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The Nocturnal Fiend

John Ragusa

    For the second week in a row, Duane Harolds was seized with an uncontrollable urge to kill someone. For some inexplicable reason, the urge took control only at night. Duane couldn’t explain it. It was a total mystery.
    So he went out in the evening and murdered people. After dark, he would roam the streets in his car, searching for victims. He once killed a prostitute he found walking alone. She put up a hell of a fight before she died, kicking and clawing him frantically. This angered him, so he attacked her more brutally. When he was finished, the woman was a bloody mess.
    On another occasion, he slew a wino in an alley. Unlike the prostitute, he was in too much of a drunken stupor to struggle with him. He just lay on the ground as Duane stabbed him repeatedly.
    He knew that murder was a sin, and he felt he was committing evil deeds when he killed. So he decided to go to a priest and confess his violent acts.
    He went into the confessional and talked to Father Gregor.
    “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” he said. “My last confession was a year ago.”
    “What are your sins?” Father Gregor asked.
    “I really only have one sin, but it is egregious and I do it often.”
    “What is it?”
    “At night, I go out and slaughter people. But I do it only at night.”
    “Are these murders intentional?”
    “I don’t know. Something just comes over me, and I kill.”
    “You must stop this at once.”
    “I don’t think I can do that.”
    “Make an effort to do it. And confess the murders to the police.”
    “Are you nuts?” Duane exclaimed. “They’ll have my scalp if I do that!”
    “You must turn yourself in to be forgiven by God.”
    He left the confessional in a huff. How could he possibly confess his crime to the authorities? It was unthinkable.
    He went to Dr. Moran, a psychiatrist.
    “What is your problem, Mr. Harolds?” Moran asked him.
    “I have a friend who gets the desire to kill only at night. What do you think?”
    Moran thought about it a minute. “Maybe he had a head injury.”
    “I suppose that might be the case.”
    “If he injured a certain part of his brain, he could have become murderous. I’ve seen this happen before.”
    “Is there any way he could get this checked?”
    “I’d have to put him in the hospital for analysis.”
    “I don’t believe my friend would go for that.”
    Moran sighed. “Then we’ll never know what has caused his desire to kill.”
    So Duane was back to square one. He still didn’t know why he killed at night.
    He felt terrible about what he was doing. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t help but kill.
    He considered turning himself in to the police, but then he became afraid of his punishment. He’d either get life in prison or, even worse, death by lethal injection. It didn’t hurt a lot, but he still didn’t want to die.
    He tried going to sleep just before the sun went down, but then he’d always awaken with the desire to kill someone. Even sleeping pills couldn’t make him stay asleep.
    His homicidal impulses puzzled Duane, because he had never been a violent person before the urge to kill started. He’d been kind and gentle, and he never had a bad temper, either. He couldn’t understand why he had the desire to kill at night.
    He had his blood tested to see if any drugs had inadvertently entered his system, but the results proved negative.
    Duane wondered if somebody had hypnotized him into doing it. It certainly was possible. But why would anyone want to do that? Duane couldn’t think of a reason.
    He was frightened by the chance that one of his targets might fight back and injure him. He didn’t wish to be harmed in any way.
    One night, he was in his house, watching TV, when the urge came upon him. He put his knife in his pocket, got in his car, and drove to a bar. He would meet someone there who would become his next victim. She wouldn’t be alive much longer.
    He got to the bar and took a seat at a table.
    A barmaid approached him. “What’ll it be, sir?” she asked.
    “I’ll have a beer,” he answered.
    Duane looked around the bar. He wanted to find a woman he could pick up. Later, he would kill her at his home.
    Shortly, the barmaid returned with his beer. “Here you go,” she said, putting it down on the table.
    “Thanks.” He tipped her and drank his brew slowly.
    He spotted a young lady sitting alone at another table. He walked over to her and said, “Excuse me. Are you by yourself?”
    “Why, yes, I am,” she replied. Duane knew that so far, his plan was working.
    “Would you like some company?” he said.
    She nodded. “That would be nice.”
    He sat down at her table. “I’m Duane Harolds.”
    “I’m pleased to meet you. I’m Hermoine Penrod.”
    They shook hands.
    “How’s the action tonight?” he asked.
    “It’s kind of slow,” she said. “There’s not a lot of activity here.”
    “Then it’s good I came your way. I’ve been told I’m the life of the party.”
    She laughed. “I’d like some excitement right now.”
    “I don’t know if I’m exciting, but I’m definitely not boring.”
    “What’s your line of work, Duane?”
    “I’m a garage mechanic.”
    “Is it rewarding?”
    “Well, I’ve always liked cars, so I enjoy it pretty much.”
    “It’s important that you like your job.”
    He leaned forward. “Say, would you like to go to my place? We can get further acquainted there.”
    “That sounds good to me.”
    “Splendid! We’ll get in our cars and you can follow me there.”
    “All right. Let’s go.”
    They both drove to Duane’s house and went inside.
    “Can I get you something to drink?” Duane asked her.
    “A bourbon would be fine.”
    “Bourbon it is.”
    He went to the kitchen and poured a glass of bourbon. Then he joined Hermoine on the sofa.
    “You have a lovely house,” Hermoine said.
    “I like it a lot.”
    “I prefer it here. That bar was too noisy and crowded.”
    “I agree with you.” He got up and walked behind the sofa, where she couldn’t see him.
    “Where are you going?” she asked.
    He took the knife out of his pocket. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Truly I am.”
    She turned around, saw him, and screamed. Duane plunged the blade into her neck.
    Then he put her body in the trunk of his car, drove out to the woods, and buried her there.
    The next day, he felt horrible guilt over his act. Hermoine had been such a nice girl.
    He got down on his knees and prayed. “Dear God, please stop me from getting the urge to murder people in the evening. This killing has got to stop.”
    Maybe God would hear him and make his urge go away.
    That evening, after the sun went down, Duane found that he was no longer homicidal at night. He was immensely relieved. God had answered his prayer.
    On the next morning, however, he discovered to his dismay that he was now murderous during the day!

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