The School Toilet

-----

Eight year old Faiz loved school.

He loved his teachers. He loved Math, English and Arts. He loved Phys Ed sessions where he would get to play football or just run around playing Cops and Robbers with his classmates. When the recess bell rang at ten o'clock he would go to the school canteen to have his packed lunch; almost always sandwiches, but then he would spend the RM1 his Mama gave him to buy kuih, fruits or a cool frozen lolly treat.

Faiz liked it when the teachers would come in late, because that would mean some extra time to talk about the latest episode of Power Rangers with his friends, or get a glimpse of the latest comic book a classmate would sneak into school. If there weren't any teachers at all, he loved the fact that they were quite free to do anything they please.

He loved school. He thought he could stay there forever.

The teachers loved him too, which made him love school even more. He was a good kid. A bright kid. He was always polite and never disobedient. With time, once his class-teacher told his parents, your son would be a fine young lad. His parents had been proud, and despite having only a basic sense of pride, eight year old Faiz felt like he was on top of the world. He could do anything he wanted. Just get through wonderful school, and the world was his oyster.

The only exception, however, were school toilets. He hated school toilets. An older child or an adult would have hated the school toilet because of hygiene, or the lack thereof. But Faiz, and his peers, had other reasons to hate the school toilet.

Monsters.

In his group of friends, a collective thought of eight year old minds would exchange tales of unspeakable horror about the Monster in the school toilet. Some said it was humanoid, but with abnormal amounts of hair. Others mention a scaly beast, with sharp claws and fangs. The lowest common denominator, however, was the Monster that lurked in the school toilet had a huge appetite. For children.

Nonsense, Faiz's mother said one day when he mentioned about the Monster. There are no such things dear; you're a big boy now. Don't be afraid of monsters okay?

Okay Mama, he had said, and his mother had kissed his cheek.

Still, he loathed it every time he felt like going to the bathroom during school hours. In fact, he was absolutely terrified. His young mind, clear and innocent, would imagine some foul beast waiting inside the toilets, ready to pounce on an unsuspecting victim.

So far though, he has been lucky. Still, his senses would be on extra alert from the moment he unzipped his pants and started to paint the porcelain yellow or white, depending on his fluid intake. His friends however told him of 'near misses', when they had seen something, or felt something. They discussed this with all the integrity and seriousness their eight year old minds allowed.

Eight year old Faiz, bright Standard Two pupil, loved school. But he feared the school toilets.

So it was on this dark and rainy morning, he sat in class. The clouds were shrouding the sun so much that the skies outside were almost black. Thunder and lighting rumbled and raced across the sky. The fluorescent lights in all the school classrooms were turned on. Rain pelted the tile roofs, the sound almost drowning out the teachers' voices. It was a cold day as well.

"Please take out your text books and open page..." said the teacher in Faiz's class. He took out his textbook and placed in on his desk when he felt his stomach churn. Faiz winced. He put a hand on his tummy as another bolt of pain ran through his body. Slowly he released his sphincter, attempting to ascertain if it was gas or if it was the shits. As he felt a hot wetness on his rectum, he tightened his buttocks.

He felt nervous as he glanced outside the classroom into the rain. It was raining heavily, and he dreaded having to go to the toilet in this weather. His palms felt clammy. But when he felt a contraction in his lower intestine, he knew he had to go or risk shitting his pants in front of 30 other kids. Faiz raised his hand.

"Yes Faiz?” the teacher asked, a bit annoyed.

"Cikgu, may I please go to the bathroom?” he said, stammering a little. His classmate Mahfuz looked at him in awe, no doubt amazed that Faiz would want to go to the toilet in this weather.

The teacher nodded and Faiz walked carefully to avoid an embarrassingly sudden release of his stomach contents.

The school toilets were all situated at the ends of the buildings, separated from the classrooms by stairwells. The one Faiz was heading for would take him about a minute of brisk walking to reach. Faiz walked as carefully as he could, one of his hands pasted to his stomach. As he approached the bathroom he hoped there would be other kids there as well. He would not feel so frightened if there were other kids in there.

Unfortunately there were no kids at the toilet. Cripes, Faiz thought. The lights to the toilet were off. He stood in front of the door and put his hand near the wall, fiddling for the switch. When he found it, he flicked it to the 'on' position. Nothing happened. He tried again, but to no avail. The lights were out. Must be the storm, he thought. Oh no.

