So you wrote two very drab pieces, the first on the death and the second a profile of the victim. Though the profile was touching-I note with pride you used my suggested color-the whole thing feels pedestrian. I wanted to make a big splash with my first kill and now everyone is probably assuming Ms. Verclamp had an angry boyfriend. They don’t even know I’m out here.
This makes me unhappy, Mr. Anderson, and I wish to warn you upfront that a second mistake of this nature will not be tolerated lightly. Consider this my second gift to you-I’m letting you off easy this time. I’m not threatening you, Mr. Anderson-I have no wish to see you harmed-but you must understand my position. I aim to make a name for myself, and see you as my partner. And right now, my partner isn’t pulling his weight.
Let’s hope things improve this time around. The next body is lying on the outskirts of Ida Lee Park, in the woods behind the tennis court. The police will identify him as Michael Weissman, a promising 16-year-old who attended LoudounHigh School. So that police can be sure I’m the killer, I’ll offer the following tidbits. He wasn’t killed where his body is now located-and he tried to fight his attacker. He failed, of course, but I give him credit for trying. I stabbed him in the lower abdomen and watched as he tried to crawl away. He bled to death eventually, but I have to admit it took longer than I expected.
I’ll leave you to find out more about his background. We didn’t have much time to talk. Did he have a girlfriend? What did he want to be when he grew up? How hard do you think his parents will take it? I’m tempted to give them a call myself-that would really give you something to write about: “Killer Taunts Dead Boy’s Family.”
But perhaps that can wait. Fear is a contagious thing, but sometimes it’s best to let it spread slowly. I trust that in this next article, you will mention me properly. Feel free to quote from my letters to you-they are on the record, as always.
Oh, and you might want to get a move on. It’s only Oct 5 ^th, and I have a lot more killing to do before the month is up. I’d prefer it if my victims knew who was gutting them, so I’m trying to keep things slow until the word gets out. Please don’t disappoint me again. I promise you that you will regret it.
Yours Sincerely,
Lord Halloween
Chapter 4
“ As far as serial killers go, Lord Halloween was more flashy than scary. True, he terrified the area he haunted, but it seems impossible, when compared with some of the more famous killers of the 20 ^th century, that this person should stand out. Yes, LH murdered with impunity. Yes, LH tortured several victims. But his fetish with Halloween is so trite that I give him lower marks than many of his contemporaries. About the only thing that gives me pause is that he got away with the murders. Most killers secretly want to be caught. It’s clear LH didn’t. ”
— Arnold Cosgrove, “Stop Me Before I Kill Again: Serial Killers in History.”
Lord Halloween could wait forever. It was hard to say how long he had been standing alongside the road. He didn’t move or speak or show any other signs of life. He just stood there, looking in front of him. Patience was one of his virtues, he knew. Probably the only one.
He had waited 12 years. He thought that was long enough. There was some consideration, even as late as this morning, that he should wait one more year. After all, 13 had great significance among the superstitious. But everything was prepared and he didn’t have the heart to put away the tools of his trade for one more year. The truth, he knew, was that he didn’t want to wait another year-didn’t want to dream about this for another 12 months.
On the road, nothing stirred. Somewhere there was a faint rustling of leaves as the wind blew them around in the darkness, but everything else was still. He certainly did not move. He would wait for the right moment. He had waited this long, he could afford the time now. If today wasn’t the day, well…
He stopped himself. Today would be the day. His hands twitched with the thought of it and he smiled faintly. He stared out at the road. Today had to be the day. He felt it in his bones.
He waited in the darkness.
Mary Kilgore felt the car sliding to the left and fought with the steering wheel to bring it under control. She felt a flurry of panic, fearing it would careen into the woods beyond the road. But just as that seemed inevitable and the trees loomed above her, the car suddenly came back to the right.
She pumped the brakes furiously and successfully brought the car to a stop. She sighed in relief at first, happy to be safe. But it occurred to her soon after that something serious had happened to her car and that she might not be able to get it moving again.
She unbuckled her seatbelt and got out of the car. Certainly she hadn’t hit anything-there hadn’t even been a bump in the road. She wondered if it was the transmission, or engine failure and cursed herself that she didn’t know more about cars. That had always been Donald’s arena and now he was gone.
She sighed again and walked to the front of the car. Mary took one look at the battered front right tire, and even to her untrained eye, she could see what the problem was. The tire looked like it had come apart. She thanked her stars at least she had been able to bring her car under control before she crashed. But when was the last time she had changed a tire?
It took no time for her to think about Donald again. If he were here…
But he isn’t here, Mary told herself. He is not going to come to the rescue this time, or any other time. She felt a wave of self-pity coming on and struggled to throw it off.
She looked back at the road. It was deserted, of course. It was the very reason she had come this way-a short-cut to get to the Middleburg town meeting on time, for once. But now she wished she had stuck with her normal route. If she had, she could have flagged a dozen cars down. Right now, the prospect of any showing up seemed farfetched.
She went back into the car and pulled out her cell phone. She flicked it on and waited to see if she would get a signal. She didn’t. Instead, the phone simply displayed a message, “No service.”
“Damn,” she said. She tossed the phone back in the car and flipped the switch that opened the trunk. She would just have to hope that there was a jack and a spare tire in there. If not, she faced a long, lonely walk in the dark. In Loudoun, there was little to be frightened of, but she still shivered at the thought.
It seemed like just the other day she had read in the Chronicle about someone in Loudoun spotting a mountain lion near the area. What if she ran into it in the dark? What if some bear wandered down this way? Already, she had a disturbing sense of being watched, but dismissed it as paranoia.
The sooner she changed the tire, the better. To her surprise and immense relief, she found both a jack and a spare in the trunk.
“Damn you, Donald,” she said out loud again. “I can do this without you.”
The bastard was probably off with his 25-year-old tart right now.
She stopped herself. That was no help. She needed to stay focused. She returned to the front wheel with a sense of purpose. But as she walked, her foot scraped against something. Bending down, she saw that she had stepped on a nail.
“Crap.” The nail had caused the flat.
Then she saw two more nails on the road. Looking back, she could see a few more faintly glinting in the moonlight.
“Damn it,” she said. Someone had put nails out here. Probably some kid, she thought, and silently she cursed them. They could have gotten her killed. She wondered what kind of little punk had done this.
Mary was still bent over when she heard a sound on the pavement behind her. Wheeling around, she stared off into the darkness and saw nothing.