Face of the Devil

It was 8:00 p.m. on a cold winter night illuminated by a bright full moon as Carl drove the stolen pickup truck along the streets bordering the University of Minnesota campus.

Students were walking in groups of twos and threes. He spotted one girl walking alone. He parked the truck at the curb and began to follow her. She turned onto a path that led through the Arboretum toward a quadrangle where there were dormitory buildings. He knew the area well because he worked on the U's buildings and grounds maintenance crew.

He followed her into the Arboretum. No one else in sight. Stupid girl. Didn't she know what could happen to her, walking alone at night through a secluded area? Some people chose to be victims and so deserved what they got.

He walked quickly up behind her, grabbed her arm, and said, "Don't scream. I have a knife and I'll use it."

"Who are you?" she said. "What are you doing?"

Scared, but also somewhat pissed off, to be grabbed like that, he could tell. Good. He liked them to have some spirit.

He pulled the knife out of it leather sheath on his belt and held it up in front of her face. It was a big one, the kind used to gut a deer, and he could see her anger turn to terror.

"Don't worry,” Carl told her. "I just want to talk to you."

Yeah, right, just a little chat, with this knife to kick off the conversation.

"No!" she said, trying to pull away from his strong grip. "Please leave me alone!"

Please.

Polite to the very end.

Copyright © 2019 William Wells

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