Beware the Mall Stalker

The Mall Stalker

... Somewhere in a poorly lit area of the parking lot, a woman shopper is about to enter the safety of her automobile, when she suddenly and fatally comes face to face with The Mall Stalker.

Chronology

From Jack the Ripper, The Zodiac Killer, to The Green River Killer, and later to Theodore Bundy, serial killers have stalked and slain their prey to appease their sexual fixations. Now comes Henry Langford, hell bent on taking out his frustrations on all those alluring women he deems responsible for whatever ails him!

CHAPTER One

Henry Langford had thought about it for years. Just how far back his incredible fantasy began he couldn’t be sure. Perhaps his sick thoughts went all the way back to his very early years. A childhood controlled by an abusive mother until he could no longer tolerate the commands, the exploitation or the shame she inflicted on him despite his increasing revulsion as he grew older, disgracing him beyond comprehension, induced by promises of love and affection. A sick and debasing love! A suffocating mother possessed well beyond a mother’s normal affection for her child. He was the possession, the object of her obsession, and the reluctant participant until the day he finally put an end to his concurrent nightmare.

He wished to forget those abstract thoughts from that dark, despicable day forward. Scarred impressions he hopelessly wished to bury, to believe it never happened. None of it! Not his mother’s fetish, nor his impulsive conduct. An abhorrent, isolated moment of irrational behavior that would have profound repercussions from that forlorn day on. Reflections that would haunt him till the day he expired. Prompting, coaxing, constantly reassuring Henry that it was all right! He was forgiven because he hadn’t been wrong to this very day. Not wrong at all as a matter of fact!

As such, Henry was sure of one thing. The fascination, which first plagued him even before that pernicious incident, now brought him comfort. Ever since the crazy, mixed-up thoughts first entered his mind he had not been able to dispel, let alone quell the notion. Initially, the idea had been nothing more then a passing fancy. A wild and terribly absurd whim in order to appease his deep-rooted frustration and anger. But the more he envisioned his quest the more compelled he felt to play out his own fixation. After all, he had already taken his first giant step! Hadn’t he?

With much ambivalence he believed his wild imagination, irrational as it was, continued to play havoc with his sanity. Still he conceded that he was more than capable of committing anything he set his mind to, be it rational or sick.

He could recall his father’s remarks when he was twenty years of age, only days before his daddy said his final goodbye, causing Henry to weep uncontrollably for hours on end. Henry loved him so much.

Henry, I really believe you’re cunning and bold enough to commit anything you choose to perpetrate and get away with it! Silently I pray you go on to live an honorable life. Yet I have a strange suspicion that you would ultimately shame me if my life continued.

His daddy had made that statement with conviction, causing Henry to wonder if his father ever harbored any suspicions toward him. Or toward his mother for that matter, although the subject never came up. Never, not once! Till the day his old man returned to the earth, he never knew the terrible truth regarding his mother’s despicable behavior or her sudden disappearance. Henry had seen to it in his own innocent ways. With a little bit of luck and some daring imagination he had managed to avoid any and all suspicion.

In retrospect his father had been a good man. Solid, kind and considerate, despite his promiscuity for strange women. Even so, mother had no right to divorce him when he was but six years old. She could have looked the other way! What a shame to think mother couldn’t have been more understanding in keeping the family intact instead of being selfish, thinking only of herself.

Yet somehow those very ill words his father had spoken to him had always stuck in his craw. Because he knew his daddy was right. Uncannily right as a matter of fact! From school days to adolescence he possessed the audacity to perform in such a way as to shock his friends, teachers and who ever else he might choose to impress. How often he had been involved in precarious situations. A posture so brazen no one with any sense of morality or decency would approve of, never mind condone.

There was the time he asked a schoolmate if he could walk the thirteen-year-old girl home from class. En route he convinced the girl to take a short cut through the Lincoln Woods area where he forced her to jerk him off until his stiff, swollen penis was worn red from friction despite the teenager’s pleas to release her from his grasp. Hell, he had threatened to violate the girl’s virginity with a gang of thugs if she didn’t comply. Frightened over the prospect of being assaulted the following day, the girl never revealed the encounter to her parents even though he was only eleven years of age.

