Thrill of the kill

What does it take to drive a man to kill? Are some just born evil and capable to kill, or does it take an experience or abuse that screws a person up psychologically? Maybe still a person can just enjoy the thrill they get from the stalking, the watching, and the killing.

A man sat in a closet located in a small room. The room was plainly furnished with nothing in it but the wardrobe that he sat in now. Through a crack he could see a plain wooden framed bed made with plain cotton sheets, and a brown blanket. The room did have a window on the north wall that provided most of the light for the dark room.

The mans breathing was calm although his mind was racing you could see the excitement in his blood shot, cold eyes. His hair was a greasy black; his pencil thin fingers were shaking. It was evident that he hadn’t slept in days let alone had the comfort of a shower he only watched until he knew every habit and second of the victims life. And when it was time he crept into this tiny room, which was no doubt the opportune place for the kill to take place. All that was left was to wait out the last seconds before the kill.

A door shut nice and quiet, his hands stop shaking immediately. Could it be him… it had to be him, it’s the right time. The sound was so close by. He held his breath, so not to make a sound; he had to wait a few more seconds, maybe even a minute to be safe. He waited with great self control, although he was dieing from anticipation he forced himself to wait the final seconds.

Finally, he opened the door of the closet, just a little at a time, keeping the monk in his sight the whole time. He took his time with the door; he had plenty of time as the monk prayed. The door was now open enough for him to climb out quietly and with ease. He made his way over to the bed with slow, deliberate, quiet steps. He pulled out a knife polished and freshly sharpened. The excitement almost overcame him as he crept even closer to the kill. He was inches away now blade ready to slice the monks neck clean. He grabbed the monk’s smooth bald head and wrenched it back. He could see the utter terror in the brown eyes of his victim. He let a small, cruel smile of pleasure creep across his lips.

An elder monk of the monastery was amazed. He never thought that when he opened that door he would see such a gruesome sight as the limp body of a poor young monk hanging from the ceiling, by his feet. His upside down face had the emotion of pain all over it. His eyes were missing and his mouth was open. From these holes shined an eerie light, much like a jack-a-lantern. He backed out of the rooms and threw up for a time before he was able to continue to look at the terrible sight. When he got his sickness under control he noticed chunks in the thick blood. It took a long time for him to realize that the head had been hollowed out and what lay on the floor was the dead monks brain matter. The elder monk stumbled and fainted right there in the brain and blood mixture. He would not be discovered until the killer was long gone.

What makes a killer kill? How many people have to die before a serial killer’s thirst for death is quenched? Can psychology cure the crazy mind of a killer, or once a person starts down that path is it impossible to fix their terrible mind? Some say that they kill because they have to, but is this true, or are they just out for the thrill of the kill.