He had fantasised about it for decades. He had planned and plotted and masturbated about it for years. He had spent over one year building and preparing his secret hideaway.
Now everything was ready, he was ready. All he needed now was his first victim.
It was summer. The skies were clear the sun shone bright and strong. There was a small breeze on the air. It was welcome relief from the otherwise stifling heat of the noon day sun.
Before him the bank sloped steeply downwards through a multitude of pines and furs. The ground was almost waist high with bracken. He made his way cautiously down. He wound his way left and right so that no visible trail should lead to his covered entrance.
At the foot of the bank was a pathway which travelled at a right angle to where he had come from. Ahead of that was a field that led down to a small lake. This was a favoured area for amorous lovers at night and day time joggers.
At the path he turned left making his way toward the park gate and his waiting car.
The drive home would take him less than twenty minutes. Hidden within the confines of his two bedroom council flat he could practice what he considered as his art.
His one solitary friend had once described it as "a totally useless hobby" He had awoken in the back seat of his car some fifteen hours later, feeling totally nauseated, dehydrated and sporting the world's worst headache. They had not spoken since.
Brian smiled as the memory flashed through his mind. He glanced at the dartboard hanging from the door and the multitude of tiny darts that dotted its surface. His eyes cast downward to the small African blow-pipe that he had purchased online. It was his prized possession.
He walked to the dartboard and retrieved three of the darts. Picking up his blow-pipe he walked to the opposite side of the room. He took aim and fired, smiling as he hit the treble twenty. He fired again, another treble twenty. He fired a third time and struck the bulls-eye. Smiling he put down the pipe and walked through to his kitchen.
Brian prepared his evening meal of beans on toast before turning to his special cupboard where he kept his collection of herbs and already mixed unguent.
He had created the herbal mixture himself. He was very proud of his concoction. It had taken over three years study in herb-lore and basic chemistry to devise the right ingredients in the right quantities that would form a suitable paste that would remain on the tip of his darts as he fired them at his 'practice' victims. His practice victims had basically been any dog, cat or bird that had been stupid enough to wander into the back garden that his flat overlooked.
Over a dozen birds, four cats and one local dog had died while he perfected the strength of his mixture. The birds still died now, but the larger animals would awake the next day and stagger from his property as fast as their shaky legs would carry them. Amusingly, to him none of them ever returned.
His usual evenings consisted of a couple of hours trawling the more seedy websites and masturbating to 'rape porn' but not tonight. Tonight he would pack his 'tools' and head out to his hideaway. He had planned on spending the first of what he hoped would be many nights in there.
He filled a small rucksack with a few supplies of food and water. His precious blow-pipe and his jar of tranquiliser paste. He packed some warm clothes and a waterproof camouflage coat. Finally grabbing his sleeping bag he locked his front door and headed to his car.
He noted as he inserted the key that he was sweating despite the cool evening air. His heart was slamming in his chest. "Maybe just maybe he would get lucky tonight. His first night out hunting" He mused to himself as he buckled his seatbelt and turned the ignition key.
Twenty minutes later he pulled into a side street that was about a quarter of a mile from the park. He did not want to arouse suspicion by parking too close. He collected his supplies and locked the car. Turning he took a deep breath to steady his nerves. Then he began the short walk to the park gate.
Brian was forty four years old. He had a plain face and a medium build. His dark hair had been thinning for the last ten years. What remained gave him the appearance of someone at least ten years older than he actually was. Vanity over his looks had never bothered him, neither had the pursuit of fashion. His mind was sharp. He had an above average intelligence. That was his pride. Looks faded with age. Fashion changed far too frequently for his taste and possessions could always be stolen by someone. But his mind, no one could take and no one could touch. He had spent years honing his intellectual skills through regular reading and study on a multitude of subjects.
He followed the park path until he came to the spot where he would turn right and begin the ascent up the hill to his hideaway. He paused and looked about. There was no one in sight. The park appeared to be deserted for the moment. He turned right and began to walk up the hill. Again he chose a ziz-zag path to avoid leaving a direct route/ trail for others to follow.
Finally he approached a fallen tree. Its trunk was covered in a white mould. This marked the entrance. Where the trunk rose above the round there was a three foot space where bracken had not grown. He stooped down and felt among the rotting leaves for a circle of rope that was hidden below.
