Head and Shoulders Above

Y’know, it wasn’t as if anyone would ever consider me a suspect for it. The building had been there longer than I’ve been alive, and they only recently decided to tear it down. I mean, my god, the cruelty of the man involved—everyone knew he was a pervert. It’s a wonder they even let him work there, for god’s sake. His clothes stank, he never shaved, and his hair dripped with grease and chlorinated water. My stomach flip-flops just remembering those awful lessons I was forced to endure with him.

“If you don’t have your suit with you, kid, get one from the lost ‘n’ found box,” he’d grunt and sneer at me when I’d leave my gear on the school bus in a vain attempt to avoid the required elements on the block or the diving board. Hell, with no depth perception and precious little balance, I was petrified to be up that high, and the jerk always pushed me off, laughing the whole time at “the little sissy.”

I was six-frickin’-years old, for god’s sake, and blind as a bat! No compassion, no mercy. “Just jump already, you sissy!” and then he’d shove me into the water when I was taking a breath. I drank so damn much of that nasty water that half my classmates had peed in, I was sure. I could swim the breaststroke and backstroke and float and tread water with the best of them, but jumping in was not for me, and I was taunted and tortured by that d-bag.

Not that I called him that back then. Didn’t even know the bad words at the time. But I learned ‘em, and the fear and resentment, too, ‘cuz my classmates saw him gettin’ away with treating me like last month’s milk, and some o’ them started doin’ it, too. And when seventh grade came along and Mummy was sick, I got away with a whole lotta crap. “He’s just actin’ out ‘cuz he’s worried ‘bout his Mum,” they’d say. And I’d do what I wanted and nobody stopped me. I got pretty wild, but they just let me “live and let live.” Hahahahahaha…if they’d only known.

One night I went back to that CARASC (Community Association Rec and Swim Center) to see if the creep was still workin’ there. I was a little shocked to realize he’d probably only been in his late teens or early twenties when I was a little kid, ‘cuz he was still there, still looked young, but he was still a creep. He didn’t remember me, but he liked what I looked like as an older boy. I figured that out real quick. Makes me wanna puke just thinking ‘bout it. Like I said, he was a real perv. I made up some story about having a cousin to pick up from a swim lesson, and I went in and waited. I watched the creep watch the kids swimming. He was still the same jerk, pushing kids off the blocks and diving board, but I noticed he looked around for other adults before doing it. He musta gotten in trouble at some point. I left before the lesson ended.

Went back a week later with a bag of gear. I’d checked in to see what his schedule was and found out he got done at 10:00pm. He closed up alone on Thursdays, so that’s the day I went. I had heard from coworkers that no one liked him and it was clear they wouldn’t miss him if he found a new job. I said to them that I knew him from when I was a little kid and my parents had a job they wanted him for, but not to tell him; it was a surprise. I was never in that part of town, so I was sure they’d never remember me, but I got a little nervous that maybe I’d overplayed my hand. You just never know sometimes.

So, that Thursday night, I slipped in about 9:30 and went to the locker room. The creep was doing his rounds, locking everything up. When he arrived in the men’s locker room, I was waiting for him.

“Kid, what are you doing here? We’re closed for the night!”

I had to admit that he’d done a decent job of making himself sound believable, but I’d gone there that night with a purpose and wasn’t going to be thwarted. “Oh, c’mon,” I pleaded. “I’ve been waiting all day for a swim. Puh-lease? I brought my speedos and everything!”

It took all of my self-control not to react when his eyes went wide with lust at the sound of “speedos.” He resisted for a moment, but then relented. “All right, but just twenty minutes. I’ll finish locking up while you get changed.”

He went to lock the front door and I got ready for my next move. I had my towel wrapped around my waist when he returned. I picked up my bag and said, “Lead the way, man.”

The disappointment was evident in his eyes, but he said, “This way. Have you ever been swimming here before?”

I ignored his question and asked one of my own. “You been working here long?”

