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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2210532
Rated: GC · Short Story · Horror/Scary · #2210532
A game of needles
SCREAMS!!! Contest Entry 1/17/20
Prompt: Needles
1,100 words

Professor Weiss scanned the lecture hall, eyes coming to rest on a redhead in the middle. She was perfect.

The pretty girl’s fiery tresses shimmered and bounced as she threw her head back in laughter, obviously enjoying the conversation with her girlfriend, a buxom blonde. There was something about the redhead, however, that sent chills down his spine as he thought about what he wanted to do with her—or rather, to her.

Professor Weiss had been at the school for years, but his proclivities had taken a turn for the… more extreme… over the recent term. This girl would be his third subject in as many months. His lips trembled at the thought, her flawless complexion and beautiful smile etched in the dark corners of his mind.

He called the class to attention and began his lecture on predators, eyes rarely leaving his redhead. She began to look uncomfortable, beginning to shift in her seat, then squirm a bit by the end of class, as she noticed his sinister stare locked on her eyes nearly the entire class.

When the evening class ended, he packed his notes into his messenger bag quickly as she scrambled to make a hasty exit, her friend giving her a questioning look as she hustled down the row.

Professor Weiss slipped out another exit, circling around in the hall so that he could see where she went. Catching sight of her striking hair, flowing over her shoulders like molten lava, he began to follow her.

She hurried away from the building, Professor Weiss shadowing from a safe distance, allowing crowds of students to pass between them to disguise his stalking. As she put more distance between her and the lecture hall, she began to slow. She must be feeling safer. Great!

The professor began to close the gap to his prey as she left campus to an area with few lights. Increasingly dark shadows began to roll over her slender form as she walked toward a neighborhood of old, Victorian houses, mostly rented by groups of students. There were few streetlights in this neighborhood, perfect for his objective.

He pulled a ziplock from his messenger bag, opening it, gloved hands clenching his carefully prepared rag drenched in chloroform. The man’s eyes sparkled darkly as he walked quickly but silently behind the girl.

When he was immediately behind her, she appeared to suddenly notice him, shoulders tensing, back straightening. As she began to turn, he pounced on her pressing the rag to her mouth and nose. She didn’t have time to struggle, taking a huge lungful of the consciousness-killing chemical in her fright.

Professor Weiss supported her surprisingly heavy body as she fell into him, then dragged her under a dark, unlit bush to obscure her from view. He ran to his car, drove to the area, and, after quickly checking for unwanted eyes, dragged her dark form under cover of shadow to the trunk of his car and closed it.

He drove to the cargo entrance of Schwartz Hall, the basement of which held his lab. He took care to avoid the security cameras around the building as he hauled the ginger-haired girl into the building and down to his dimly lit work area.

The professor lay the girl’s limp form on his medical table and closed the nylon safety straps over her wrists and ankles. He worked with a manic energy, anticipating the rapture to come, his thinning hair flowing this way and that as he hurried about the room, preparing his tools and his needles.

Finally, he was ready, moving his surgical tray next to his stool. He hovered over the girl, selecting his favorite needle and holding it firmly between thumb and forefinger. This would wake her up. He licked his lips foreseeing her pain, his pleasure.

He pressed the needle to her skin. It dimpled her flawless flesh but the expected drop of blood didn’t well. He pressed harder, still nothing. He put all his weight behind it now. No crimson flow.

He stepped back and held the needle before his intense gaze, bushy eyebrows rising at what he saw. The end of the needle was blunt and bent. How could this be? Was her skin harder than his sharp, surgical steel? Impossible!

He looked down to find the girl’s eyes open. She gave him a wink. He started. This wasn’t right! None of this was right!

She pulled up with one wrist, and the restraining strap flew open with a soft pop. Next wrist. Same result. One ankle tore free of its restraint, then the other. The professor gaped at her with shocked eyes looming over his lined face.

Her hand shot out to his neck, closing around it with incredible force. He gurgled in a vain attempt to breathe as she set her feet to the floor and rose. His feet left the ground as she held him over her, serene smile at odds with her disturbing display of prodigious strength.

She whirled him around and slammed him on his own medical table. His breath left his lungs in a massive whoosh, but her slender fingers released his throat. When the shock of hitting the table faded, he gasped for air, gulping oxygen into his burning lungs.

The girl’s nimble fingers buckled the restraints over both of his wrists before he realized what was happening. He had been too concerned with the voluptuous taste of the air that was now inflating his lungs. Now, however, he realized that she was about to bind his ankles as well. He kicked up one leg. She grabbed it with one hand, slamming it back to the table. A wave of agony rolled upward from leg to spine as he felt the consequence of his struggle. He gave a staccato cry as the full force of piercing pain from his fractured leg punctured his brain.

The girl reached over to the professor’s tray and selected a new needle that gleamed under the single, dangling light high above the table. With incredible speed, she jammed the needle into his stomach. Then another. And another.

Stings of pain erupted again and again as she worked. The professor’s head flipped from side to side with each new round of torture.

“Do you know what an apex predator is?”

The professor, writhing in obvious agony, croaked out a one-word response.

“What?”

“One who preys on lesser predators.”

She smiled wickedly and reached for the professor’s tools.

A fresh round of screams floated on the quiet, cold night’s breeze.

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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2210532