Urban Legends

Chapter One

Wilk Hunter sat in front of his laptop with his lights turned off in his dorm room. He cracked his knuckles and stretched his arms in the air. His eyesight was blurry from looking at the bright screen for two hours.

Wilk’s dream was to become a bestselling horror author. He wanted to be the next Stephen King, but readers wouldn’t take him seriously with a name like Wilk, so he used a pen name.

He frowned as he read his rejection letter from Keep Dreaming Press again.

Dear Mr. R. Darth,

Our publishing house will have to pass on Urban Legends. To be quite frank, we’re insulted that you would even send your manuscript to us. We know you plagiarized word for word from the 1933 book, Urban Legends by William Falk. Please don’t ever contact us again.

Sincerely,

Chief Director of Editing Acquisitions

Danny Williams

How dare they! Yeah, Wilk had paid homage to the old novel, but he hadn’t plagiarized from it. That dumbass press didn’t know the true definition of art. They could ruin his reputation before he even got started in the publishing industry. So far, he had horror short stories accepted into his college’s anthologies. He didn’t know if that counted as true writing credits, though. He planned on getting his MFA from the Independence University’s writing program, which catered to genre writers, not pretentious literary fucktards.

Still squinting at his laptop screen, Wilk grabbed a monkey paw from the corner of his desk. He had one wish left. He had to make it count. I want to become a famous author. His debut novel, Urban Legends, would be a bestseller. He’d do a bigger rewrite to make the story his own. All horror readers would need his book in their lives. He smiled, rubbing faux fur on the monkey paw.

Two weeks ago, he’d stolen the monkey paw from Professor Stevens’s office, his Urban Legends professor, and it was the best thing he did this semester. He wondered if Professor Stevens even missed his souvenir. He’d never mentioned it was missing in class, and it wasn’t listed on the lost and found page on the Independence University’s website. He didn’t feel guilty stealing luck from a guy who was already a well-known horror author.

Wilk glanced down at his phone when he heard a ding. His girlfriend, Brenda, texted: Wanna come over? My roommate’s at her boyfriend’s place for the night.

Chapter Two

The shady looking desk clerk with shifty eyes handed him back his driver’s license and credit card. Sweeney Todd, please enjoy your stay here. Starting at six a.m., you can eat our complimentary breakfast in the lobby.

Sweeney Todd stood at the hotel’s front desk in sunglasses, a navy blazer, and combat boots. He smiled and put his cards into his leather wallet. Thank you.

Popluck was a town, located five miles from the annoying college town of Independence. Popluck didn’t suffer from tourists. Less people meant less chances of being spotted.

He stepped into the elevator. Men wearing business suits and a few casual couples already stood inside it. He pretended to text on his iPhone, so as to not bring attention to himself.

With no overnight bag, he strolled down the hallway, as the lights flickered on and off, until he reached Room 24. He didn’t plan on spending the night. Why stay in a roach motel when he had a cozy bed at home he could sleep in?

After letting himself in with the card key, he switched on the lights. His gaze scanned the room—a king-sized bed with cheap linens, a dusty dresser with a busted television, a broken remote, a blinking alarm clock, and a carpet covered with black spots.

He sighed and closed the door. When he plopped down on the bed, he texted: Room 24.

I’ll be there shortly, came her reply.

He kicked off his boots and made himself comfortable, lying back and looking up at the ceiling, with his hand behind his head.

It didn’t take long for Savannah Getts to come. She knocked so softly that he hardly noticed it. He opened the door and greeted her with a smile.

Grinning back, she caressed his cheek. She had thin lips with a mole on her right cheek. Her sky-blue eyes always held a flirty look. Hello.

Hello.

He stepped back, so she could enter the room. When she walked past him, he felt her butt in her skin-tight dress. He didn’t even know why she carried herself that way. It wasn’t like she was an escort or sex worker. He knew her for fuck’s sake. She could wear baggy sweats, and he would think she was beautiful.

She carried her purse, which was too small for overnight clothes, so she wasn’t planning on staying the night, either, probably because her boyfriend would get suspicious.

He smirked. Did anyone follow you?

No. She shrugged. At least, I don’t think so.

Good.

Within ten minutes, he wore a condom, and they had sex. They lay naked on top of the cheap covers. The lights were off. Savannah always wanted the lights off, because during her freshmen year she was filmed in a drunken orgy with the most popular frat house on campus. To this day, the video was popular on amateur porn sites, especially PornHub.

Savannah was clueless, though. She hadn’t noticed the red recording light coming from the nightstand.

A true airhead. A horny airhead.

He didn’t have any intentions of downloading the video online to any porn sites. Rather, he wanted to keep the video for himself. A keepsake.

She lay in his arms. Her soft blonde curls tickled his arm. He gently placed a strand of hair behind her ear. Should he continue to live in the moment? Or was it time? In bliss, he didn’t want to accidentally fall asleep and mess up the plan. He had a full night ahead of him.

Sweeney Todd. He laughed. What idiot would accept that as a suitable name? The desk clerk should’ve known that was a fake ID. Lucky for him, the guy was stupid. People were morons in general.

He kissed Savannah on top of the head.

That feels nice. She laughed lazily. You see, you can act sweet when you want to.

He glided his hands down to her backside and squeezed her right butt cheek.

You’re also a horn dog, she teased.

Did the desk clerk see you?

I suppose. She wrapped her arms around his chest. "I did come through the front door."

But you wore the sunglasses like I asked.

Yes.

Did anybody see you in the hallway coming toward this room?

