My run in with a serial killer: He wanted to put the lotion on my skin.

If you know anything about Missouri and the way Mother Nature treats us, you are fully aware of how awful it is. Never do we have a normal week of the same and consistent, boring weather. Each week or to make it seem more legit, each day we are subjected to the ever-changing weather patterns of the awful and almost hellish, style weather. It’s a roller coaster of seasons.  Trust me. In Missouri, you can (and you will) bear witness to all four seasons in a single week. It doesn’t matter which seasons you’re in. It can snow in the summer and it can be sweltering hot in the middle of December. It’s just how Missouri is. We are used to it but as much as we are used to the undecided weather that is dumped on us, we still bitch and moan about the weather, no matter if it’s cold or hot.

The other day, we were ravaged with a mixture of rain, ice, and snow. Combine all that into a 24 hour period and you have what most Missourians considered, Snowmageddon. I have a new car now. My old car would have died if I tried driving anymore than a foot away from the apartment. Now that I have 2.0, I have no issues driving in the arctic style weather. If you are wondering if this post is about the weather and not about the run in I had with a possible serial killer, then you’re wrong. This is not about the weather. I have discussed previously about the weather here and here. I hate snow and I hate ice. I just feel if I am going to talk about my chance meeting with a possible serial killer, I should build up a back story and not just throw you head first into what could have been my final demise.

To get to the story. I know many of you are curious about it. I know a few of you have an idea of what I am talking about and a majority can give two sheets to the wind about the story. It’s a good story though. All my personal stories are good. I like to call my personal stories, factual fiction stories. While I do speak fact, I like to embellish them more than a bit. Just telling you the story in three sentences is boring and it doesn’t make it interesting. I am a writer. I blog. I have to entertain. If I don’t entertain you, then fine. At least I know I am entertaining myself. Be it either way. Let me get to the story. I want to talk about the man who could have been a serial killer. If I did what he asked, I could be dead. Honest truth. This is my story about my run in with a possible serial killer.

Jeffrey DahmerI arrived at work that morning. It was Sunday. It was shortly before 5am. It was cold. It was just after a major ice storm and a good 5 or so inches of snow fell. I am bundled up in my coat and wearing a nice sweater I had just bought. I looked good. I felt good. Even being in a super mood, I still lacked the Christmas spirit. I wish I could tell you the day or the year I lost it but I don’t know. It just happened. I just decided one day that I hated Christmas and all that pertains to it. I don’t like the music. I don’t like the happy people. I don’t even like wishing people a Merry Christmas or being PC and saying, “Happy Holidays”. It’s not for me anymore. It’s another day. So I am a Scrooge. I am the old miser in his bed who will die alone and dread the holiday till I arrive in Hell . Even three spooks won’t change me for the better. I am told I have a heart. I beg to differ but if they are fooled into thinking I am a nice guy with a gentle soul, so be it. I’ll take it with a grain of salt and not worry that I am seen as not a bitter bachelor but as a good guy with a big heart.

I don’t know why I did what I did. I don’t know if the goodness of the world and the holiday changed me that morning but I did something that even now, I ponder about doing such a good deed. Walking into work, a man approaches me. I don’t think anything of it. I assume he is going to ask me a question about the store. He looks normal but we all have read stories about Gacy, Dahmer, and Bundy. Those mofo’s looked normal. No one batted an eye when they were approached by them. You wouldn’t worry about them murdering you because those guys looked f**king normal. Why would I run away when this run of the mill guy nears me? He looks normal. I had nothing to worry about. He was just your everyday man with a question for a heartless Scrooge just trying to get to work on time.

POSSIBLE SERIAL KILLER: Hey, I wonder if you can help me.

ME: I can try.

POSSIBLE SERIAL KILLER: I am trying to get home. I live just down there. My car is on empty and I have just 30 cents to my name. I was wondering if you could loan me some money for gas?

ME: Sure… I think I have some cash on me.

I just used some cash the other day and thought I had at least seven bucks on me. I felt my pockets. They were empty. I had a larger bill in my wallet but I wasn’t going to open my wallet and flash a Ben Franklin in front of  him. I don’t know if he is a serial killer or if he is a liar and is wanting to rob me. I lie and say I have no cash on me. Rather than shoo him away and let him suffer in this near, sub-zero weather, I tell him I will return with some money. I tell him to wait and I’ll be back with some cash. He thanks me and I hurry inside.

I head to the ATM. I don’t know what came over me. I don’t know why I am giving this guy money and why I decided to have a heart that day. I have no heart. I mean I do have one but it’s black as coal and my blood runs cold. I am a soulless prick with no Christmas spirit. I don’t care what people say. I am heartless. If I wasn’t so heartless, I’d be in a relationship right now, sans the funnel. I could have told him to bugger off but I don’t want to be blamed for the death of a man who perished inside his car because of the bitter cold. I may be heartless but I care enough not to kill or be responsible for the death of someone.