He was only too eager to get talking. “Yeah, actually. Been giving swimming lessons for about ten years.”

“You like doing that?”

“It pays the bills.” He gave a snort of laughter. “The kids can be really annoying, though. Too scared to jump off the blocks or the diving board. I mean, come on. It’s not high at all! So, sometimes I just gotta help ‘em in the water a little.” He chuckled again, but there was no mirth in his laughter, just taunting. As we approached the pool, he stopped and turned to me. “Now, let’s see that speedo.” He reached for my towel.

I jumped back. “Hey, now! How old are you, like 40?”

“Twenty-nine. And what does that have to do with anything? You’re the one that mentioned the speedo earlier. You were clearly suggesting something by that, so let’s have a look.”

“I’m 13. What you’re suggesting is illegal. And gross.”

“You know what, Kid? I remember you. You were one of those sissy-boys that wouldn’t jump off the blocks or diving board a few years ago. Your school brought you here for years for lessons, and you would never jump off. I think you came here tonight for a taste of a real man, and that’s what I’m going to give you. You’re locked in, remember? You led me on, told me you were 18, and we’re gonna have us some manly fun.”

I began to act panicked, and I let the towel fall off my hips when he grabbed it. He was so interested in it that he didn’t see me reach into my bag and grab a machete that I used for clearing crabgrass at the farm. The last image he had of me before his life ended was not speedos (I wasn’t wearing any), but the shorts I’d worn into the joint and the blade before it separated his head from his shoulders.

From my experience butchering animals on the farm, I knew I had to act quickly to contain the spatter. I wrapped his neck in my towel and pulled a drop cloth from my bag. As fast as I could, I opened the drop cloth next to the body and shoved one side underneath him, gagging slightly at having to touch even the clothes of the creep. I noticed with growing concern that the towel was completely saturated with blood, so I stopped the wrapping process to get a construction-duty garbage bag from my gear and maneuvered it over the towel and torso. Then I resumed wrapping his body.

I was halfway done when I remembered that I needed the keys. Dammit. I unwrapped the corpse until I had access to the pockets of his jeans. Gingerly, I reached into the left pocket first, half-expecting him to come to life and grab me. No keys, but..what is this? I removed the contents. A roll of cash. Shit. He’s not gonna need that no more. I tossed it into my gym bag. I’ll count it later.

More confidently, I searched the right pocket. Got the keys, but lost my balance and fell onto his body, and my left hand landed on his crotch. Gross! I puked a little in my mouth and I spit onto his body. Nasty. Wait, what’s in the mini pocket? I withdrew a bag of weed and connected the dots. Roll o’ bills, bag o’ weed. And a perv. Double dipshit.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was already 10:25pm, and I didn’t need anyone poking their noses where they didn’t belong. I had a job to finish. I rewrapped Mr. Creep and dragged him to the locker room. I’d seen a spot where they’d been remodeling the toilets, and figured I could put my drywalling skills to good use. When you’re on your own most of the time and have to work to eat, you learn how to do whatever it takes to get paid. Legal work, not that crap Mr. Creep wanted.

Luckily, the creep wasn’t a big guy, and minus his head he fit well into the hole in the wall. I convinced myself that the contractors would be pleased to have this part of the work done for them when they returned in the morning, and I got to work filling the space around him with insulation before adding plastic sheeting and the drywall. Then I mudded it and left it to dry while I returned to the pool area to take care of his head. It was just as I’d expected; mouth slack, eyes wide in shock, fear, and the realization that he’d just made his last pervy move ever. I was gonna have to keep this one.

I scooped it up in another trash bag and secured it in my gear. The taxidermy I’d learned from a neighbor was going to come in handy. It had been months since I’d found any specimen larger than a squirrel, so Mr. Creep’s head would be fun. Still, I had to squelch the rising excitement about that and make sure I finished the task at hand. There were some signs of blood around the walkway that required cleaning, so I searched facility closets until I found bleach and gloves. Kids and other patrons have bloody noses and stuff all the time, so I knew there’d be cleaning supplies somewhere.

