Chapter 1

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Butch had the perfect body that would make any one jealous and unconfident.  Buff, trim and tone, not grossly huge but not puny either.  Butch had the ultimate workout jock body.  His abs were so hard his friends have actually hurt themselves while play fighting him.  Everything about Butch was rock solid.

But even a lifetime of athletic training and toning wasn't enough to stop the butchers knife from being driven into his stomach and turned clockwise by the sexy murderer in the white mask.  The murderer was definitely a she, had it not been for the fact his blood was pouring out of his stomach it would have been rushing to his genitals.  This murderer in a white mask was wearing nothing but a burgundy lingerie corset and she had a young body that was enough to make a man drool.  Her long flowing hair had blond steaks in it, and a single bang hung over the forehead of the mask, enough to both arouse and terrify.

As she tore the knife from left to right like this was a high school science lab dissection, Butch attempted to conjure up screams but was losing life at such a fast pace he could do nothing but sit and watch the death before his eyes.  Blood continued to pour out of Butch by what seemed like gallons, bits and loose pieces of guts and flesh began to pour out as the gap of the wound grew.  Eventually Butch was able to focus his fear into one final bloody painful scream that squeaked like the little person he truly was.

“I DONT WANT TO DIE!” was the last thing he screamed in a gory scene horrific enough to make even the most hardened criminal flinch.

Eventually his body was on the ground and limp.  A lifeless pile of the drunk date rape party animal he used to be.  He would be mourned as a lost kind hearted kid with strong cheek bones and a respectable athlete.  The public would never know about his sexual misdeeds that would make Steubenville blush.  

Our murderer washed her knife in the bathroom sink and returned it to the sheath she kept in her cleavage.  She gave the body one good kick with her red high heel so that every piece of cartilage in Butches nose would shatter.  She then stepped on his testicles and laughed maniacally at the pitiful specimen that was once the towns most proud sexist.  She took out a stick of Ruby red lipstick and left her mark on the mirror.

 Our killer strutted out of the room with pride.

The Black Widow had struck again.

***

It was the typical cliche southern California serial killer scare.  That was all Lisa could think while she sulked in her room as she overheard her parents in the family room, watching local TV news about the most recent victim of the Black Widow.  

Her parents sat watching the TV, terrifying themselves needlessly as her father checked the locks and made sure both barrels of his shotgun were loaded.  Safely stored by the corner of the door ready to be used instantly.  Her dad positioned it so that if he picked up the gun from there, he could shoot an intruder if he was to come from any angle of the whole house, either from the door, one of the front windows, or from the back hall.  In any case Lisa’s Dad had figured out the exact spot where he could plug an intruder at the first sight.

Lisa was in her room checking her Facebook trying to keep herself mildly entertained.  It pissed her off that she wasn’t aloud to go anywhere or do anything during this recent serial killer scare.  Lisa really couldn't believe the extent of the paranoia this had created, serial killers were as southern Californian as plastic surgery or flip flops the way she saw it.

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