He began to have second thoughts. He stared into the dark toilets, which seemed to grow around him. He considered trying to hold it in, or maybe rush for another toilet on another floor, but then he felt something poking out of his bottom and he made his decision. He rushed through the door, went into the nearest stall, dropped his pants and let loose. He closed his eyes as he did so, fearful of the darkness. The storm made haunting echoes which bounced off the walls of the empty toilet.

The rain outside began to fall harder. A curious wail from the wind was heard.

Faiz sighed as his bowels loosened. He breathed through his mouth to avoid the smells. Soon, he finished his shit and reached for the rubber pipe and began washing. Just as he finished a sudden gush of wind from outside caused the door to the toilet to slam shut with a loud bang. Faiz cried out in surprise. Panic began to creep in as he raised his pants and flushed. He wanted to get out of here, fast. He wanted to be back in his classroom, learning to subtract triple digit numbers.

As he zipped his pants, however, he heard the audible creaking of the door to the stall besides the one he was in open. The creaking was slow, almost deliberate. Faiz paused. His heart was beating in his throat.

From the stall beside him, he heard the slow shuffle of feet. The steps sounded wet and scraping, as if the soles of whoever it was were covered in metal that screeched against the tiled floor. Faiz stood still, his feet frozen into place. The footsteps stopped, suddenly. He heard the heavy, wet breathing of something. Faiz saw a shadow fall through the open space below the door to the stall. His pulse quickened. Without thinking, he closed the toilet seat and squatted on it, hoping for whatever it was that was inside the toilets with him to go away. In his head he imagined all the bathroom monsters he had ever been told of were in front of his stall, ready to tear him apart.

Faiz began to weep, but he kept quiet by biting his shirt sleeve. The shadow was still there. He squatted on the toilet, and in his fear he shat himself, but he barely noticed. Go away go away go away, he thought. The shadow shifted, and Faiz could have sworn he heard the grunting of something inhuman. At the same time a smell wafted through; it was not the smell of shit... rather, it was the smell of something alive and wet. And hungry.

He saw the shadow fall beneath his door again. He shook his head, praying to God to keep him safe. Then the shadow moved closer until Faiz saw toe-tips. He counted the toes; eight. He shook his head in denial. Whatever it was, it had only eight toes; and they were tipped with ancient looking, curved and cracked claws.

"Go away", he said feebly. All he heard in response was an animal growl, yellow and inhuman. Faiz saw the door bulge in the middle as the thing pushed it. Then he squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see, and screamed "GOOOO AWAYYYYY!!!!!!" at the top of his lungs. The door swung open fast as the lock gave in, but Faiz squeezed his eyes so hard he felt dizzy.

Minutes passed by. Outside, the rain was abruptly coming to a stop. Faiz was still squatting on the toilet as he slowly opened his eyes. He had expected to be grabbed and torn apart, but nothing had happened. He glanced around. The door to his stall was open. But there was nothing there. He glanced to the floor and looked for shadows, but did not see anything out of the ordinary. He got off the toilet seat and peered out. Nothing.

Faiz slowly walked out of the stall, glancing around for any signs of the thing. Then, satisfied, he gave a sigh of relief. It was just my imagination, he thought. I am so afraid of the school toilet that I let my thinking go crazy, he thought. Then he realized he had soiled himself. Thinking as quick as his eight year old mind allowed, he went back to the bathroom stall to wash his ass and get rid of his underwear. He hoped his pants weren't stained.

He entered the stall and closed the door. Then he heard a low, animal growl from behind him. He swallowed hard; again he voided his bowels. He told himself not turn around, but he did. He turned slowly. As his vision turned, he saw his own reflection in the opaque yellow eyes of an unspeakable horror. He froze; he did not even scream as the thing ripped it's claws into him.

--------------

When Faiz did not come back from the toilet after 10 minutes, his teacher thought the boy was probably having a bad case of the shits. But when half and hour passed by, the teacher took it upon himself to go see what was going on. As he reached the toilet the first thing that struck him was the smell. It was worse than ever. He flicked on the lights, which were working fine now.

