, with a graveyard across the other side.

Yes, from the age of 5, I have lived and slept about 30 feet away from dead bodies. Before that I was just down the road in a haunted cottage. It was guaranteed that I’d turn into the sick little monkey that I am today! Anyway…

A few unknown people walked past on the upper pathway, and we lobbed eggs over, mortar-style, but our targeting wasn’t quite tuned in, and they missed the targets so badly I don’t think they even knew how close they’d come to an egging.

We were still pissing ourselves, biting our tongues to stay quiet with tears rolling down our faces, when a local alky woman walked past.

We let rip and ducked back down, and heard her footsteps stop.

Our hearts stopped, and we tried to see through the hedge as she looked around wildly, shouting out: “OI!!! I know who did that! I’ll tell your Dad!!! Who did that?!”

This was even better! We were Invisible Egg Assassins! The Water Margin and Monkey had nothing on us!

Then someone else was approaching.

We dived back to our positions, eggs at the ready. As he got closer, we recognised the long black coat, boots and Evil Cloud that could only belong to The Local Village Psychopath.

My brother lowered his egg, then looked at me. I kept mine raised. His look turned to horror, as he started to furiously shake his head at me, obviously still seeing that gleam in my eye.

I waited until he got level with us, and hoofed the egg up and over…

Everything went still and quiet, save for a small eggshell breaking over something soft.

Oh shiiiiiiiiiiiit……

We suddenly weren’t invisible! Psycho was staring straight at us as if the hedge wasn’t there!


LEG IT!!!!!!!!!!

We moved just about as he started running down the grass bank. It was probably the scariest moment of my life so far! Not only had he just roared a C-Word that I don’t think I’d ever even heard then (‘fock off’ was seen as the pinnacle of swear words), but I will NEVER forget the quick glimpse I had of that coat flapping around him as he fired himself towards us!

Think Russell Crowe’s ‘Hando’ from Romper Stomper:


I was slightly quicker off the mark than my bro, and Psycho was one fast bugger when killing was on the cards!

I wasn’t even at the bottom of the garden (I was in full-on panic and just trying to get around the back of my house to hide better), when I heard the tiny voice of my brother somewhere behind me:

“It wasn’t me it wasn’t me it wasn’t me!!!”. You’ve never heard such sorrow, despair and fear in all your life!

I felt bad that my brother was now dead, but felt much better once I’d cleared the gate and huddled shivering underneath an old mattress in the outhouse.

After a while, my bro staggered up, pale faced and ill-looking, but not dead.

We never egged anyone after that.

AnnaLynne McCord Videos

SHORT STORY: “Dangerous People”

SHORT STORY: “Dangerous People”

Here’s something I wrote about five years ago to wake my writing up a bit.  It draws back on the kind of stuff I used to write when I first started out.  It’s all done as it came out of my head, with no planning other than a rough idea of where I wanted it to go.  Oh, and it’s set in Birmingham Centre…  I have a great idea to turn this into a screenplay for a short film – very arty and panicky, with the sound of his heartbeat as the main effect running all through the film….

— — — — — —

“Dangerous People” by James Cater

He flinched as the girl reached and took his empty coffee cup away.

Not wanting to make eye contact, he waited until she walked away from his table before he let his eyes fall on her.  She wiggled back towards the kitchen area under his unseen gaze.

She was in her early thirties, and carrying enough extra weight to make a slight roll over the waistband of her black skirt.  He didn’t know why she was working in a place like this.

Who would want to work in a train station cafeteria, with all these people around all the time?

He subtly looked around at the other patrons.

A man in a charcoal suit, much like his own, sat drinking some type of coffee prefixed by fifteen Italian-sounding names to make ‘with frothy milk’ sound more interesting.

At the next table he locked eyes briefly with a young woman who looked plain dangerous.

So many dangerous people around these days.  He could tell from her eyes before he quickly looked away.

He almost felt sorry for her for having that look in her eyes.  It was pain and betrayal and anger at the world.

He could feel her eyes boring into him as he rose, heading away and up the escalators into the shopping centre.

A point on the ground two foot in front of him was his friend.  He looked there and only there, head down, trying to be invisible as he used his peripheral vision to warily survey all the other threats.

The city had gone to shit.  Survival now was to guess which person was going to mug you first.

Looking confident didn’t work, as the gangs would take you on to prove themselves to their peers.  Invisibility was the best way.

Leaving the shopping centre, the cold night air hit him hard, causing his chest to clutch even tighter than it had through fear of imminent attack.

