The DoberMan

DoberMan

I aimed to put one in his head and one in his heart. When he kept moving, I panicked and unloaded the rest of the clip, firing haphazardly, until his body resembled a Swiss cheese. That was my first kill, and in the end I fucked it up so bad I had to let Foxy Brown finish the job.

Foxy Brown is my gorgeous Doberman and she was killing way before I picked up a gun. Rabbits, cats, birds flapping on their backs; it became a problem when she murdered the neighbor’s dogs. I had to cover it up. I could never allow them to put her down.

It all sorted itself out when I made the decision to take her over to my realm to accommodate her blood lust. I’d been able to do it at will ever since I was a kid. I had no clue what it was, and I still don’t, but I’ve always been able to ‘cross over’ into a different world. So, I decided, I would take her with me, we would find an animal, usually a pet, sometimes wild, and Foxy Brown would tear her to pieces. After she had had her fix, we would cross back over. It was the perfect crime. She loved it, especially as I was now joining her on these excursions and supporting her habit. Meanwhile, on this side, she became the perfect housedog and grew less angsty. I’ve had no more trouble with the neighbors.

That’s when I got the idea. I’d always fantasized about murder. I realized how easy it would be to get away with if I did it in the other realm. How can you commit a crime if you don’t exist? Besides, even if I was arrested, I could simply switch back. It was something that Foxy Brown and I could do together. I was keen to know how she would react to killing a human being, rather than another animal. As it turned out, she wasn’t bothered either way. The second world is a lot like the first, only a little more advanced. High-tech, like. There was a point when I was unsure which side I would prefer to live on full-time, but you get more value for the pound over here, so that’s why I stayed. I read in Stephen King’s The Talisman that it would be possible to make a living as an inter-dimensional tradesman, but it seemed too much like hard work. I’m a modest man. I don’t want to become famous or rich, although sometimes I cross over just to read what they’ve written about me on the internet. People call me ‘The DoberMan’, which I think is pretty funny. They know all about me. It’s not like I clean up after myself.

Since my first kill, I’ve honed my skills no end, though it is still more difficult than you might think, to finish somebody off. A headshot doesn’t always do it. I don’t discriminate over whom to kill. I don’t care about culture or creed, but since we’ve turned it into more of a hunt, I prefer to choose healthy adults. Ideally, I’d like to find a marathon runner or a soldier (returning home from a long war, to add irony, methinks) who could give us a real run for our money. As far as I know, I’ve murdered neither. That being said, you should always take care of yourself in case you get lucky. We’ve toyed around with torture but found it boring and our thirst kicks in too soon to do it all by the book. You really need self-restraint to get the most out of it. One point we did gain is just how fun blades and hammers and flames can be. I rarely use guns anymore.

There has always been an intellectual aspect to what we do. The idea, to take somebody’s life, is an interesting one. Most people will never know what it’s like. It’s comparable to having sex. All this time, you’re growing up, wondering what sex will be like and how wonderful it will be, but when you finally get around to it and you’re actually there in the moment, you come to understand that there is no ‘feeling’ you get, there is no ‘special moment’, you do not change, it’s just mutual masturbation. Killing a man, a woman, or a small child (see, no discrimination) doesn’t change you into something else, as you might imagine, although it’s certainly enjoyable. And the thought of cause and effect, the people whose lives will be changed by your actions, well that just adds to the drama, man.

But I keep coming back to this one problem. I’ve seen death scenes on television. They all make it look so simple and quick. I’ve Schwarzeneggered my way through twenty-five or so now, and each one of them has been problematic in some way. Perhaps human anatomy is different in the two realms, and people over there are tougher than they are here. It’s starting to drag on me and the novelty of shooting someone fifty times in the head is wearing thin. I’ve been thinking, maybe I should try living in the second world for a while, doing the hunts on this side, just to see what it’s like.

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jack sat back

and slapped a cat

a fat black cat it was

and at that jack

picked up an axe

and swung it a a horse

Ava Knight and Liz Vicious

I am obsessed with Liz Vicious. I want to keep her in my room.

My Bedroom

The crucifix is the physical embodiment of the complete teachings of The Bible, and also its wretched and violent history. A pendant nestling in the warmth of a teenage girl’s bazongas holds all of this information and it can be unlocked by anyone. You don’t even have to read The Bible or go to church anymore, the stories have leaked through, touching everything in our society, despite our apparent secularisation. It is a part of pop culture.

