I want to tell you that it isn’t personal.
I want to say that it isn’t your fault.
I want to explain that I didn’t choose you specifically.
That this isn’t revenge for something you did.
That God isn’t punishing you.

I want to tell you that I’m really, really sorry.

I don’t want to do this; I don’t want to be this way.
I don’t know if you would believe me if I told you.
I’m not evil.
Well, I don’t know if I’m not evil. I know I must seem evil to you. I know it seems like only someone, something, that is pure darkness and malevolence could do this.
But in my mind I am not evil. I am just . . . me.
I have always been like this. There isn’t much to do when you live alone with your grandmother in the middle of the woods. There was no one else around. I never had any toys.
It started with road kill. Our house was about half a mile from a highway. I guess it still is, but it’s just my house now. I would find animals that had been hit by cars and look at their insides.
They were kind of beautiful.
But they were broken.
So I started to make the bodies instead of finding them.
I hunted instead of scavenged.
Grandmother never knew. She wouldn’t have approved. She never approved of much.
She died about ten years ago. I didn’t … it wasn’t my fault.
I wasn’t home. I was out hunting when it happened. And when I got back, she was just lying there at the bottom of the stairs.

She was twisted.
She was broken.
She looked like road kill.

That’s when I switched to, well, people.
It’s not so hard to hunt people.
They’re easier to fool than you would think.
I mean, people always tell you not to talk to strangers, right? Though in my case, I suppose talking to more strangers might have been a good thing. Anyways, they tell you not to talk to strangers, or stay out after dark, or go hiking in the woods alone. Yet people always do these things.
It’s why horror movies are so scary, I think. We all like to believe that we wouldn’t do any of the things that are obviously a bad idea in the movie. But I cannot tell you how many times a hiker has called out, “Is anyone there?” while I followed them. Like any danger is going to just stand up and announce itself, like I’m going to say, “Oh yeah, but don’t mind me, I’ve just been following you with a large knife for the past half mile.” And what if it wasn’t me? What if it was a bear or a pack of wolves? Those will just as easily kill you. But the danger just isn’t going to announce itself like that. So even though people will say that they would survive the horror movie, odds are that they would have done the exact same thing as the idiot main character.

I’m sorry about the knife by the way. I know it must be really scary. I read that people are more afraid of someone with a knife than someone with a gun once. Which is also something that we logically shouldn’t be, but as I said. People aren’t as clever as they think.
I’m not trying to excuse myself or blame you. Yes, you were going for a run, by yourself, right before dark, in the woods, practically right by my house, with your headphones in at full blast.
But it’s not like you walked up and asked to be hunted down and brought back here.
I did it because it’s something I do, something that I don’t have very much control over.
I had an urge to hunt you.
So I hunted you.
And from your perspective, it must seem really evil.
And I can understand that.
And I am so, so, sorry that I did this to you.
You didn’t deserve this.

Unless you’re some crazy sociopath like me, or a child molester or something, then maybe you deserved it a little.
But you seem really nice, not at all like that.
So I’m sorry that this happened to you.
I’m sorry that I happened to you.
I’m sorry that I saw you out the widow and decided to take a closer look.
I’m sorry that I had to get up and go to the bathroom right when I did, which led to me coming back downstairs right when you were passing at just the right angle.
I’m sorry that I was a weird, messed up kid.
I’m sorry I grew up to be this weird, messed up adult.
I’m sorry …

You’re not struggling as much anymore.
I don’t know if that’s good or bad for you.
The shock hopefully dulled your pain a while ago.
I’m sorry that I did this while you were alive, but everything is so much more interesting while alive.
It probably wouldn’t make you feel any better if I told you that your internal organs are very interesting and very beautiful.

If I had actually told you any of this it probably wouldn’t have made this any better.
Maybe I’ll tell the next one.
But I don’t see what good it would do.
I wish I could tell you. I wish you could understand me.
But you understanding me would not change the fact that I am killing you.
It would not make it hurt less.
And it would probably, in fact, make it worse for me to try to explain myself to you while I carve you to bits.
You’re probably thinking about your loved ones, or all the things you wanted to do with your life and now can’t because of me.
I’ve already ruined your life. I don’t need to ruin your death. But still …

“I want to tell you that I’m really, really sorry.”