Or the time he stole a car for a joy ride. Nervous that he could be discovered when the tank ran low, he decided to place a brick on the accelerator after he abandoned the vehicle and watched it go over a cliff into Leonard’s pond, submerging itself beneath the blackish waters.

Years later when he learned the pond was being drained to make way for a new expressway, Henry looked on with amusement when the pond gave up the rusted-out vehicle to everyone’s surprise but his.

That Buick used to be a nice car! he quipped to no one in particular as the onlookers stared at him in bewilderment.

On still another occasion he had trailed after a very attractive registered nurse as she was leaving Chapman’s Hospital. Unable to control himself because of the woman’s sexuality, he continued to follow her as she headed toward a wooded area making for the bus station when he approached her from behind. Without warning he threw a blanket over the woman’s head just so he could feel her tits as he groped for the woman’s privacy unsuccessfully before running off. The cunt continued to scream in terror for the police to come save her. That incident had left Henry bereft and frustrated. One day he would have himself a pretty nurse all to himself, he vowed, without some bitch screaming for help.

Henry had many war stories he could recount before he ever reached puberty, thanks to his vain, selfish mother who looked upon him as an adult from the age of nine. As a result he had behaved like an adult. A pernicious adult who would do as he pleased. Fortunately, he had always emerged unscathed from his audacious behavior. Subsequently he had no police record. His slate as an adult was also clean.

Despite his unblemished past, he was a different breed, a maverick who took pleasure in shocking others by his impudent behavior. He enjoyed taking unnecessary risks, providing he could remain inculpable, a trait that set him apart from his peers.

In retrospect he realized he had never taken those unnecessary risks without weighing all the pros and cons. Either the odds would favor him from the onset, or he would plot his mischievous deeds to his advantage. Never would he allow himself to step out of bounds unless he was dead sure he could avoid apprehension, having learned through bitter chapters not to act impulsively. Time had taught him the patience he now practiced.

With time he also learned to analyze those daring situations he desired to become involved with. These inner challenges constantly urged him on in order to prove his manhood. The more precarious the situation was, the more cautious he approached the event until he regarded himself an analytical as far as his social behavior was concerned. But on the other hand he was also aware that the best-laid plans could go astray. Murphy’s Law was always just around the corner and could fuck any plans up no matter how well they were formulated.

Yet this is where he believed he held the upper hand. Henry would make no move until all the bases were covered to his liking. He contemplated his nefarious moves from every possible angle. Moves that could take days, weeks or even years to execute. Henry believed he had truly honed his patience with a diligence beyond the norm. A patience that he occasionally aborted like that dark day in question when he became overwhelmed with anxiety and hatred. Never had he felt a compulsion to act spontaneously like that before. Not to that extreme. An impulsive mode of behavior that could have conceivably caused him irreversible consequences for years to come.

At the time, however, he was so overcome with rage that he was willing to live with the discovery. In fact, he was even prepared to accept the consequences had they arisen. In future events it was these opaque traits that made Henry out to be quite unpredictable, thereby keeping any pursuers at bay.

Having recently turned fifty, Henry was now more than prepared to actually live out his malignant childhood fantasy to it’s fullest. His own impossible dream of evil. A rationale well beyond the realm of sanity that had led him to experience nightmarish hallucinations.

These were distortions no one could understand. Those same complacent critics would consider him mad since they had never trod in his path or experienced the numerous bad breaks he had encountered and was forced to endure through the years aside from his abusive childhood. A life filled with paramount frustrations involving humiliation and rejection, always leading him to poor decision-making until he was ultimately defeated.

In time, all of life’s shit had finally taken a personal toll on Henry. Consequently he really didn’t give a jumping fuck anymore. Be it right, wrong or outright heinous! It was his life, his future and he had his own inalienable right to pursue his remaining years as he alone saw fit. The foundation had long ago been set and reaffirmed. He recalled an old quote from some philosopher who once said, There is a pleasure in being mad that none but madmen know. Henry laughed. It was an insidious laugh thinking at first it was Alexander Pope, before he realized it was John Dryden. He wondered if Dryden had ever considered himself mad?

