them. Maybe since the rules of the creative world have blurred, it made it easier for The Goodnight Killer to move about. Who knows? Let’s just hope, that since the killer is back in his story, that he will stay there, and let’s hope, other characters haven’t found their way out. I hit the save button, and returned to my day.
Goodnight Killer 2
The character appeared beside a lake on a small sandy shore with brown sand grains below his feet. The world around him was empty.
A thick yellow moon, fat and full, filled the night sky with light. Trees danced in a soft breeze, talked to one another with green leaves, pines swayed in hush whispered tones. The water lapped gently. The night was still.
A loon cried out from somewhere distant, an owl seemed to answer.
The character, as he stood there, absorbing the peace, saw a roaring bonfire in the distance, and heard party noises. He decided to walk in that direction.
*
The party was filled with young people from eighteen to twenty five, laughing it up, having sex, smoking pot, drinking, and just doing all those things young people do. The character walked into this scene of debauchery, and spied four kids sitting in a circle smoking weed and listening to heavy metal music. He made his way over to them.
“What’s going on?” The character asked one of the stoned youths – 18 years of age, wearing a hat, jeans, sweatshirt and tennis shoes. He had blonde hair and blue foggy eyes.
“What’s up cowboy?” The stoned youth laughed, and so did his friends.
The character looked down at his Western clothes, complete with six shooters and jingling spurs. He was severely outdated in this Eighties world where everyone was dressed in something neon in color – pink and green seemed to be the popular choices.
“Cowpoke, where did you leave your horse?” The stoned youth let out another laugh; and his friends, like trained monkeys, joined in again.
The character ignored them as a strange voice sounded off behind him. “Do you want to know what’s going on?”
The character turned around to see a man who looked like a cop in street clothes. He was an older guy – late sixties, with salty brown hair and a thick mustache, wearing kaki pants, a polo shirt, and loafers.
“I would love to know what’s going on,” the character replied, as he saw a young man and woman escape off into the woods nearby, laughing and pawing at each other’s clothes.
“My name’s Frank by the way, former cop,” he replied, holding a hand out for a shake.
“Martin,” the character replied, returning the handshake.
“Well, Martin, a few days ago The Good Night Killer disappeared, simply vanished. One minute he was slicing and dicing and the next, nothing. I was tracking him when it happened, almost got him.”
“Like he just walked out of the story,” the character paused. Was this a slip up? Would it send this story into some kind of creative chaos? The character didn’t know that answer, but he was happy when Frank seemed to gloss over it.
“Story? No, just like he walked out of the world.” Frank gave the character a look over. “Not from around here, are you?”
“No, I’m sure of that.”
Frank moved on with the conversation. “After that, it all got weird.”
“Weird?”
“People started doing what they wanted to do, mostly sex and partying. It’s like they have no fear. They’ve lost that part of themselves.”
*
The young couple the character saw heading off into the woods, a little bit ago, are now done with their quick bit of sex, happy and carefree, youthful hormones quieted for the moment. They lay there side by side, relaxing, smoking weed, enjoying the cool air on their warm sweaty young bodies. It is obvious they have no fear, no threat. They are foot loose and fancy free.
“It really has changed around here,” the girl replied.
The boy closed his eyes and headed off to slumber.
The girl ignored him, as she lay there, and watched the sky
Goodnight Killer 2
The character appeared beside a lake on a small sandy shore with brown sand grains below his feet. The world around him was empty.
A thick yellow moon, fat and full, filled the night sky with light. Trees danced in a soft breeze, talked to one another with green leaves, pines swayed in hush whispered tones. The water lapped gently. The night was still.
A loon cried out from somewhere distant, an owl seemed to answer.
The character, as he stood there, absorbing the peace, saw a roaring bonfire in the distance, and heard party noises. He decided to walk in that direction.
*
The party was filled with young people from eighteen to twenty five, laughing it up, having sex, smoking pot, drinking, and just doing all those things young people do. The character walked into this scene of debauchery, and spied four kids sitting in a circle smoking weed and listening to heavy metal music. He made his way over to them.
“What’s going on?” The character asked one of the stoned youths – 18 years of age, wearing a hat, jeans, sweatshirt and tennis shoes. He had blonde hair and blue foggy eyes.
“What’s up cowboy?” The stoned youth laughed, and so did his friends.
The character looked down at his Western clothes, complete with six shooters and jingling spurs. He was severely outdated in this Eighties world where everyone was dressed in something neon in color – pink and green seemed to be the popular choices.
“Cowpoke, where did you leave your horse?” The stoned youth let out another laugh; and his friends, like trained monkeys, joined in again.
The character ignored them as a strange voice sounded off behind him. “Do you want to know what’s going on?”
The character turned around to see a man who looked like a cop in street clothes. He was an older guy – late sixties, with salty brown hair and a thick mustache, wearing kaki pants, a polo shirt, and loafers.
“I would love to know what’s going on,” the character replied, as he saw a young man and woman escape off into the woods nearby, laughing and pawing at each other’s clothes.
“My name’s Frank by the way, former cop,” he replied, holding a hand out for a shake.
“Martin,” the character replied, returning the handshake.
“Well, Martin, a few days ago The Good Night Killer disappeared, simply vanished. One minute he was slicing and dicing and the next, nothing. I was tracking him when it happened, almost got him.”
“Like he just walked out of the story,” the character paused. Was this a slip up? Would it send this story into some kind of creative chaos? The character didn’t know that answer, but he was happy when Frank seemed to gloss over it.
“Story? No, just like he walked out of the world.” Frank gave the character a look over. “Not from around here, are you?”
“No, I’m sure of that.”
Frank moved on with the conversation. “After that, it all got weird.”
“Weird?”
“People started doing what they wanted to do, mostly sex and partying. It’s like they have no fear. They’ve lost that part of themselves.”
*
The young couple the character saw heading off into the woods, a little bit ago, are now done with their quick bit of sex, happy and carefree, youthful hormones quieted for the moment. They lay there side by side, relaxing, smoking weed, enjoying the cool air on their warm sweaty young bodies. It is obvious they have no fear, no threat. They are foot loose and fancy free.
“It really has changed around here,” the girl replied.
The boy closed his eyes and headed off to slumber.
The girl ignored him, as she lay there, and watched the sky
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