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I Want To Kill You To Death

Please allow me to say before this story begins that I do not approve of children acting in such a manner as described in this story. My parents would have grounded me for three days if I so much as mentioned wanting to murder 16 of my babysitters.)

He was seven. He started when he was five. His name is Seri Al. He was the first child sent to the electron potty chair in the year 3007. His short career spanned two years. In tabloid literature he was known as the Babysitter Killer. He dispatched thirty-six and one half baby sitters. I know all about him. I was the one half that got away.

Seri Al was spoiled by his adoring parents. Both his fathers were cell researchers for a cloning consortium. Al was a product of perfected family planning that went amok. Seri was home schooled beginning at the age of five. His lessons were brought to him via head implants and sensory chemicals. No teachers were needed for his education. Sitters were found to give him some type of socialization.

One after the other, the workers were sent to deal with him, mostly White Card employees and social misfits needing jobs during the Strikes and Out of Work turbulence of the beginning part of the millennium 3K. He hugged his first victim to death. He was found clutching it when his maternal dad (the sissy one) came home from work.

His paternal dad (the macho one) let the body out with the trash and thought nothing of it. Life needed to go on. And there was nothing anyone could do about it.

Body number two showed up finger-painted to death in the playroom. Dad Arthur had the child to autograph it and they sold it to the Dungeonheim Museum for 3.2 million Dutch magic mark(ers).

Worker number three drowned in the tub while giving Al his morning bath. This was strange because Al preferred showers.

The fourth death occurred in the kitchen. The victim was stabbed to death by a knife covered in peanut butter and bananas.

Five was found with a neck broken in three places. Dad Steven banned the child from playing the ancient and outdated game: Twister.

Six fell down the stairs. Skateboards had no business being left at the top of the stairs. Both parents decided it was time to spank little Seri Al. After the spanking, the boy adopted an entirely new attitude.

The seventh person to enter the Outer Limits was found dressed like a Nazi SS Storm Trooper. The dagger protruding from his chest had the initials S A on the hilt. This mishap was blamed on role playing. In the future, sitters were told to discourage too much Laser Light consumption. The screen was turned off and unplugged.

Number eight was not found for quite awhile. Eventually the toy box was opened and Mrs. Evelyn turned up holding the teddy bear with the handcuffs on it and the noose around its neck. In court the teddy bear was termed victim number nine. In the year 3008 the Coalition For Stuffed Entities had their say.

The tenth loss of life came about when both fathers were gone on a research convention in Berlin. The sitter had to spend the night with Al. It was ruled a bed death. Somehow the sitter had gotten an end of the blanket in her mouth and had choked and smothered to death.

This was a turning point in the child's life. From here on out it was decided that only male workers would be supervising the boy. Surely boys and men could better handle the sweet little five and one half year old.

Xeter was 17 or so he said and needed extra funds to cater to his after school sport of dial ball. He was taken on immediately after being interviewed by both men of the house. It seems that Xeter had lied about his age to get the job and was actually 19. Arthur and Steven were both impressed by the bulge in his jeans during the interview. This was the only sitter who actually spent no time with boy Al. His time was consumed with either Art the Butt Dart Pirate or Steven the Seven and a Half Inch Heathen. Xeter left their employment two years later with enough money and talent to go on to become the greatest dial ball player in the history of the modern game.

Human personality is totally formed at about the age of three.  Al was what he was by that time.  A killer.  It takes four seconds to discern someone’s character.  When you meet someone new look them up and down and count to four.  What you feel about them at this time should let you know everything about them.

When the next baby sitter arrived and came face to face with Al, he knew something was dreadfully wrong with the child.  Seri Al’s eyes were vacant spots lifelessly inhabiting the spaces on each side of his nose.  There was no reason to question why.  Work was work and to be hired meant that there was a job to perform.  This sitter fell in the line of duty.  He was found in the bathroom and it was not pretty.  He had been doo-dooed to death.  The shit was smeared all over him and a turd was hanging out of his mouth.

Telling you about twelve is no easier a task.  The hide had been stripped off him and paper dolls had been cut out of his skin.  

Thirteen died of an M&M overdose.  The candy wrappers had been stuffed up his butt.

Fourteen swallowed Al’s salamander.  And Al’s gerbil was found you know where, down there.

Fifteen was scalped and four suction cupped arrows had pierced his chest.  Seri had at this time gone on the warpath.

At this point in the game a team of sitters were left to oversee the boy.  Sixteen through twenty were found dead after playing a game of Russian Roulette with Al’s water gun.

Twenty through twenty-eight died in an attempt to storm the play fort manned by Al.  He defended it and let a pan of scalding marsh mellows land atop three of the besiegers heads.  Three more died scaling the walls and the last two were taken prisoner and tortured with a pink feather until they both confessed that they had indeed had sex with that woman.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.  Twenty-nine and thirty were bodybuilders sent to subdue the rapacious tendencies of Seri.  He laced their protein shakes with Viagra and they screwed each other to death.

Six more after this came and went.  They played their games and died their deaths.

And then I was sent to the big house on Dillon Avenue.  I had been hearing stuff through the grapevine.  Mainly what Steven, the macho dad, had said in his sleep while sharing a pillow with me.  I worked as a janitor for Cellburnetics.  Steven got interested one day in my mop handle and I let him have about eight inches of it.  One thing led to another and we started messing around at the Holeingay Inn.  He told me some about his home life with Arthur and their son Al.

Steve asked if I could maybe come and get to know Al and see if I could deal with him.  The boy was seven by now and had had one bad time after the other with all the baby sitters who never worked out.  I wanted very much to help Steven.  I agreed to come over and check things out.  This was right after the night when Steve put those seven and one half inches to good use.

I knew right off that Seri Al and I would make it just fine.  He was a cute little thing.  As far as monsters go.  And I knew right off what he was.  It takes one to know one.  I was going to play the little dude for all he was worth while letting him think that he had me where he wanted me.

We had breakfast together that first morning that I met him and I placed a tablet of X-tasty and a Mickey Finn in his milk.  He was out like a closet ejected faggot.

When he came to I had him tied to the bed and was sitting there with a book opened and asked him if he wanted to hear a bedtime story.  I read him Goldilicks and the Three Queers.  Oh this dick is too little I said.  Oh this dick is too big I said.  Oh this dick is just right I said.

Oh this ass is too tight I said.  Oh this ass is too loose I said.  Oh this ass is just right I said.

I really got his attention and he knew what the game was now.  I called the police and told them that Al was ready to make a few confessions.  All in all about three dozen of them.  

What gave Al away was the fact that he had kept a souvenir of each kill.  Hanging on his wall was a pair of underwear from each person.  Ten pairs of panties and twenty-six pairs of boxers and jockeys.

I got away.  I went to the viewing room the day they fried his ass with a nine-volt battery.

Things are different.  Arthur and Steve split up.

Xeter and I are really playing ball now.
Written by DouglasWayne (Douglas)
Published
Author's Note
This is a sweet little story I wrote about the world's youngest serial killer.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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