My bedroom has changed in the past few years. Once, I covered a whole wall with stacks of horror DVDs: Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Tommy, Slither, I Spit On Your Grave, Dawn of the Dead etc. etc. Another wall was covered with every other genre, and I hid my porno stash beneath my bed. Back then, I still had hopes that I could make a girl like me enough for her to want to see my abode. I had a lot of CDs too. Mostly metal. Some jazz and blues to convince people I really did have good taste, but I’d never play them if I were alone in the house. I still wouldn’t.

Now, it’s all gone, including most of my porn. Packaged and sold on ebay. My bedroom walls are completely naked. They are embarrassed under the glare of the light. I sit within this off-white space, aware at last that I am living inside a large box, and I contemplate this: all of these DVDs and CDs, these things that used to define me, are now gone. They have been converted to ones and zeroes on two terabyte hard drives. The product of my life, and I don’t just mean the materials I’ve accumulated, but also my work, has been reduced to two measly boxes that sit by themselves at the other end of my empty room.

Funny.

I tried to think of an object, something diminutive, that could hold so much data and I settled on the crucifix, but even that pales in comparison. I read that you can fit 400,000 copies of the King James Bible on one of my hard drives. Has technology become our new religion?

As the sound of Muay’s crying drifts away, you realise that it’s time for you to step out of the bath. You wipe the mirror with a towel and look yourself dead in the eye. Cold eyes, he had said. He had seen something in you that you did not know was there. You take deep breaths and begin to relax. You use a new, white towel to dry yourself and are careful to pay attention to every area of your body. Between your fingers and toes, beneath your breasts and behind your knees. You must be perfect for Mr Gaeng; you will be the last thing he sees. A hairdryer on the wall allows you to blow dry your blonde hair. You spend ten minutes with a brush in front of the mirror. You have had many baths at the Gaeng house, but this is the first time you will leave the room without your clothes. Men have seen your body before, but today it is different. You are aware of your nakedness, your flaws, and your fragility. You are aware of your innocence.

Your hand touches the door handle.

A moment passes in which you do nothing but listen. You stop breathing. Your fingers linger on the silver handle and your head tilts forward, almost touching the varnished wood of the door. You listen for any sound, knowing that nothing can prepare you for what will happen to your body as soon as you step onto the red carpet of Gaeng’s bedroom.

Without realising what you are doing, your hand pulls down on the handle and the heavy door swings open a short way. Incense aromas flood through: the deep scent of the damask rose, the jasmine blossoms. You push the door all the way open and step into the room. You feel as intimate as you ever have before.

“I have been waiting.” Gaeng says, voice wavering, as you close the door behind you. There is a Ghurkha khukuri knife lying on a small, decorative table next to the door. You remove its leather sheath, revealing a polished and sharp blade. It is heavy and feels as though it was designed to slit a man’s throat. You turn to face Gaeng and look at him for the first time. He is naked on the bed. His brown skin contrasts against the cream coloured sheets. A lamp behind him outlines the contours of his body.

“I want my blood to look beautiful.” He had said.

You approach him with the knife in your hand until your knees press against the side of the mattress. Cold eyes, you think, you recite. His breathing is fast and deep. You look down at his fat stomach and the dark patch of hair below. He is aroused. You watch his trembling excitement for a few seconds before moving once again. Your left hand, holding the blade, pushes down on the mattress, followed by your left knee. Now, your right hand and leg slide across him to the other side of the bed. One knee either side; you lower your body onto his. As you move down to kiss his lips, you smell bourbon in his exhalations. You take the taste of it into your mouth as your lips part.

“Do not say a word.” He had forewarned. “There is nothing you can say that will heighten the ceremony.”

You transfer the curved knife into your right hand and begin to apply pressure to his jugular with the base of the blade. You are aware that you must be precise and decisive. If the wound is not deep enough, you will need to do it again. His facial muscles loosen and his eyes fill with water. You hear the words do it quick. You pull the knife across the man’s throat. The blade goes deep and slices from one side to the other. Your weight suppresses a few minor convulsions as blood pours in a thick stream onto the bed sheet.