I withdrawal some money. The lowest amount I could get out was twenty. On top of my good deed, I had to pay a 3 dollar fee. This guy better give me a gold star for my random act of kindness. I go back outside. The man is gone. I gaze around at my surroundings. I am the only person out there. Apart from the lights in the parking lot, the place is dark. If I was going to be mugged or worse, kidnapped and murdered, no one is going to hear my scream. Shouldn’t someone be out here getting carts? I don’t care who. I just don’t like the idea that me and this Gacy type of guy are going to be the only two souls in this dimly lit parking lot. Had it been pitch black, I am 100% sure I’d be dead now. I wouldn’t be in a ditch or a river. My body would have been eventually chopped up to fit inside his fridge and his stock pot. He would be enjoying Kirk stew right about now. Far fetched theory but darken parking lots and strange and penniless men, get you thinking. Not liking that I am alone, I am still hoping to see another person. I am out of luck. It is just me and this broke ass, possible serial killer. This is not good. Better call the police. I might wind up dead.

Nobody else is around. Fear sets in. I begin to wonder if I am going to die. No one is outside and no one knows I am at the store. Earlier, as I was driving, I called work and told the gal there that I about there.It may take some time.  The roads are covered in ice. If I don’t arrive on time, she could just assume that I wiped out and drove into a ditch. She could just think I am taking my time. She would just assume I could be driving slow to avoid getting into an accident. Lots of assumptions but none will explain how my remains ended up in the landfill. With all the snow and the ice below it, I got to work safe and on time. Had this man had other intentions, this would’ve been the last day on Earth for me. Could I have become a victim to a possible serial killer? Would it have been possible for this man pull a gun on me and rob me? I don’t know. My mind tends to look at the world as a half full. I am not optimistic about many things. The man does return. I see him by his truck. He is smoking a cigarette. I think myself that if you didn’t do that, you might have the money for gas. I just kept that little thought to myself and walked towards him. I hand him the money. He thanks me,

POSSIBLE SERIAL KILLER: Thank you. If you don’t believe me, you can come look at my car. Come look! Really! Come and see it. You’ll see I am not lying.

ME: It’s cool. I believe ya.

POSSIBLE SERIAL KILLER: No, really! Come look. My car is right there. I don’t want you to think I am lying.

ME: No worries. Drive safe.

POSSIBLE SERIAL KILLER: You sure? You don’t wanna look? Cause I don’t want you to think I am lying just to get money.

ME: I believe you. Shit happens. Stay warm. Bye.

I scurry off. I wasn’t sure what to think. Why was this guy so determined to get me to look inside his car? Why couldn’t he just let me take his word? I think he was trying to kidnap me. I scroogethink he wanted to toss me into a pit. I thought about Buffalo Bill and I just envisioned myself inside a dark and damp pit. I could see him prancing around in a dress made of human skin. It would be only a matter of time before I am pulled from that pit and flayed, being parted from my dry skin.  He would have killed me and wore my skin as a suit. I could be dead if I didn’t take his word. I do one good deed and what does it get me? A possible serial killer tried to lure me into his shitty truck. He would have killed me if I obliged. I could be dead now. The last words I would have heard would have been him asking me to put the lotion on my skin.

This is why I choose to be heartless. This is why doing a good deed is pointless. I don’t want to die doing a good deed to a possible serial killer. I cannot confirm if this scruffy man was a killer but when you’re approached in an empty parking lot and you’re nothing but 140 pounds and lack the ability to defend yourself, you see everyone larger than you as a threat. This Bundy wannabe was going to kill me if I went to his truck. Why!? Why did he get so defensive when I declined to look at his fuel gauge to see that he was telling me the truth!? I will take your word for it. I don’t need to be chloroformed and tossed in the bed of truck because you have some fetish for killing people? I gave you twenty bucks. If you’re going to kill me, I would hope I would be worth a lot more than just 20. Excuse me. 23 bucks. I cannot forget the fee. I guess my life is only worth 23 bucks to him.

This is a warning to other people out there. Do not get into a truck with a man who wants you to check out his fuel gauge. Maybe I am not too down with today’s hip slang. Who knows if fuel gauge is slang for something else. If it is, it’s cool. I will check my own fuel gauge. To be honest, I check my fuel gauge weekly. A little too much information there but that’s way better than knowing that a possible serial killer could have killed me and used my dead corpse for his heinous pleasure.

This is why I have no Christmas spirit. This is why I don’t do good things. That saying about good deeds not going unpunished is rubbish. Good deeds lead to death and being murdered by some psychopath with a knack for immoral and unspeakable acts. Stay safe this Holiday. Be a Scrooge. It’ll save your life.

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I like food. I like the smell of cinnamon.

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