The cleanup took a little longer than I anticipated, and it was after midnight when I completed that part of my plan. I still needed to check on the mudded drywall, and I was worried that the damp environment wouldn’t allow it to set. To my surprise, it had dried enough to tape it and mud it again. Then I added insulation, plastic, and drywall to another section of the remodel so that my “special project” wouldn’t stand out too much. My arms, shoulders, and neck ached by the time I was done that section, and I was afraid I’d miss some precious detail before slipping out of the building. I shook my head. Did I really do all this? Or am I just daydreaming it? I slapped myself in the face. Ow! Yeah, it’s real, buddy boy. Don’t fall apart now. Mr. Creep had it coming to him. He remembered you. Eventually, he would’ve taunted you with that time in the locker room when you were 10 and he…

“STOP. STOP. STOP! YOU SAID YOU’D STOP BLAMING ME FOR THAT! I WAS ONLY TEN FOR GOD’S SAKE. IT WASN’T MY FAULT. IT WAS CREEP’S FAULT. HE TOOK ADVANTAGE OF ME AND YOU KNOW IT! STOP!”

Are you sure you didn’t ask him? Teased him maybe?

“NO WAY! A TEN-YEAR-OLD ISN’T THE ONE TO BLAME WHEN A SICKO ADULT DOES SHIT LIKE THAT!”

I struggled to get my thoughts under control as the battle raged in my mind. Get outta my head, creep. You’re dead now. You can’t hurt me no more.

A glance around the room confirmed that the job was done. I gathered my gear and headed for the back door. The clock on the wall read 3:10. This had taken much longer than I’d planned, but at least I was still leaving in the dark. I crossed my fingers that no hobos would see me leaving. For a brief moment of panic I couldn’t find the light switch, but then I located it far from the door. I cursed under my breath, scurried to the switch, and used my elbow to darken the hallway. I found my way to the exit, thanks to the red EXIT sign, took a deep breath, dropped Mr. Creep’s keys on the floor, and slipped into the night.

Taxidermy is a great hobby, but it ain’t for everybody, definitely not for the squeamish. Thanks to my neighbor, I learned it early enough in life that I had all the tools and equipment to conduct basic projects without asking anybody for help. Mr. Creep was also Mr. Nobody. There was nothing about him in the news when he didn’t show up for work the next day. I kept looking for a story about him in the local paper, and all I saw was one tiny blurb about his keys being left behind and coworkers saying they’d heard he was getting a better job someplace else. Now, I didn’t go and display my stuffed creation anywhere, but I was rather proud of the work I did on that piece. He was head and shoulders one of the better ones I did over the years.

It wasn’t until the city decided to tear down that old CARASC building that trouble began for me, and it didn’t seem likely that they’d put torso and head together in connection with me. I don’t suppose I’ll ever know how they figured it out. Maybe I talk in my sleep?

They found the remains in the wall, of course, though none of Mr. Creep’s former coworkers remembered him, at first. Most of them were dead or too old. Eventually, someone recalled finding Creep’s keys on the floor one morning, and that began an investigation. The authorities requested any information the public had regarding Mr. Creep (I refuse to use his real name), and that’s when they realized that you have to be careful what you ask for. Instead of learning his whereabouts, all the kids he’d molested came forward to reveal how terrible he was and how relieved they were to know he was dead. The investigation pivoted to determining how he was employed so long without anyone knowing he was so nasty.

They discovered he was the nephew of the director, who knew the guy was a pervert, but gave him the job as a favor to Creep's parents, who were now dead. He’d been an only child, and the director was dead, too, so retribution went nowhere. The public urged the police and the district attorney to let the case go, suggesting the killer had done everyone a favor, but that’s not how they work.

Like I said, somehow they dug deep enough to find me. One of the old birds musta remembered the day I told ‘em about the job for ol’ creepy. You was sloppy, buddy boy. Well, not everybody can be perfect, and I sure ain’t Jesus.

