Disclaimer: This story is not intended to be written as a warning for self-harm or harm towards another. Events, locations, and characters in this story are made up, and if any real connections are made, it was unintentional.

I wasn't always like this. I can’t even recall how it all began. It was supposed to be just a one-time thing but six years later, a new side of me has developed. I don't know what it is, but it helps me keep the fog in my head at bay. But now the euphoric feeling has taken root, replacing my head fog and the cure isn’t working for it as well.

It wasn't medication or weekly doctor visits. No. It was a sharp ax, six bodies, burning bloody clothes, and talk of a serial killer spreading around town.

I think I felt pity for the people, but it came off more shallow than I expected. Different from how people have described guilt. After the deed was done, the bloodlust would disappear, like it was never there. But it never lasted. It always came back, stronger, quicker, and each time more painful than before.

It was the beginning of summer. This was my sixth year of being The Axeman, as the townsfolk have so delightfully in my opinion named me. If I play my cards right, I'll go on to seventh. Ready to proceed, I dressed my best. I donned a black suit and a heavy coat of the same color. After finishing up with slipping on some gloves, I grabbed the biggest knife that I could find in my kitchen cabinet. I ran my finger along the edges, silently admiring it. It will be oh so unfortunate to use something that doesn't fit the title I was bestowed, but if it wasn't for my sloppiness, I wouldn't have left my ax at the scene of my last killing. I frowned and slipped the knife into my coat.

My first target was interesting. Unplanned, but too close to my trail. It will be convenient to dispose of him now.

Franklin Moore, the town's police captain. For the past few weeks, he’s been coming to me with questions and concerns about the murders. I suppose he saw me as a "friend" and I of course didn't mind being updated on where the police investigation was going. But he was getting too close to the truth. Maybe it was just paranoia, but I had to get rid of him. My image is to be preserved at all times at any cost and if that price is killing someone close to me, then so be it.

I reached the house, watching and waiting till I spotted a light on upstairs and a silhouette moving behind the curtains. Franklin was awake. I’ll have to find a way in, quietly. I crept over to a window and peek through a small gap in the curtains. Despite being friends, I have yet to ever step foot in his house. Maybe from his embarrassment, the living room looks outdated by fifty years. Furniture decorated with colorful patterns and the wallpaper desperate for replacing. Perhaps the next tenants could do some renovations.

I crouched in the bushes and steadily made my way around to the side of the house. Frank didn't have a dog or any sort of security at all. Sneaking in would be an easy task. I moved until I found myself under a window. It was unlocked and luckily didn't make a sound as I opened it. I climbed through and found myself in a dark hallway, illuminated slightly by the moonlight.

I moved throughout the house, searching for Franklin. The search didn’t last long, upstairs a shower was running. I found the stairs and the sound of running water led me to a bathroom. Then the water stopped. I backed out of the room just as the curtain swung open.

Ever so slowly I snuck back up to the crack in the doorway. There, Franklin stood now in a bathrobe, brushing his teeth. The sink faced away from the door and Franklin was blocking the view of the mirror. He wouldn't see me if I was quiet. Franklin bent down to spit out the substance and I took that as my cue to step inside. I drew the knife from my coat and approached Franklin. I felt like a hunter with his prey; poised to strike. Though I suppose that is exactly what I am.

My heart skipped a beat when Franklin suddenly turned around to face me. At first, there was a look of surprise but as he took in my appearance it morphed into terror.

"You," He said, backing away. "It's you."

Franklin tried to keep a distance but it was pointless. The bathroom was small and there wasn't a way he could get around me.

"I knew it. They said I was crazy, but I knew. I knew!” Franklin sputtered.

He put his hands out to me. For mercy? Defense? It didn’t matter. Flesh and blood wouldn’t stop my bloodlust.

I raised the knife high above my head and grinned at Franklin, whose scream ended in a gurgle, as the knife drove into him. My first attempt wasn't the best and Franklin took the time to fight back. His attempts ended in vain. I pulled the knife out and jammed it much harder this time. I repeated this until my glove began to feel wet. That when I finally looked down, watching the bloodstain slowly spread across the white bathrobe. There’s poetry in that.

Franklin struggled to maintain his balance, crashing forward into me and lodging the knife deeper.

"Why?” Franklin pleaded, struggling to breathe.

I grinned again, watching the life of this pitiful man drain away.

"Don't feel too sad, now," I whispered. "The death of a police captain will surely make headlines tomorrow. I'll make sure they get your good side."

I took a step back, watching blood spill from Franklin's mouth. He fell to his knees and hit the floor with a thud. He lay on the bathroom floor coughing up blood before breathing his final breath. A puddle spread from the body to my shoes, red complimenting the dark leather.

I kneeled to dip my fingers in the dark puddle. In all my time of taking lives, this was the first time I acknowledged it properly. It felt warm through my glove and smelled metallic as I sniffed it.

I watched it drip downwards into my palm, drenching my glove even more. I felt like a curious child.

I dipped my hand fully into the puddle and began to inscribe a message on the wall. The letters dripped now but would soon dry into a beautiful masterpiece for all to see.

I stepped over the body and went back downstairs, deciding to leave the knife as an added shock factor to whoever finds the corpse. A smile spread across my face as I pondered everyone's reactions to the police captain's murder. Or better yet, when they found out it was done by The Axeman.

Walking into the backyard an old, unlocked shed drew my eye. I opened the door to find a complete mess. Tools and clutter lying about and a strong scent of oil lingering in the air. And then I saw it. Hanging on the wall was a large metal ax. It even looked similar to my previous, long wooden handle with a blade sharp enough to cut split ends.

"Yes,” I spoke aloud, “This’ll do perfectly.”

And with that, it was time for The Axeman to visit Batchellville once more.

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