The second round of snow storms was on the cusp of beginning to ruin this small town. Streets were empty, muggers and kids wanting to cause a stir were staying in. Only the occasional car was spotted on the main roads; even at three AM, it was more quiet than usual. The little town looked abandoned, nobody was out in this.
Nobody, but Frank.
Frank was a little messed up as a kid. His parents were ritualistically murdered when he was 10, in front of him. He was a very violent teenager, and a more violent young man. He was always put in the nuthouse because he never killed anybody, and was pretty much looked upon as having a few broken bulbs in the house.
Frank decided he wanted blood at the ripe age of 34. It was time for a trip to the gas stop. The lanky fellow grabbed a hammer, slipped it into his jacket, grabbed his keys and locked up his apartment by the high school. You can never be too careful with kids these days. Frank always hated kids. They looked like cockroaches leaving the high school. It was that amusement that kept him from trying to burn the school down. People were roaches, plain and simple.
The brisk air chilled his bones through his jacket, almost making him want to return home. "It's only two blocks", he stated to the emptiness of the streets. Two blocks of cold wind between him and destiny. Frank the soon-to-be-killer made a strut out of it. Headphones in, music on, and the coldness might not be so bitter after all.
There was the gas stop, right across the main road in town. Practically the only way out of town. A white mercury drove right on by as he entered the parking lot. More roaches, thought the man. Hammer at the ready for this messy task; Frank was giddy. A grin crept upon his face. A grin he hadn't had since his parents were killed and he was covered in their blood.
The clerk was some young buck. Little pasty white boy sitting at the counter, reading some college textbooks. The lad looked up at Frank with a warm smile and greeted him. "Getting something last minute before we get the worst of it?" "Sure thing!", Frank said warmly. He walked up to the counter and snickered out "need something for these damn roaches!" as the hammer swung across the boy's face.
CRACK! The blow to the cheek did some damage knocking the kid down onto the floor into a pooling puddle of dark red blood. A quick hop over the counter and Frank was back on top of the kid. A resounding THUD followed by a few more echoed over the gas station. College boy was gone. "Roach with a caved in skull", Frank chuckled in the empty station.
In the 20 minutes it took to bring the kid to the dumpster, Frank got worked into a sweat. He decided to take a shit and get ready for the walk home. Maybe grab a free coke and hot dog. I'm sure the clerk would be okay with that! The thought made him laugh a bit.
On the can with the door closed, Frank the Killer was taking a shit when Officer Dewitt walked in. Blood was pooled over, but the red painted concrete hid it well. He shouted out "Anybody in?", In an authoritative tone, "This is Officer Dewitt of the GCPD". Frank had to snicker before saying anything. "On the can, Sorry. Bad case of runs. Do you need Gas?" Dewitt felt bad for the guy. Hell, Freezing cold and having the runs right before a snowstorm. Shitty luck. Dewitt just needed some java. "Got any Coffee?" He spoke to the bathroom door. Frank's grin was ear to ear. With a groan he grunted "What's in the pot is yours man. On the house! It's gonna be rough out there." Dewitt liked this guy. "Thanks pal!" Dewitt grabbed his cup and left. Ignorant of anything that had just happened.
Frank heard the door chime and had a giggle. Then the door to the toilet swung open. What he saw was worse than a ghost.
College boy was standing in front of him. Gore and brains coming out of the hole in his head. One eye dangling out of the socket, and a sagging jaw were what was left of his facial features. It gargled out two words, "Hi Frank", before advancing.
Officer Dewitt came back a few hours later to find a corpse of a young man with a caved in skull holding a dead man by the neck in the bathroom. Blood was slick all over the floor, and a stench filled the room.
But there was a fresh pot of coffee for the road.
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