Down the pedestrian ramp, youths on each side looking him up from his seventy pound shoes to the seven hundred pound suit.  If he looked at them he’d see nothing but their contempt.  The briefcase which he carried became heavier in his mind, growing in size to a huge suitcase that he had to lug past the hordes of thieves.

His heart hammered.

Nobody should have to live like this!

He wished he could stroll around the city streets, but the cameras and Police offered no protection.

Not really.  The violence would have been all over before any help came.  What good was the protection of the Law, when your personal belongings had already been stripped from you, and you lay blackened and bleeding from an assault?

He crossed over the road, and eased over so that he was walking alongside the shop fronts.

A youth of around twenty was coming towards him, baggy trousers flapping about his legs, t-shirt hanging loose over his waist.  The lad had confidence, and wasn’t a target in this city.

Before either had to change their path, the youth turned right down an alleyway between the shops.

Turning the corner after him, he fell in two paces behind.  Fear was raging inside, but he refused to give the youth the satisfaction of letting it show.

Two feet in front is your friend.

Shadows fell darker, and as he reached a hand around the neck of the youth, he knocked out one of his ear plugs, and tinny sound exploded into the silent darkness.

As the youth gasped in surprise, the wire of the garrote met the killers other hand, tightening and pulling him backwards off his feet.

The youths back slammed into the killers knee just as he hit the floor, and the knee pressed between his shoulder blades as the wire was pulled even harder across his trachea.

With a barely repressed grunt, the killer crossed his fists behind his victims head, and took up the slack instantly as the wire sliced through flesh and gristle, the pungent stench of blood and excrement hitting his nostrils at the same time.

The youth was already way beyond any reprieve as the wire sawed into his spine at the back of his throat, and his dying gurgle was cut even shorter as the knee exerted enough pressure to snap the youths spine.

Pushing the ragdoll body face down onto the pavement, the killer stepped back and marveled at how little blood was on his hands.  He brushed down the front of his suit, the charcoal hiding the few flecks of blood well, and then carried on down the alleyway and onto the street at the other end.

He eyed the few people stalking the late evening streets with the same eager anticipation as before.

There were dangerous people out tonight.

Holiday Rage

Holiday Rage

Right, first off, even that title pisses me off.  It’s fucking CHRISTMAS – not ‘the Holiday Season’, ‘the Festive Period’ or whatever else you dumb cunts keep trying to change it to!

I’m not religious, but even I know it’s bloody Christmas!

Stop.  It.


This year, most of us sensible ones will have managed to do almost all our CHRISTMAS shopping online.

So how in the blue-knobbed CHRIST are you all still pissing about in the shops like a bunch of stray mental patients???

It’s Hell out there!  I mostly use one of those self-scan thingies at the local supermarket to dodge the queues, but now all the Christmas Numpties have caught on to it, too.  Except that they can’t fucking grasp the concept of scanning the bar code on an item and then putting it in the designated area.  Look, it’s hard, so fuck off back to the tills and let me get on with it!

And what’s happened to all those smug bastards who started their Christmas shopping back in July?  I’ll tell you what’s happened – they’re in those bastard crowds of shoppers still!

Next year, if you tell me you’ve started buying Christmas presents before mid-November “to beat the rush”, I am going to kick you in the cunt.  Hard.

And yes, I do understand that the majority of the braindead twats shuffling about the place are buying essentials like food for Christmas.  And let me just tell you something:


You’re not going to starve to death!  Stop buying like there’s a nuclear war coming, then we can all relax and just shop normally!

And what’s with all the wheelchairs and stuff?

Is it just me, or is every cripple in the UK out for a joyride at peak shopping times this year?

It’s no wonder so many shops are going bust – I couldn’t even get to the damn stuff for Wheeley Old People (get it???) in Shopmobility carts, fatties being wheeled around on oversized skateboards, and any other immobile cunt they can put wheels on and push into the busiest crowd they can.  And yes, this includes YOU, with your pushchair that’s bigger than a 1950’s Cadillac!


And all this to the lovely accompaniment of the same songs we’ve heard every shitting year after year after year after year after year…

Even without having some tit coughing their Christmas Cheer down the back of my neck, whilst his dozy lummox of a wife abandons her shopping cart in the middle of the aisle AGAIN as she waddles off to poke a mince pie three aisles down, Christmas Music sends me almost instantly psychotic.

Talk about bringing out the misanthrope – mine comes out like a trap-door spider covered in tinsel and anger!

You bastards!

If I haven’t killed you – hope you have a great Christmas.