The world is on fire.
Everywhere I look ordinary people are quite happy to fly their fascist flags, to stand tall ready to fight against the “millennials” that want… peace and equality. Yeah sounds kinda crazy when you put it like that, but sadly it’s the only language the establishment understands. I’m sure all our respective parents and grandparents are turning in their graves wondering why the hell they bothered signing up to fight against Hitler. And our Neo-Nazi leaders? Well this plays right into their filthy, greedy little divide-and-conquer hands.
It seems the populace have become numb to the suffering of others, so hypnotized by the screens in their pockets that they don’t see what’s going on with their neighbors. Or rather, they chose to ignore it. “Oh well… It doesn’t effect me” says Joe Q. Public. Maybe what they need is some personal tragedy in their lives, maybe that will snap them out of their dream state.
Oh, where are my manners?
“Please allow me to introduce myself.”
This is dark story; and when I say dark, I mean as black as the soul of the fallen angel himself; after all, this is the story society has created. You can expect explicit language, violence, murder, and topics such as domestic abuse, alcoholism, depression, and suicide to name but a few trigger warnings.
Consider yourself forewarned.
This isn’t your usual slasher story however, there are plenty of those out there and I didn’t want to add to the pile. Instead I wanted to bring something different to the mix, I wanted a story that would be a vehicle to highlight the social issues that lead to this indefensible behavior in the first place. The world is a dark and ugly place that needs a light shined upon it, and that’s what I hope to achieve in some small way with this story; if we can open up a dialogue about these issues in public, then we can slowly erode the stigmatism and reduce the suffering caused.
As writers I feel it’s our job to start these difficult conversations, to weave them into popular culture and help those that are suffering find not only a glimmer of hope, but the strength to seek out help. I consider myself extremely fortunate to be a small part of the new wave of indie podcasters that have seen the power this burgeoning medium can bring to the social issues of our time, and how ‘edutainment’ can be a part of the evolution of our society.
If you are dealing with any of the problems highlighted in this story, or know someone that is, then please either call the police emergency number if you’re in immediate danger, or your local police if not; they will be able to get you the help you need.
What follows here is the first episode and it’s transcription. If you enjoy this and would like to explore it further, subscription on my Patreon page you can find episode two as well as an annotated version of the script where I share my thoughts, outtakes, easter eggs and other relevant information. You can also discover other great bonuses and a sneaky peek at some of my new projects.
DIARY OF A MADMAN
PART 1: A PRELUDE TO MADNESS
Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner! A brand new animal to hunt, and the blood still feels warm on my lips from the last embrace.
It has been two months since my last dance!
That sounds like I’m at Serial Killer’s Anonymous! (CHUCKLE).
“Hi, my name’s Tyler and I am a destroyer of lives!”
Laughable, isn’t it?
What? Did you think there was only one “madman” in the world?
Did you ‘really’ think the madman you heard last time is the only one who feels like that? Frustrated by the inequality of life? Ha! Such a naive worldview.
You know, I am chuckling to myself all the time. I can’t believe how fucking dumb you all are, believing that there are no monsters out there. Or if there are, it’s just the odd one here and there, hiding away in some grotty little hovel. Only coming out at night, and then only skulking behind a bush, or down some dark alley, waiting to pounce on their unsuspecting prey.
When I first came across this person’s diary, a few months ago now, I wasn’t sure if he had ‘actually’ gone mad or not. Putting it all out there for all the world to hear. Who in their right mind would do that?
But then I saw the sense in it; I saw how he provided just enough detail to keep himself out of the spotlight. How, no matter how hard I searched, I couldn’t pinpoint where he was uploading the diaries from.
He was very, very clever.
So I took his torch and ran with it. Somehow, I think he’d be very proud to know that his call was answered, even from across “The Pond”. There’s enough here in England to frustrate, to rouse anger, to facilitate hate … and it wasn’t long before creating my own diary became cathartic.
(DEEP NASAL BREATH)
I can still remember my reactions to his work, his goal. Listening to him hunt.
His thoughts were my thoughts, his actions, like mine. It was almost like we were brothers, born in blood. Forged in the same fire. Which is why I reached out to him. Why I decided to share my diary with him … and now, with you.
Why I decided to try and educate you poor, deluded sheep!
We’re out there amongst you, bold as brass in the midday sun, mowing our lawns in suburbia, sharing a beer with our neighbours at their barbecues, or ambling down the high street like it’s an aisle in the supermarket … and you are the tasty treats, ripe for the picking.
What sweet delights shall I savour today I wonder?
Will you be my treat?
(BUBBLING WITH EXCITEMENT)
Talking of the supermarket. Every time I pass the girl that works the fish counter, I picture her laid out upon the ice counter for all to see.
Can you imagine? ‘Oh, the horror’ you’d say as you stare into her cold dead eyes, unable to remove your gaze. Her mouth wide open, forever trying to catch that last elusive breath. Her naked pale blue body, sliced from throat to pubis.
She always brings a smile to my face, and she always smiles back, a sweet innocent smile that warms my cold dead heart just a little.
But that’s my mother’s smile honey, and you can’t have it!
Soon my love, soon. Right now I have a bigger fish to fry … Your time will come.
That’s where I found him, at the end of the next aisle. That ‘bigger’ fish.
Just ahead of me a five year old kid asks his parents for some sweets, but gets no response. He asks again, and is greeted by silence once more. After being ignored for a third time the kid begins to get a little louder, more whiny.
What do you expect right? He’s literally a kid in a candy store.
Well, guess what… So am I.
(VENOM SLOWLY INCREASING)
It hasn’t even been a minute when his father grabs him by the arm, squeezing so tight it looked like the kids head would pop off. (SARCASTICALLY) ‘Dear old dad’ knelt down, looked him dead in the eye, and told him to “shut … the fuck … up!” Calm as a fucking cucumber, but rooted in so much menace.
The poor boy looked up to his mother, tears in his eyes beginning to well up.
With that, this arsehole turned on the kid’s mother… and she flinched.
In that instant I knew.
I knew everything … everything I needed to know… A new hunt had begun.
(BELLOWS WITH HATRED)
Everyone heard it, yet not a single person moved; no one made as much as a single sound … not a peep.
It was like they were all undercover cops, trying to look inconspicuous.
Digesting the ingredients on the back of that packet of instant mash became the most important thing in the world at that moment.
Suddenly there was an overwhelming urge to know the actual sugar content of that bottle of fucking cola.
That speck of dust on your shoe needing to be delicately brushed away at that exact moment.
Not one fucking person even gave him a glance, let alone a deprecatory look or a chastising word, they just froze … and then turned tail and scurried off like fucking cockroaches.
(PAUSE TO COMPOSE. SIGH. CONTINUE WITH CALCULATING VENOM)
I could’ve smashed the base off a bottle on the shelf next to me and buried it deep in his face right there and then … you know, if it was socially acceptable. If society could tolerate it, if society was fair, I’d tear this bastard a new arsehole.
But I need to keep a low profile right now. I can’t make a scene … not if I’m to devour this little prick.
For now I play the role of the oblivious shopper, as I wander into the next aisle … he’ll keep.
Madman: Karim Kronfli (@bullshotUK on Twitter)
Written, edited by: Dohai (@Dohai666 on Twitter)
Edit & produced by: Paul Sating (@paulsating on Twitter)
Art by Kessi Riliniki at https://www.patreon.com/kessir
Raul Vega: http://www.rosedrivepodcast.com
Keniche Ohme: https://soundcloud.com/ohme