"Faiz?” the teacher called out. He heard running water from one of the stalls. He went to check it out, and regretted it as soon as he saw the broken body of eight year old Faiz jammed inside the toilet, his knees at his face. The lifeless eyes were wide open. The expression on the boy's face was one of shock and horror, not one of pain. The teacher vomited once; then he gathered himself and went to get help.

---------------

A few days passed by. The parents of young and bright Faiz were almost inconsolable at first. The police and ambulance people could only speculate that it was a bizarre accident. They had no logical explanation as to how the boy had been found in his condition.

The school announced the death as an 'unfortunate accident'. Most of the teachers who were initially shocked decided to put it behind them. The teacher who had found the boy requested a long leave to recover from the shock. Things went back to normal, and nobody spoke of the 'accident' out loud.

Faiz' classmates, including Mahfuz, however, knew exactly what had happened. They sat quietly in class, each of them asking the dreaded question to themselves: will it feed again?

----



end note:
remember when we were kids in primary school, there was always this story of the hantu tandas? this is my take on it. an obvious inspiration for this story is Stephen King's 'IT'
- Muhammad Edwan Shaharir

The Night Two Girls Were Taken

---

It was about 45 minutes past midnight.

Dollah scanned his eyes across the group of people, counting heads. Beside him, his best friend and fellow kedai kopi patron, Shuib, nudged his shoulder.

"How many are there?", Shuib asked. His forehead was covered in cold perspiration.

"There are 13 of us here", Dollah answered.

"Do you want to go to Tok Jais' house first?"

Dollah nodded. Again he counted the number of people in the crowd, and then motioned for them to follow him to Tok Jais' house a few minutes away. The people were carrying torchlights and weapons of various kinds: parangs, sickles, and Dollah could have sworn he saw an old World War Two rifle being shouldered by someone. He wondered if it would matter.

When the blood-curdling scream was heard about half-an-hour ago, Dollah had immediately roused Shuib and gathered this group of people. They had had enough of living in fear when night fell upon their kampung, remotely situated in Northern Perak, just south of Temenggor Lake. Here, miles from modernity, the people still lived sedate and tranquil lives, tending fruits orchards and vegetable patches. They were content.

Until the arrival of a beautiful widow 6 months ago, that is. Dollah had thought the old legends of mysterious witches were just that: legends. But when this widow, known only as Dayang, had strangely decided to settle in the kampung, things began to happen.

She's cursed us, Dollah thought as he and the crowd marched towards Tok Jais' house.

The widow had taken up residence in a house on the outskirts of the kampung, bordering the rainforest that surrounded the small residence. For the most part, her coming was only initially seen as strange; the women of the kampung feared at most that she would seduce their men. The men, on the other hand, had thought of her as simply eye candy, even if she was strange.

Nothing was known of her past. Attempts by village folk to get to know her were politely treated, but they never got anywhere. Soon the kampung folk simply accepted her presence. But she was rarely seen outside her house. Nobody knew how she got her income, if she had any.

But then strange things began to happen. Chickens were reported missing from their sheds. The fruits in the orchards began turning rotten before their time. The village youths who make daily trips to the nearest pekan of Gerik reported strange lights and shapes floating around the trees at night. And lately when the moon was full, the haunting wails of an unknown creature pierced the night air.

At first people had shrugged them off. Maybe a lost wild dog, said one. Maybe its just bad weather, said another. Only Tok Jais, who listened quietly to these uneasy rumors, held a quiet suspicion.

Three months ago a woman named Kamilah died during childbirth. The death came as no big surprise however, as she had been in poor health prior to the delivery. The rural doctor who had visited her just a few days earlier had somehow failed to see any causes of her illness. He had just told the womans' family that she was ill. When she died, nobody noticed anything out of the ordinary because she had been sick. But when the baby died as well a few days later, people began feeling uneasy.

Soon, most of the women in the village began falling ill with an unknown disease. They lost color in their faces, and they became gaunt and almost waif-like. Again the doctor visited, and seeing the women of the village become ill, he became worried that a disease was spreading. But he had no explanation as to why it affected only women. And from what he knew, the disease coincided with every of the victims' menstruation. The doctor told the village headman, Pak Ali, that he would get federal help, but that would take time.

In the meantime, the uneasiness of the kampung folk increased. More and more women fell ill to the mysterious illness. They became weaker and weaker. Soon, one of them died. A few weeks later, two more women died.