He pulled on the rope loop and a square of ground about three feet square began to rise. It was a hinged trap-door. A piece of wood fell vertical from the left corner and secured the door open. Below him were five wooden steps that descended steeply.
He looked around again to make sure that he was still unseen and alone. Satisfied and smiling he began to descend the steps. At the foot of the steps he checked his pocket torch and then pulled at the bar that held the trap-door, open.
Safely sealed within, he turned and stooped. Ahead of him was a short tunnel that stretched deeper into the hill. It descended at a low angle and was about ten feet long but only about five feet high.
Brian made his way along the tunnel and stretched when he reached the end which opened up into the main chamber. The main chamber was about twelve feet square and about eight feet high. Its walls and ceiling had been shored up with scaffolding stolen from many different building sites over the last year.
The interior of the chamber resembled a medieval torture chamber. Various chains of differing lengths hung from the scaffolding on the ceiling and walls. Most had handcuffs on their ends. There was square wooden frame to one side, again with handcuffs to spread-eagle his victim to. In the corner was a homemade workbench which already sported a number of carefully placed implements of pain and torture. To his left was a sturdy metal camp-bed, a cooker and a set of camping pans.
Brian walked to the bed and began to unpack his rucksack. His treasured blow-pipe and herbal tranquiliser he lovingly placed on the workbench. The rest of his supplies were tipped onto the bed and arranged onto the floor around the cooker. He had tried various ways of lighting the chamber from torches to camping lanterns. Finally he had settled on some large fat 'church' candles that had promised up to eighty hours of burning time. These also served to apply some heat to the chamber. He lit three of them.
The cave seemed to spring to life as the candles flickered in the gentle breeze that came from the tunnel. The many hanging roots from the trees above began to cast dancing shadow snakes across the walls and ceiling.
Brian sat on the camp-bed and pressed the 'play' button on the nearby boom box. His favourite rock band began to blast out his favourite tune. The spooky music and dark voice of Ozzy Osborne added to the 'horror' atmosphere of the chamber. The boom box had originally been to test the sound proofing of the chamber. He had set the volume to 'max' and left the hideaway. After a few adjustments to the hatch he had been very satisfied that the screams of his intended victims would not be heard beyond the doorway.
He put some water to boil on his cooker and prepared a cup of strong coffee. Then he unpacked some sandwiches and began to eat his supper. Ham and 'branston' pickle.
With his hunger and thirst sated he changed into his camouflage trousers and coat. Taking his darts he dipped their tips into his unguent and carefully placed them into a specially made carry-case. He picked up his blow-pipe and headed up the tunnel.
Outside, he lowered the trap-door and covered the rope handle then he headed down the bank. He walked silently as a hunter stalking his prey. His heart was slamming in his chest. His hands were shaking. He chose a spot about ten feet from the pathway. His hope was to catch a late night jogger. He squatted down to wait.
Almost two hours passed and Brian was getting frustrated. He seemed to be alone in the park. His mind fantasised about what he would do with his victim, this gave him an uncomfortable erection. He had to change position. He kneeled up and unzipped his trousers. He reached inside and pulled his erection free. The cool night air felt strangely erotic as it blew across his swollen member. He started to masturbate.
A couple of minutes later and he tucked his shrinking member back into his trousers and wiped his hand on some nearby bracken. He returned to squatting and waiting.
He was just debating whether he should move closer to the pathway when movement to his right caught his attention. He looked closer and his heart began to pound again.
Strolling down the pathway towards him was what appeared to be a lone woman. She was dressed like a sixties hippy or possibly a 'Goth' it was too dark for him to tell yet. The main fact was that she was alone.
"Oh my god this is it" he thought. Every possible scenario already played out and practiced in his mind. Now it was all about to come to fruition. He loaded his beloved blow-pipe and took aim. The woman walked closer.
She looked in her mid-twenties. Long dark hair flowed down her back. Her body was slim. Her clothes were black, a long skirt cascaded down from slim hips to her ankles and a dark coat covered her top.
He leaned against the tree to steady his shaking body and to perfect his aim. He fired.
