The Bedhunter

Now I don't know if any of you remember the Bedhunter or not. He is my CSIS employed secret agent that hunts down and kills/tags beds for a living. Recently I wrote his third story and I am here to share it with you. Tell me what you think.

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The Bedhunter Vol 3
Written by William Evans
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Happiness, some search for it all their lives and come up with nothing. Others find it early, find it when they don’t know what to do with it and waste it on trivial things. It’s a fickle and fragile thing and it should be treasured, not wasted on the ignorant. I, myself haven’t found happiness yet, I don’t know if I will ever find it. My life, my line of work, demands something special, something that happiness wouldn’t allow. My life demands solitude. I must never make a meaningful connection, a connection that could bring me to my knees if it were to be exploited. They would do anything to have me out of the picture and having happiness would give them exactly what they wanted. What do I do you ask? What is so important that I must keep happiness at arm’s length, keep my soul in torture and anguish for eternity?
I hunt beds, I’m the Bedhunter.

Let me tell you about my life, let me bring you down my trail of memories and show you what I have seen. Perhaps you will learn something out of the whole experience, perhaps I will. Come let me tell you how I learned to keep happiness away and my life my own.

I was new to the job, not more than six months on the job. I had done a fair share of tags and I was eager to do more. I checked my phone constantly for updates from HQ, always ready to take on the next job, always ready for that thrill of knowing I was closer to my next tag. I remember those days well, I miss them. I miss the passion I had, the commitment to the job. I miss a lot of things from those days.
I had gotten Intel on this one bed. A double, new to the area, didn’t have a very strong power base yet. We liked to get them when they were new, before they could build up followers and become a real pain in our asses. This double, we had codenamed him Nova. I don’t remember why, I wasn’t in charge of the code names. I wish I had been they rarely made any sense.

Nova had been placed into a family of three, just two parents and a teenage girl. There were just two beds in the house which was good. Hopefully the second bed wasn’t going to be a hassle, I didn’t need to be going into a job and find out I had double the work to do. He was located in a small town, an unusual place to inject a bed but the bed’s intentions rarely made much more sense than the code names we gave them. Still, it had to be dealt with.

I pulled into the small hick town early one morning, checking into a sleaze ball hotel and setting up a mobile base. I was alone for this one, no back up, no HQ support. I set up my computer on the rotting wooden desk; I remember the holes in the dark wooden finish. Holes of wear and tear, holes of it’s testament of years on this world. That desk had probably seen more in its years than most people in their entire lifetimes.

I could hear sounds of mating coming from the next room. It was early, only quarter past two, someone was getting lucky. Secretly I wished that was me, I wasn’t getting much action during this period of my life. Nothing but work, work and work and more work. No time for William. There was never any time for William. I ignored the sounds and continued my work. Within the hour I had set up my mobile operations center. I had the location of the house, the timetable of the occupants and back up plans in case something went wrong. I was ready. I decided to start the mission right away; I didn’t see much point in staying longer then I had to in this small town. That was the first mistake. I got into my car which happened to be a 1970 Mercury Cougar. I miss that car, nothing quite like pulling up to a place, engine roaring, bass pumping, masculinity extruding. People know you’re in charge when you pull up in a cougar.

I pulled up to the house; it was pretty plain compared to its neighbors. Two floors, square shaped two windows on the front, one on the side. Pretty uninspiring really when you think about it, it must have been a fairly old building, you could see the wear and tear at the corners, see the paint chipping. The owners couldn’t have been very well off, I never did know. I wasn’t very interested in that part of the job. I walked up to the front door; its screen door was hanging loose and blowing in the breeze. I knocked, first lightly and then harder, with purpose. I was still trying to get my confidence; I was unsure, afraid that I would make a mistake. I would find that those feeling never went away, I could cover them up, try and hide them but they were always there. No one came to the door at first, I was smiling, the Intel told me that no one should be home, but I always double check. No reason to be caught breaking into a place when you don’t have to. Just as I was about to break out my lock pick the door clicked and began to open.

The sudden movement scared me; I reacted with shock and jumped back, ready for anything. Then as my eyes focused and I took charge of myself I saw it was just a girl, she couldn’t have been more then 19. She was wearing a simple jeans and t-shirt combination, not the most appealing attire but at the time I was willing to look at anything. I dusted myself off and walked back up to the door. “Hello, I’m sorry about that, you startled me when you opened the door.” I extended my hand out to her in a simple smooth motion, like they taught me in training. “My name is Mr. Evans; I’m here to talk to the owner of the house about its historical status. Do they happen to be home?” I smiled and kept my face as calm as I could be. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone at home, the girl was supposed to be out with her parents looking at dresses for an upcoming family wedding. Obviously something had changed after our Intel had been collected.

“No, my parents are out right now, you will have to come back later.” She responded in a very curt and direct voice. Her eyes had were red, her skin around her cheek inflamed. She had been crying. I was taken a back; I wasn’t used to dealing with crying people. I wasn’t used to dealing with people at all. I had been trained to deal with situations like this but this was the first time I had to do it. “I’m sorry I missed them, could I possibly talk to you? It won’t take long and anyone who has lived in this house for more than 10 years can answer my questions.” I tried to sound sincere, I didn’t want to leave and have her blabbing to her parents about some strange guy asking about a house that clearly had no historical value to it. I needed to get in there, deal with the bed and get out. At least that is what I thought at the time. On second thought, I should have just left and came back later. However back then I thought I was the best and greatest at what I do and I was right, that’s why I do it, but there are some situations which are better left to tackle another day.