"Something is going on..", Tok Jais had told the kedai kopi patrons one day. Dollah had been one of them.

"What do you mean Tok?", he had asked.

"I cannot say for certain. But our kampung is filled with...", Tok Jais answered but trailed off.

"With what, Tok?"

"Something", Tok Jais had finished and walked away. The patrons of the small kampung kedai kopi had went back to their drinks uneasily.

Meanwhile, the widow by the name of Dayang was seen less and less around the kampung. Suspicious fingers pointed out that she was a witch who kept a 'pet', and that she was feeding the women of the kampung to her 'pet'. Pak Ali the headman had attempted to squash these rumors, but he himself had an uneasy feeling about the woman.

"Let us not jump to conclusions", he had told a group of people one day.

For a while then things were quiet again. Until this night, when suddenly a scream was heard. Dollah and Shuib, who had been first roused by the scream, had rushed to the source, a house owned by a man named Sazali, who lived there with his wife and two daughters. When they had reached there, they found Sazali in hysterics, almost catatonic. His wife, whom Dollah found shivering in a corner of the kitchen, said that "she took our girls". When asked who took her girls, she shivered violently and said "Da.. Dayang.."

That was the final straw. Dollah and Shuib gathered a group of people who were brave enough to face whatever it was they had to face, and went to see Tok Jais. They were planning on asking Pak Ali to come along as well.

When they reached Tok Jais' house, they saw he was already dressed in front of his door. He had put on a white jubah and a ketayap, and in his hands he held a tasbih. He stepped down from his house and motioned for the crowd to pick up Pak Ali.

"So she has finally decided to not let it be secret", Tok Jais said when Dollah told him about what they had found out at Sazali's house.

"What do you think she is doing Tok?", Shuib asked. They were walking now towards Pak Ali's house.

"I do not know. Let us pray to Allah the little girls are safe. But I suspected that this woman was playing with evil when she first arrived"

"How so?"

"I just.. felt something was wrong. But we may have time yet to drive this woman and whatever evil she has brought to our kampung out".

They reached Pak Ali's house and unsurprisingly, he too, was already prepared. He slung a hunting rifle on one shoulder, and carried a torchlight in one hand. Soon the group began their march towards the widows house on the outskirts of the kampung.

In the time it took them to reach there, a small part of Dollah's mind was thinking: are we crazy? Are we actually marching in the middle of the night? What are we going to do? His mind was filled with the images of an unspeakable evil. But another part of him was hoping that the widow would just turn out to be a crazy kidnapper. At least that would make her human.

As the crowd neared the widows house, all of them began to feel terrified. The exception was Tok Jais, who looked oddly calm. The house stood ominously in front of them now, the windows like eyes. There was only a dim light emanating from the open front door. Another scream, unmistakeably from a little girl, pierced the night air. Dollah could feel the hairs on his neck stand up.

The crowd quickened their pace, fueled by both fear and a desire to rid the kampung of whatever it was the widow had brought. They reached the house and a few of them men, including Pak Ali and Tok Jais and Dollah, crashed down the front door. Pak Ali immediately cocked his rifle, pointing into the room.

But the entrance way was empty except for a small lamp on the floor. In fact, the entire house was empty. Wary, Tok Jais began citing some holy ayat for protection.

"Ya Allah protect me from Evil..", Dollah whispered. There was a discernible chill inside the house. The walls were bare, unpainted and unadorned. They saw bloodstains on the floor. As an act of caution, Pak Ali told the rest of the crowd to guard the perimeter of the house.

Cautiously, Dollah, Pak Ali and Tok Jais began to follow the bloodstains, which led from the entrance way into a room on the east wing of the empty house.

Who would live here, in this emptiness? Dollah thought. The house truly was empty. It seemed as if nobody, not even one person, had lived there at all. And yet they knew the widow had been here for months now.

They approached the room where the bloodstains led to. They could hear whimpering from inside, and an odd chanting. The widow, no doubt, Dollah thought. He was gripped with fear. Before they stormed in, Tok Jais recited some prayers and gently blew over their faces.

"Ready?" Tok Jais said, and the rest of them nodded. He insisted on going in first. Pak Ali steadied his rifle in his hands. Tok Jais then swung the door open whilst saying in a loud voice:

"Allahuakbar!"