Henry Langford therefore considered himself an extremely dangerous man capable of the most horrific behavior one could possibly imagine. Furthermore, he was hell-bent on realizing his hell-related fantasies. After all, everything he had touched in life had gone askew. Now he was prepared to balance the scales once and forever to his liking by terrifying society with an obsession to destroy all those whom he deemed responsible.

For years he had continually attempted to right himself with his fellow man, but to no avail. He had been ignored and rejected. Rebuffed by all. Whether these rejections were intentional or not didn’t matter anymore. What was now significant to him was that he just could not tolerate any more failures or put-downs, be they from strangers, friends, co-workers, whoever.

As far as Henry was concerned he had made a more than gallant effort to set the record straight with society. Why, there was a time in his life when he even pacified a severe case of depression by doing volunteer work every weekend at a local hospital just to be a nice man by helping others. Still, his benevolent attitude never brought him any comfort or relief. Not when his co-workers ridiculed him constantly for his goodwill gesture.

Henry, you’re an asshole! They cried out to him on Monday mornings. You don’t think those people really give a shit, do you? On second thought Henry had to agree with them. After all no one had paid him much mind for his good deeds. In fact his volunteer work only added to his loneliness and misery. In the end society once again failed Henry, just as all his endeavors had ultimately backfired.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions. As a matter of fact he had actually played out his tour de force unequivocally, but society paid him no heed. Despite every honorable idea and venture the end result was inevitably the same: You fucked up, Henry! You always fuck up because no one really gives a shit about you, so quit trying to prove yourself!

Haunting, undying words constantly reminded him of his shortcomings and failures in the eyes of others. Only two isolated events, which at first haunted his very presence, finally gave him some sense of complacency, a feeling of infinitely achieving success where most others would have certainly failed.

Still, those undying words of constantly fucking up haunted his alien mind until he could no longer tolerate the resonance. This frustration was now driving him to entertain his devious thoughts with a passion uncontrolled. From adolescence he had reveled in his alien thoughts. And now the time had come to carry out his insidious plot until society conceded that something was drastically wrong.

One of their machines had suddenly gone iniquitous, radically out of control, contrary to the moralistic values society lived by. At least for the most part, Henry reasoned. Be that as it may, Henry would now see to it that society recognized the terror he was about to instill in the hearts of all those responsible for his sinister feelings. The apathetic quests he secretly harbored to vindicate himself.

He must be successful in attaining his aspirations, he told himself, despite having to take his bows with the utmost discretion. Conversely, failure didn’t concern him either, simply because he also realized he was a loser. Something he had always adversely accepted. As a result of this acceptance he’d given serious consideration to if and when he was finally apprehended for his despicable crimes. Bestial crimes that he alone would perpetrate. The idea of being caught did not frighten Henry at all. On the contrary, he even fancied the thought of being discovered and taken into custody.

Perhaps those who might be considered intellectual enough to analyze him would understand his rage and not condemn him for his crimes. Perchance these same individuals would even display some empathy toward him as a poor devil that had merely gone astray as a result of his dysfunctional upbringing. A mode of behavior that always had a diverse effect on his ability to reason cogently.

To the right ears he could then plead insanity and to the appropriate hearts and minds his pleas could well be accepted. Maybe at that point he could be provided with the help and understanding he so sorely needed. However, he would never turn his back on his morbid behavior in the event he was caught with his pants down. Even if they had him dead to rights, Henry had sworn never to give his adversaries any credence. To own up to any suspicions or accusations was a copout totally unacceptable to Henry. The law would have to render him totally defenseless before he would even respond. And then only arbitrarily.

At best, the law would eventually have to find him incapable of standing trial and reluctantly declare him insane. Ultimately he would escape the hangman’s noose altogether. No mind capable of his malignant deeds could possibly be evaluated as rational; diabolical perhaps, but never rational. He was sure of it. Just as he was sure he would never be apprehended in the first place for his hideous crimes. Dead victims simply could not accuse him or identify him in any way. Therefore he would leave no prey alive to hold him accountable.