She looked at me cautiously, clearly she was alone and she wasn’t sure of my intentions. I put on a nice smile and waited for her to make up her mind. As I recall it took her awhile. Finally she decided that I could be trusted and she let me inside. The house was decorated in gaudy country style, mixed themes, colors that clash; it was a designer’s abortion. She led me to the kitchen and we sat at the table, her across from me, staying as far as she could from me in case I tried something. I began to ask questions, I don’t remember what they were, most of them were just off the top of my head, the point was to get her to talk to me, so she would open up to me. Eventually I moved the conversation to the bedrooms, she was hesitant at first and reluctant to talk about such a private part of the house but eventually she answered my questions.

Slowly I had picked up the hints of the bed in the house. There are subtle hints that tell you when they are around, the air is charged, the scent of their pheromones, the sense of doom and oppression around the place. I had been taught to pick all of these things up. I was a natural at it, its part of the reason they chose me for the job. However the bed was weak, it didn’t have a very strong mental presence. I could tell it was trying to push into my mind but I wouldn’t let it, not then, not now. However I wasn’t sure if the girl was free of such invasions. I didn’t have long to guess though, within moments she was on top of me, straddling me. She began to remove my clothing, to strip me down to my birthday suit, I tried to stop her but she was strong. She had me down to everything but my pants; she had to get off me to remove my pants. I struggled and wiggled under her, anything to get out from the death grip she had placed on me. Nothing worked though; nothing seemed to loosen the grip she had on my hands. She started to grind then, she moved her hips, gyrating them, moaning as she dry humped my body. I tried to resist, tried to ignore her but it proved to be difficult. Most of what happened next is a blur, she had managed to get my pants off and we were deep in the throes of love. She was riding me, thrusting, rocking, and moaning. My mind had gone blank, forgetting what I was supposed to be doing, what I was there to fight. I remember she found my pie container, I remember her eating the blueberry pie I had brought to subdue the beast atop of me. The blue juices running down her body as they dropped off her mouth, falling to her naked heaving chest, her lithe form moving up and down causing the juice to slide farther and farther. I remember I was happy; I was content to stay like this, in the thrall of sex and love, to be connected to someone in the most intimate way possible. That was the second mistake.

The next thing I remember I was standing over her dead body, a sick and twisted laughter echoing within my head, a blood soaked rusted axe in my hands. I was breathing heavy, hard, I was exhausted. I was still naked, the warm sticky blood covering my chest and legs. It took me several moments to figure out what had happened. Her mutilated body lying at my feet, I could only smile and wonder what a wonderful thing that was. Then as my training took back over, as my mental defenses were restored, a slow sick horror filled my soul. The axe fell from my blood soaked hands. Landing amongst what was once the young girl. I stepped back, once, twice, three times. My hands coming to my face as I let out a scream that only the dead could hear, the girl’s mutilated ears unable to hear my plea for forgiveness. I could see the scene play out in my head, moving to the back door to retrieve the rusted forgotten axe, returning to where she lay playing with herself lost to a sea of pleasure the bed had placed within her. Raising the axe high in the air and bringing it down over and over again. The rusted axe slashing at her flesh, sticking into bone and tissue as I laughed and tugged and pulled at the handle, putting my entire being into the task at hand and enjoying it.

I fell, defeated; the bed had taken hold of my brain and made me do unspeakable things. I was broken. Then something else came over me. A need, a need for vengeance and to cause pain on whoever had caused me to do this. The bed had unleashed something within me, a need for something. I was to be the archangel of doom and I would claim my victims at any cost. I picked the axe up, the weight in my hand sending new waves of dread and glee within me. I moved to the stairs, thin wooden stairs that were indicative of houses this old. As I plodded up them, I could hear the creaking and groaning as they threatened to break under my weight. Then I was at the top, a small landing two a bedroom on either side. I turned to the right, lifted the axe and smashed it into the door shattering it to pieces. As I stepped purposefully into the room I could see the bed, a small thing, barely a double, closer to a single. It sat there shivering for it knew what would happen next. My credo was to subdue and record, I remember a time when that meant something to me, when I cared about the credo. I moved into the room with only one idea, one purpose, to slaughter this thing that tried to run our lives, to make sure that this bed suffered as much as that girl had. To reap my revenge on this beast and to stop from what had happened from happing ever again. I raised my axe high, the beast unleashed a sheet, wrapped it around my torso and tried to fling me away but I would not be stopped. My axe head came crashing down, slashing at fabric and metal. Over and over again I brought the axe head down. The beast screamed out in pain, a high pitched creak as if the box spring was being bounced on. As my assault continued my joy became more and more. Laughter and ecstasy soon replaced revenge and anger, I had forgotten about the girl and why I had come here in the first place. I stood there, naked, swinging my axe in deadly arcs; I had become the monster, no longer human. Finally it was over, the axe head came down a final time as I slashed open the top mattress to expose the beasts innards. A mixture of sheets, socks, and biomatter. All together it made the things brain, we weren’t sure how it worked but after this we came closer to understanding them. I swung the axe one last time, lodging it in the beds main nerve center, the mattress shuddered and screeched and then collapsed inward, dead and defeated.

I walked out of there a different man, a man who had a monster unleashed within him. I still have that monster within me. I look at him every day in the mirror, I hear his laugh whenever I speak, and I hear his whispers even when I am sleeping. He longs to get out of me and to run rampant. Every day is a battle for me. Yet I get by, day by day I get by. I may never win the war but I get by. Love ones are a tool to be used against us, to be close to someone is to give the monster one more person to terrorize, one more person to make suffer. I won’t let that happen, not now, not ever again.
My life is a walking loneliness, a path of desolation and suffering. For I am William Evans, I am the Bedhunter.
-End