In a flash, Dollah saw the two little girls, Sazali's daughters, huddled in a corner of the room. They were covered in blood. In the center was a small bronze bowl filled with incense, and the smell wafted throughout the room. But where was the widow? he thought. Dismissing this, he immediately went to comfort the girls, who wrapped their arms around him. Tok Jais scanned the room. On the floor were strange markings.

As he comforted the children, Dollah asked "Where is the bitch?".

Just as he answered the woman appeared out of nowhere in the doorway. In her hands she held a small keris; her face was covered in blood. In reaction, Pak Ali lifted his rifle and shot the woman in the chest. The blast was deafening and the woman fell backwards.

"Astaghfirullahul'azim", Tok Jais said as he slowly uncovered his ears. For a few minutes they stared at the woman, who lay motionless with a large wound in her chest. Then Pak Ali and Tok Jais turned to Dollah and the two girls.

"Are they alright?", Tok Jais asked. Dollah had managed to ask the girls if they were hurt. One of them was too shocked and terrified to say anything but the other one could speak a little. She said the widow had hurt them 'down there'. Dollah had not asked further.

"Let's get out of here. We can deal with the widow's body in the morning when it's safer", Pak Ali said. Then a groan sounded from the doorway. To their horror, they saw the widow crawling towards them. Blood was pouring from her mouth. Pak Ali immediately raised his gun again, but he did not pull the trigger.

The woman's body suddenly jerked. She gave an ear-splitting scream, and she threw her head back. Her tongue came slithering out of her mouth, almost a foot long.

"Ya Allah!", said Pak Ali and Tok Jais in unison; Pak Ali was frozen in fear, the rifle temporarily forgotten. Dollah wrapped his arms around the girls, shielding them from seeing this, but his own eyes were glued to the horror unfolding in front of him.

The woman raised herself off the floor, almost floating. Her eyes were black as midnight itself, her jaws wide, the tongue hanging out. Suddenly an audible crack was heard, and Dollah saw a huge gash appear at the woman's neck. Then another gash appeared, as if an invisible knife was cutting her head off. With a final scream, the woman's head separated, and the body fell to the floor with a dull thud. The disembodied head floated, and Dollah saw that below the stump of the neck, the head was dragging a heart and a stomach, as impossible as that may sound. Blood dripped from the hanging organs.

The head screamed. A blood-curdling, animal sound.

Finally seeing too much, Dollah squeezed his eyes shut. In his head, he recalled the old lore of the Penanggal, a blood sucking fiend who appeared as a disemboweled head dragging a stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut and wrapped his arms tightly around the frightened girls, and as he heard Pak Ali and Tok Jais' fighting with the creature, Dollah prayed that this was all just a nightmare, and that he would wake up in a world where no such evil stalked the night.

----

I Hope You Walk Home Safe

---

disclaimer:
the following story may be disturbing.
read at your own discretion.

I think about you often.

I often think about how soft your skin would feel on my lips. When I watch you emerge from your shower and drop your towel to get dressed, I feel the blood rushing through my veins. If I could feel your breath on mine, I would almost surely die of ecstasy.

I think of you often, even more so during nights like these, when KL is dark and dreary and the rain never seems to end. In fact, I actually have been thinking of you all the time lately. There is something within you that makes me want to cradle your body in my arms. How I wish.

I think of you even more now since reports came out in the news that a string of young women, all around your age, were found raped and murdered within shouting distance of their homes. Apparently, said the news, a killer is on the loose, targeting young women. I had gone to some of the crime scenes myself, intrigued by the reports.

I know you always seem carry yourself as tough and street-smart. But I wish I could tell you to be aware. I wish I could tell you that even the smartest people get caught out. Like the old Malay saying, "sepandai-pandai tupai melompat, akhirnya jatuh ke tanah jua".

In my mind I could imagine me telling you: "Sweetheart.. be safe. Don't talk to strangers. Always be wary of your surroundings. Keep to well lit streets, even in this housing area. Make eyes on the back of your head"

Because you are so beautiful. And your beauty seems to scream a frailty that would surely attract a twisted mind. Your beauty incites lust so deep, it is almost unholy. I admit there are times when I lose control and get carried away by fantasies of having you.