No one was in the hall, if that’s what you’re asking me. They’re all creepy men having to pay to get laid.

What was wrong with that? Savannah was so judgmental. How she was dressed, she could’ve been one of the damn escorts staying at the hotel, so she had no room to talk.

Satisfied there wouldn’t be that much of a trace to Room 24, regarding Savannah, after he bleached the place, he’d get away with her murder.

For now.

He lay on top of her, with their legs interlocked. He brought his face closer to her neck, breathing in her citrusy scent. You’re beautiful, Savannah Getts.

You’re not too bad looking, W—,

He kissed her before she could finish her sentence. He couldn’t afford to have her say his real name. It’d ruin the fantasy of him as Sweeney Todd, a serial killer. Instead of killing men in a barbershop, he had other plans. Something that would be beneficial to society.

Entertainment.

He wasn’t killing for himself; he wasn’t selfish by any means. He wanted to give the world an interesting story. A bestseller. A book made into a blockbuster. Writers were told to write what they knew, so he was following the advice of the experts in the publishing industry.

His tongue slid into Savannah’s mouth. He smelled the pickles she had on her hamburger from lunch and didn’t hesitate to squeeze his hands around her neck. She tried to scream, but her vocal chords wouldn’t work.

He stared into her teary eyes as he snapped her neck. Thank you, Savannah, for playing your part. You have no idea how much that means to me. He’d make sure to thank her on the acknowledgments page.

He let out a sigh, and then he sat on the edge of the bed, grabbed his phone off the nightstand, and pushed the red stop button on his video app. Still in the dark, he opened up his Google Docs and began typing:

My heart is racing like a horse on steroids. Breaking her neck was loud, so loud that I hope no one heard through the thin walls. Probably not. All I hear is the bed creaking and loud grunts next door. I’m sure the coast is clear.

He typed as fast as his fingers would allow, making sure to capture every sensory detail. Writers were always being lectured to show, not tell. He wanted to make sure his readers would be able to feel the experience as his main character, the misunderstood antagonist. His readers would be in the moment, experiencing the dark journey with him.

Google was a writer’s best friend. Months ago, he had researched how to stuff a body into a mattress. It was crazy the stuff you could find online if you were patient and persistent. Fiddling with key search phrases and clicking all the way through last page results came in handy. Wearing gloves he’d taken out of his blazer, he followed the steps from memory.

He turned on the light while he stuffed Savannah’s dead body inside the yellowish mattress. Then he took a shower in the dingy bathtub, lathered with the smallest bar of soap ever, and got dressed. He made the bed as if no one had slept in it, as if no one had experienced wild sex on it, as if no one had been killed on it.

He picked up the Do Not Disturb sign on the dresser and put it on the doorknob in the hallway. The last thing he needed was for the maid to do routine cleaning and end up smelling the rotting flesh of the beautiful Savannah Getts. Miss Popular on campus, now a dead woman in this crappy hotel.

He didn’t take another look into the room as he closed the door behind him. What was the point? He’d be back again. When expressing art, a genius’s work was never done. Besides, he needed to clean the room some more to get rid of all his DNA evidence.

He returned to the deserted front desk. Where was the clerk? Impatient, he rang the bell. The clerk, all sweaty, came out of a small office. His white buttoned shirt was half tucked into his tan khakis, and his zipper was partially down. Hopefully, his sleazy ass didn’t have secret recordings of the rooms. The pervert. That would definitely mess everything up.

Sweat dripped from his forehead. Play it cool, he thought. Sweeney Todd wouldn’t be nervous in this situation. Sweeney Todd would embrace the challenge.

He studied the clerk’s eyes to figure out what he was thinking. Hi, I just found out I’ll be spending longer in town. Can I book the same room for another two weeks?

The clerk looked surprised, as if he was wondering why someone in their right mind would want to spend weeks in this dump. Clearing his throat, the clerk said, Of course, Mr. Todd. I’m happy the accommodations work for you.

And can I make a special request?

The clerk didn’t look up from his computer as he typed away. Sure.

"Please don’t let any maids into my room. I have OCD and want to clean it myself. I’m not saying that your staff isn’t good, but I have very high standards."

Of course, Mr. Todd. I’ll note your account.

Chapter Three

W here’s Savannah? Wayne McKinley asked his friends sitting across from him in the dorm cafeteria. Pancakes and bacon were on his tray with a cup of Sprite. No matter the meal, he always drank a soda.

Wilk, Elena, Dom, and Leland shrugged.

It’s not like her to be late for class. She didn’t even show up for Psych 101 this morning, he added.

She went home for the weekend, right? Elena Dobrev asked. She was Savannah’s roommate. Elena had doe-like brown eyes and a slick bob with a forward bang. She was often mistaken for a mixed girl, although she was Bulgarian.

Wayne nodded.

Something could’ve kept her there for an extra day. She’ll probably text you soon with the details, she said.

He relaxed his shoulders and took a gulp of Sprite.

Dom ate his egg on burnt toast. Wilk, how was your weekend? Dom was overweight, with a kid’s chubby face.

The usual. My sister kept getting on my case for everything. Wilk was Wayne’s roommate. The seventh floor of Summit Hall often joked that their room was the W Room. Wilk had caramel skin with light green eyes. He had a square jaw and full lips like Angelina Jolie.

Why do you keep going home on the weekends, if you don’t have fun? Elena asked.

Wilk smirked. I love to punish myself.

Your parents punished you when they named you Wilk, Leland teased. He was the tallest guy Wayne