Some might ask, “Why didn’t you leave the area?” Where would I go? I had my special collection I couldn’t leave behind, and there weren’t no way I could take it with me. I was on my own and people left me alone. Mummy hung on till I was almost 18, and when she died, I had the rights to the farm. The state left me alone, just like ever-body else. I got my social security check, kept a garden, and had a few animals. I did some engraving, a little taxidermy for various customers, and made enough to get by.

My ongoing problem was Mr. Creep. You see, I knew he was dead. For god’s sake, I had his head on display in my trophy case, my crowning achievement in taxidermy, but he kept showing up on my doorstep. I think the first time was when I was seventeen, about two months after Mummy died. He knocked on my back door one evening and wanted to come in. He was real pushy. Said I was “cute” and I “shouldn’t be alone in such a big house.” I told him I was fine and he shouldn’t talk to me like that, but he got in my space, making me feel real uncomfortable. I reached behind me as I backed up, and I felt a steak knife on the counter. I asked him to leave, but he wouldn’t, and he tried to grab my belt, so I took that knife and opened up his neck all the way around.

“I told you not to touch me!” I screamed at him. “Why do you keep trynna touch me?” Only this time, I weren’t prepared for all the blood, and it ran everywhere in gushes and floods. It had sprayed all over the kitchen cabinets and countertops, too. Honestly, I had no idea where this guy came from or who he was, but I knew I needed to clean up my house and then bloody it again with an animal or I’d have hell to pay with a nosy Ned or Nancy. Lucky I’d done this before, buddy boy.

It took all night to sort it out. I hauled Mr. Creep 2 to the butcher station in the barn and sorted him into manageable sizes before burying him in the manure pile. I decided to keep his head for taxidermy; his eyes were full of lust and horror, and although I hadn’t wanted him to touch me, I was oddly drawn to his death stare.

Having taken care of Mr. Creep twice, I was sure he wouldn’t bother me again, but I was wrong. One day when I was 28, he came sauntering up my driveway, nice-as-you-please. “Hey, there, buddy boy. Long time, no see. How’s it hangin’?”

My eyeglasses weren’t grimy or nothing; I’d just cleaned ‘em off, but goddamn if he didn’t look just like Mr. Creep 1! And what business of his is it to know “how it’s hangin’”? “Who the hell are you, and what are you doing here?” I asked him.

“I’m just passin’ through,” he began, “and I’ve heard you’re a good time for a guy like me.”

“Don’t know where you’ve heard that, but it’s a damn lie. You move along now.” I waved him off, but he kept walkin’ towards me. “Go on, mister.” I turned and jogged to the butcher station. Surely he would scare off.

“I see you’re good with knives,” he said from right behind me, and he reached around my waist to grab at my private area. “I bet you’re good with lots of thi—ughgh… .” His voice stopped in a gurgle as I swung the butcher’s blade through his neck. His head bounced to the left and his body remained upright for a few moments. Then it twitched and toppled to the right.

“I told you to leave. You never leave. You insist on touching me. I don’t like that. You’re just like the others. You don’t listen.” I added his body to the manure pile and took his head to my workshop.

As time passed, my collection grew. However, when CARASC was dismantled, I knew I'd be leaving them soon, so I went to visit my untalking heads one final time.

“You're all perverts who touched kids. You swallowed the bait I left for you, hook, line, and sinker, and when I gave you the chance to leave me alone, you persisted, so I punished you. You all thought you was so smart. You really should see how you reacted when I killed you. It’s hilarious! 'Lust.' 'Horror.' 'Oh, Shit, No!' So funny. Oh, time to go. Bye.”

“Sarge! We found him. He’s talking to the heads of his victims. At least a dozen. I’m sure one of them is the guy from the swim center. They’re all preserved, though. Taxidermy, like trophies, with engraved nameplates including dates, times. Vigilante, maybe? Anyway, call the psych ward. This guy’s off his nut.”