I suppose that is your gift: beauty. I just wonder if it is your curse as well. These are not good times to be beautiful in Kuala Lumpur.

I think about those murder reports that came out in the news. Five months back, the first victim was found about beside a dumpster just 200 meters from her apartment at Jalan Ampang.

The news reported that Miss Juliana Razali was a nurse at Gleneagles Hospital. She lived nearby, in an apartment. The news said her body was found by an early morning jogger, who thought the body was a drug addict. Imagine his shock then. PDRM's official statement said 'the body of young woman was found, believed to be murdered'.

There was also evidence of sexual assault. What they failed to mention to the general public was that Miss Juliana Razali was found without her lower jaw, which had been crudely cut off with a knife. The jaw was not found on the scene. Miss Juliana also had her throat slashed thrice, and her killer had stabbed her about 33 times in the stomach. The coroner had noted that her 'intestines were displaced', whatever that meant..

Sadly the news of Miss Juliana's murder was relegated into the inner pages of the newspapers. When I had read that report I almost dismissed it. Sub-consciously however, I wondered what were you doing that night the poor girl had been murdered.

But then victims number two and three followed within days. Number two, reported as Cecilia Fung, was a clerk at a bank; her half naked body had been found in an alley behind Berjaya Times Square. Her house was 3 monorail stations away from Jalan Imbi.

The circumstances of the murder were very similar to the the slaying of Miss Juliana. There was one slight difference, however: Miss Cecilia's jaw was not cut off. Rather, she had had a massive cut, almost 20 inches long, that ran up from her vulva all the way up to her ribcage. Her intestines had been severed in that long cut. But the wound that killed her was a slash to the throat, deep enough it severed her windpipe. Medical examinations also found semen samples, which matched the ones taken from Miss Juliana.

Police were now worried.

Their worries were justified when number three, a salesgirl by the name of Miss Fatimatul Abdullah, was found in a parking lot in Jelatek. Miss Fatimatul was mere yards from her old Iswara. Again, she had been killed with a savage cut to the throat. There were multiple stab wounds on her stomach, but most grotesque was the fact that her breasts had been cut off and placed on the windshield of her Iswara.

Later medical examinations revealed what police was fearing and had already concluded: the same killer.

A task-force was set up. DNA samples were taken, despite no sample to compare to. Suspects were brought in and released, however; because there were no supporting nor circumstantial evidence to support the case. Heavy pressure was put on the police by the public and politicians alike.

The media begin to intensify their reports. Through the media, police asked for any information regarding the killings, just when victim number four was found beside a car, at Bangsar, again within walking distance of her home.

Victim number four was 27 year old Miss Aleeza Adnan, a rising star in the accounting firm she worked for. When she was discovered, she was dressed in a shirt and skirt; the shirt had been crimson red, soaked from the blood that had flown from her slashed throat. But later, when she was brought to the M.E, the extent of her injuries were revealed. Miss Aleeza's chest had 19 stab wounds. One went straight to her heart. The M.E determined that a knife or sharp object had been rammed up her vagina.

Again, the same DNA was found. The public began to demand an end to the killings. Police received angry letters and phone-calls. Tabloid newspapers dubbed the killer 'The KL Slasher'. The KL Slasher was selling the tabloids. I for one thought it was a shameful deed, exploiting these murders. I for one, thought that, had it been you, I would have been angry and devastated that these fucking tabloids were running stories on the murders day in and day out, sensationalizing the killer.

Then, number five, Miss Renukha Singh, was found in a drain near Datuk Keramat LRT station; she lived in the houses nearby. A savage cut had left her head hanging by just a piece of skin. Her chest had 47 stab wounds; her genitals were torn, again with a sharp object.

But the full savagery of the murders really screamed out loud when Miss Karen Leong, a STAR College student, was found behind a bus-stand in Setapak. Her head had been cut off, and like the first victim, her lower jaw was missing, leaving pieces of ragged flesh where the mandible should have been. Her left arm was broken, possibly in a struggle, and she had been disemboweled. Her intestines had been strewn like trash beside her headless corpse. She had a 9 inch cut that ran from her genitals to the rectum. Her ribs were broken, one lung collapsed.

Evidence showed it to be the work of The KL Slasher.

