Literoticum Survivor Murders Ch. 03

Hastings cursed as he viewed the Literoticum's "Survivor Contest ScoreCards" list. He was number 10 on the list. TENTH PLACE! After all his hard work, the sleepless nights he stayed awake, working on his stories; writing, rewriting, perfecting, and nurturing them as you would a small child. He knew 10th place was nothing to be ashamed of, but he also knew he was the best.

This year would be especially hard. Hastings had entered the Survivor Contest for the last 5 years but it was always the same thing. Close, but not close enough! Each time others beat him out of placing at the last moment by submitting dozens of stories at once. He had vowed not this year and he had been carefully watching the score card since the beginning. But unfortunately his job had made unexpected demands on his time given the economy. He had submitted enough of his stories to remain in the top ten.

He had dozens of more for submitting at the last moment; he had learned to play that game. But it was not going to be enough to take out the leaders this year. Wife2hotblk, Boxlicker, Bakeboss, Familyguy and the others were just too far ahead. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

"Sure," he thought to himself, "they're ok, but not even in the same league as his. I'll show them, I'll show each and every one of them, who the greatest survivor writer, really is!"

He had sent emails to the editors of the website. Explaining why he should be in first place. At first they assured him that the point system decided the winners, not the editors, but soon they tired of his persistent complaining and stopped answering his letters all together.

He wrote letters to the other writers and entered into forums, commenting on the injustice and the flaws in the system, but he was either ignored or publically ridiculed about his comments.

"Get a life, loser" or "You are in the top ten, live with it!" or "Man, are you paranoid!"

"Ignore me, laugh at me, and call me paranoid!" Hastings thought. "How dare they? I will take care of those other mediocre survivor writers. They are all in this together the editors, the Literoticum board of directors and their buddy buddy writer friends. I'll get them, those other writers who stole my first place!"

His mind continued to dwell on the solution. The question was not should he, or even when should he, kill them. The question was how he would exact his revenge on those conniving authors who had bribed their way and manipulated the system to get to the top of the Literoticum's "Survivor ScoreCard" list. "Yes!" He though. "I will take care of them, but each one had to be eliminated just right. After all, I am a poet, and poetic justice requires some careful thought." As the Wicked Witch of West once said, "These things must be done carefully!"

That was a few weeks ago and he had already taken care of some of the authors. The question was who's next?

He decided his next victim would be a writer who went by the name of "Familyguy". Most of his stories involved incest themes. A real sicko! So, he likes incest huh! I'll give him incest!" Hasting thought to himself.

"So Familyguy, you are next!" he thought. He carefully planned his strategy. Step 1-Win Familyguy's confidence. Step 2- Set up a meeting. Step 3- Eliminate Familyguy!

He started sending emails to Familyguy using a different a different email address and name, telling him that he was a publisher named Bill Presel who admired his writing and wanted to meet with him to talk about possibly publishing a collection of his stories. It worked! Familyguy or Buck, as Hasting came to know him by, was completely taken in and very flattered that someone whould be interested enough to want to publish a book of his stories. They agreed to meet at a local coffee shop to discuss, publishing his work.

Hastings had carefully planned everything. The meeting place, the knock-out drops, the rope to tie him up, and the gag to keep him from crying out, everything was carefully thought out.

As they sat and discussed Buck's future, Hasting was quite cordial and attentive, promising him fame and fortune. Then, while Buck excused himself to use the restroom, Hasting, taking advantage of the moment, slipped the downers into his coffee.

About thirty minutes after Buck had returned and had finished his coffee, he started to feel very dizzy. Hasting, showing concern for his new found friend, offered to help him to his car so he could lie down for a minute and recover. As soon as they were outside the coffee shop, Buck blacked out. Hastings removed Buck's keys from his pocket and hit the auto door lock on the keychain. Buck's car beeped, giving away its location and Hastings quickly carried him to the car and tied and gagged him.

He looked in Buck's wallet and obtained his address. He then drove him in Buck's car to his apartment. He went up to the apartment door and rang the bell several times. No answer. "Good," he thought. "No one's here!" He then carried an unconscious Buck into his apartment and laid him on the couch.

Buck started to come to and saw he was home. He was bound, gagged and completely helpless. He looked at his captor with frightened eye that said "Why?"

Hasting smiled at his victim and said, "I'll bet you are wondering why I am doing this, you amateurish piece of shit. Well, I'll tell you why. You might as well know why you are going to die. You see, I am very familiar with the crap you call writing, especially that one story, "Mom and Sis Get Fucked", and while a few parts have some merit, it does not compare with my stories. Yet you somehow convinced all your buddies at Literoticum that yours were the better stories and somehow they took precedence over mine! I know all about your little group of elite VIPs. How you all get together and fix it so none of us outsiders have a chance of winning! Well it's time to pay the piper Mr. Familyguy. Time for you and your corrupt friends to pay for your evil ways! "

Buck looked at Hastings realizing this man was insane and quite serious, but due to the gag, could not reply.

Hastings continued. "You are going to take an overdose of sleeping pills. You see, although your story was fiction, your feelings toward your own mother and sister are not. You are going to kill yourself, because you can no longer stand the guilt of wanting to really fuck your real life mother and sister. At least that is what you will say in your suicide note. Then after taking the rest of the sleeping pills you will quietly slip away into oblivion where you belong.

Hastings then produced a paper and pencil from Buck's desk and loosened Buck's restrained wrist enough for Buck to write the note. He informed Buck that if he did not cooperate, he would be castrated and fed his own genitals. He also was told that his mother and sister's lives depended on Buck doing as he was told.

Buck reluctantly wrote the words Hastings dictated.

"Dear Mother and Sister", he wrote, "I can no longer stand the thoughts that keep running through my mind, about wanted you both sexually. I know it is wrong but I can't help it. I tried to exorcize these feeling through my writings, but it didn't work. I only became more obsessed with wanting you both! Please forgive me, Buck."

Hastings then pinched Buck's nose forcing him to open his mouth and drink the rest of the sleeping pills which were already premixed in a glass of water.

Buck felt his tears, running down his cheeks. He knew he was a dead man. Hastings waited patiently, explaining to the dying writer exactly what he didn't like about his work, adding insult to injury. Then Buck's vision became blurry and slowly all respirations ceased.

Hasting checked his pulse to make sure he was dead, and untied him, removed the gag, and placed the suicide note in his hands along with copies of his incest stories, which he found in a file, and scattered them around the dead author. He carefully wiped all possible fingerprints away and left.

He headed, a few blocks away, to a liquor store, whistling while he walked and called a cab which he took back to his car. "I feel better already!" He thought. "How fitting! The incest writer dies of his own feelings of guilt about incest. Perfect! Let's see, who's next?" He couldn't stop smiling as he drove home. Another day, another author.