Nor would he leave the law with any discernible evidence, which could link him to his victims by way of DNA testing. Henry broke into a cynical laughter with this last thought concerning DNA. Hell, they would have to apprehend him first. A rather formidable task, he reassured himself. Yet even if the law struck it lucky and took him into custody and his bid to be declared insane failed and he was remanded to stand trial, found guilty and given the death sentence, well…he was fervently prepared to meet with his maker.

The thought of the death penalty did not frighten Henry either, nor could it deter his sick ambitions. Ambiguously, Henry was more than anxious to meet with the creator face to face. He wished to ask why he had been chosen to endure the heartaches he had experienced from childhood causing him unforgettable pain. A suffering he could no longer tolerate. An undying affliction he had sustained during his stay on earth from the day his God-forsaken mother conceived him.

One son had been killed in the Vietnam War, by an ally no less. A comrade who had mistaken Henry Jr. as the enemy. Later on, a drunken motorist, a haggard, old, rotten bitch at that, had tragically slaughtered a second young boy, Henry the Third! His only daughter, vicarious Shawn, at the premature age of twelve had been attacked, raped and beaten to death by a gang of youths who were never apprehended. An unresolved crime in the annals of homicide because of police stupidity, Henry ultimately reasoned.

This was not to mention the power plays in business that had subsequently caused him to lose several positions due to being Mr. Nice Guy. And five! Yes five bad marriages that had also left him high and dry, resulting in severe depression. Oh, he could go on and on, he cogitated in thinking back, but that would only fuel the pain he constantly lived with.

Alienating his grievances, a formidable task for sure could only temporarily dispel the agony. In order to possibly accomplish the feat of distinguishing himself from his personal grief he would have to quell his affliction at the expense of those he deemed responsible for his anguish. And those individuals were the women of society, pure and simple!

He was convinced of it. Women in general had been his downfall, his sole weakness and ultimate demise. The loss of his children he eventually accepted because their deaths were final. However the women in his life were alive and well at his expense. At least most were still around, he realized, giving the matter a second thought. These were women he had once loved and admired and ironically still did. But always to no avail.

No matter how he had endeavored to please his former wives he failed. He was never able to bring them the happiness they sought. It was so depressing whenever he dwelled on it. They were the ones who were directly responsible for his wrong decisions, his failures and ultimately the frustration he endured as a result.

As far as he was concerned it wasn’t any wonder why he harbored these sick aspirations toward the female species. All women were alike bar none. They were all whores! Nothing but cunts at that! No matter how much he strove to be congenial he couldn’t live with the fucking cunts nor could he tolerate his abstinence any longer.

From his youth most girls had ridiculed him by poking fun and chiding him over his slight build. Constantly humiliating him to no end for one reason or another. More accurately, he could recall one occasion in particular when he and two so-called buddies of his attempted to pick up on three young, sexy girls in Roger Williams Park one Sunday afternoon.

All three schoolgirls began calling him string bean, toothpick and the like. The jibes soon took on a more personal note when one of the teenagers began inferring that his penis was undoubtedly too skinny for her. She was a snot-nosed freckled girl with rather large tits for her age who went on to goad him, saying it would take a real man to bring any of them satisfaction if and when she and her friends decided to engage in sex. It was a cruel, caustic remark, which caused his so-called buddies to break into an uncontrollable roar of laughter. Meanwhile, the three girls joined in and the next thing he knew was the profound humiliation and shame he experienced. How could a snot-nosed bitch know what his cock was like?

Yet the rejection had been so great as to enrage him beyond control. Without further consideration for his impending actions, he took the girl who caused the ruckus by the back of her hair and herded her into some nearby bushes. The freckled-nosed bitch began crying and screaming, Please don’t touch me! Please! I’m sorry for what I said! I didn’t mean it. Just don’t hurt me!

Evidently her tears were a sign of complete surrender, causing his buddies to