But yet, the police had nothing. They knew all the murders had had the same modus operandi: all the victims were killed within walking distance to their homes, which signaled that the killer was choosing his victims. The killer probably stalked his victims, determining what was the best time and opportunity to strike. All victims had been killed with a cut to the the throat, then savagely mutilated.

All the signs and samples taken at each crime scene were cohesive and consistent, reported the news. And yet no one had been caught. No face or name has been put to the monster now haunting the city. A true monster, seemingly unstoppable, with an escalating blood-lust.

Kuala Lumpur began to be gripped in fear. Women did not dare go out at night alone. The streets became empty and desolate. The police could only answer vaguely to the concerned and worried public. Even the PM and Mayor issued statements regarding the murders. The entire city of Kuala Lumpur was now on red alert; neighbourhood watches were started, patrols were run. Parents set curfews for their daughters, and husbands and boyfriends made sure they accompanied their wives and girlfriends all the way to the front door.

A serial killer, in Kuala Lumpur. It was almost unheard of. But reality has now proven otherwise. Six women, all in their twenties, had been found so far. The killer apparently left no fingerprints. DNA from the trace samples had been taken and analyzed, but as mentioned above, there was nothing to compare it to. This killer was unknown to the people. A ghost, faceless and nameless.

I shook my head, a bit angry at myself for thinking about those unsolved killings. I should have been thinking of you instead.

My mind drifted back to you. We were neighbors; your beauty had caught my attention ever since you moved here some months ago. I even at times attempted casual talk with you.You always worked late. And you always got off at the bus stop 300 meters south of your rented house. In that 300 meter distance, you had to walk along an empty playground at night.

"I'll be fine", I heard you say one day to your friends. I shook my head. I wanted to warn you, to tell you to PLEASE BE CAREFUL but I could not bring myself to say so to you. I can only watch as you come home, and breath in relief that your beauty has remained intact so far. I hope everytime that you walk home safe.

The last murder, victim number six, was found almost two and a half months ago now. Nothing new came out in the news since then. Reports of the investigation got relegated to the back pages of the papers. Even the tabloids were beginning to lose interest in the killer they had dubbed 'The KL Slasher'. The police had not yet made any major break-through.

It is funny how people easily forget. But I don't. However, perhaps that is why you said "I'll be fine" to your friend the other day. Maybe you thought that the murders were over. Maybe they are.

It is now late night, almost midnight, as these thoughts run through my mind. Moments later, a bus stops about 30 meters away from where I was sitting. I see you get down from that distance. You wave at your friend on the bus as the vehicle drives away. Despite the hour of the day, you do not look worried at all. In fact you walk casually, almost strolling your way home. I feel perplexed and a bit amused at your expression of nonchalance. And again I feel struck by your beauty: your curly raven hair, your honey colored skin. The gentle curves of your body and the way your hips sway when you walk. You truly are gorgeous. And you seem so carefree, so oblivious to the terror that gripped our city in the past months.

You do not notice me in the darkness as you pass me by. Then I walk up to you.

"Hi", I say. You were startled, and I said sorry.

"Hi", you say. "What are you doing here in the dark?"

"Oh, I was smoking. I don't smoke in the house", I answer. I silently take in your beauty. I wished then I could run my hands through your hair, and smell them. I felt the blood pulsing through my body.

"Oh okay..", you say. "Well, you wanna walk home?"

I smile. "Sure, sure.."

We walk in silence for a moment.

"Aren't you afraid?", I ask. "These are dangerous times"

"Afraid?", you say, raising your eyebrows. "Of what?"

"You know, crooks. Snatch-thieves. The KL Slasher", I said while wiggling my fingers for dramatic effect.

You laugh. "Well yeah, but it has been quiet. Maybe he's no longer killing. Maybe he killed himself". You smile at me. I smileback. Perhaps the murders really were over... but what if they weren't? I sigh again. We were about 200 meters from our houses, still walking along the dark playground.

"Besides, you can always walk me home right? Haha..~!", you say and wink at me. I laugh a little, and slow my pace so I was a bit behind you. I put my hand in my pocket, and I take out an eight inch black steel butterfly knife.

"Right", I say softly, but my mind was elsewhere, and as I drive the blade of the knife into the soft, tender meat of your neck, and as I catch your body as you fall to the ground, feeling your curves as I did so, all I could think of was how much I was going to enjoy you, number seven.

------------