STORIES
Andrew Carson was a small time crook and an arsehole. The day he found out uncle Harry
had died and left him a fortune he walked out on his wife without a word.

He had never been close to Harry and was surprised at the inheritance. The lawyer handling
the estate told Andrew that he was Harry’s only remaining relative and that Harry had left
the house to him. He handed Andrew a letter from Harry and the keys to the house.

"This still has to go through probate," he said, "but it’s straight forward and there is no
reason why you cannot use the house right now. Besides, Harry specifically asked me to
give you the keys and the letter immediately after his death."

Harry’s letter told him there were two hundred thousand dollars hidden in the house and
how to retrieve it.

Andrew did not want to share his new found wealth with his wife. She wasn’t really his
wife, just a cheap junkie whore he lived with. She worked the sleazier establishments in
town. They lived in cheap flop houses, moving whenever they got too far behind with the
rent. He had been living off her earnings for the last three years and if she found out about
the inheritance she was sure to demand her share and take off with it. She would get it too.
She knew enough heavies that would give Andrew hell until he paid up. He told her nothing
about it.

The house was a simple two bedroom brick dwelling with an attached garage set on a
quarter acre block in a working class suburb. Virtually all the neighbours were Asians who
kept to themselves and left their houses only to go to work or to go shopping. This suited
Andrew nicely.

After about three days in the house Andrew’s kitchen tidy was full and he was looking for
the garbage bins to empty the bag into. There were no garbage bins anywhere on the
property. While looking for the bins at the back of the garage, Andrew discovered a trap
door in the floor.

When he lifted it all he could see was a perfectly circular hole of about three feet in diameter
in the garage floor. It seemed to go deep. Andrew was puzzled. He went outside and came
back with a brick, which he threw down the hole. He could not hear a report from the brick.
The hole had to be very deep. He tossed his garbage after the brick and closed the trap door.

Intrigued about this he went to a boating shop and bought a packet of hand held flares that
burned for 30 seconds. Back home he lit a flare and tossed it down the hole. It was still
falling when it burned out. This meant the hole was well over one kilometre deep.

I could hide a multitude of sins in there, he thought.

It must have been an old ventilation shaft for a mine, Andrew reasoned, old Harry had found
it and rather than covering it with concrete decided to keep it as a garbage chute.

Andrew salivated at the thought of the possibilities. Here was the solution to his problem. He
called his wife and apologised for his four day absence knowing she would not find this
unusual; he had done it before. He told her he had made a good score.

"I’ve got enough money to last us for a while," he said. "Meet me in Dixon Street Mall in
Chinatown and I tell you all about it over a drink.

After some complaining she agreed to meet him.

When they met he told her about the inheritance, showed her some papers. and apologised
for his abrupt departure.

"I didn’t want to tell you about it until it was all settled," he explained. "Until the last minute I
still had doubts that it was real. Come with me, I want to show you our new home."

They walked two blocks to the new car with the tinted windows he had bought with Harry’s
money. She was so impressed that she did not find it odd that Andrew opened the door for
her, something he had never done before.

When he arrived home, he drove straight into the garage, pushed the button of the remote
that closed the garage door, and hit his wife on the head with a hammer he had within reach
before she could unbuckle her seat belt. There was little blood. Andrew dragged his
unconscious wife out of the car.

He took her cash and credit cards and threw her down the shaft before she regained
consciousness. He threw the hammer after her.

To his surprise the act of killing his wife excited him sexually. For the first time in years his
dick was as rigid as a baseball bat. He unzipped his fly and masturbated. The thought of his
semen dropping down the hole and landing on his wife’s smashed up body got him undone.
A massive orgasm shook his body as rope after rope of the teeming fluid shot down the hole.
At that moment Andrew realised he had never had a proper orgasm before. For the first time
in his life he felt complete.

                                      He had found his calling.
                                           He was liberated.
                                              He was God!

Andrew masturbated twice more that day. While the sensations were still good, they were
nothing like the first time. The next day he felt even less, and on the third day he was again
trying to squeeze a few drops of come from a semi rigid dick; like he had done all his life.
He needed a new victim.

In spite of his many character flaws Andrew was not stupid. In fact he could be quite
methodical and meticulous when the situation demanded it and when something caught his
interest. If he was going to be a serial killer he would need to study the craft.

He did his research in the various internet cafes around town, never going to the same place
twice. He was not interested in what the various killers did to their victims, all he wanted to
know was how they got caught. He quickly found a pattern.

The first group, and by far the largest, were caught because there was a trail of bodies that
eventually connected up to them. The trail of bodies was established by similarities in the
method of killing, patterns of mutilations, evidence of fetishism, leaving evidence that pointed
to the killer, and so forth, as well as other peculiarities such as victims being gay, prostitutes
or children. Andrew’s hole meant he wouldn’t be leaving a trail of bodies.

Another group was caught trying to dispose of, or being in possession of, goods belonging to
the victims. But here police had to know, or suspect, there was a victim.

The third group of killers were caught because they bragged about their deeds, they took
photographs as souvenirs, or they kept detailed diaries of their crimes. Someone inevitably
turned them in.  

Well, Andrew was quite sure he would not make these same mistakes! In fact, the whole
endeavour seemed fairly safe as long as he stuck to a few simple guidelines.

He resolved to pick his victims at random and never from the same place twice, and only to
take cash and credit cards, disposing of jewellery or any other property with the body.

The credit cards he would take to a group of Chinese he had done shady deals with before.
They took the details of the cards and destroyed them immediately. The information would
be sent to China, where duplicate cards were made within an hour and the accounts
stripped. Depending on how much the cards yielded they paid you a percentage a day or
two later. There was no way of checking if they were honest with you, but the system
worked and there was little chance of getting caught.

Having done his homework, Andrew set about finding victim number two. He purchased a
ball-pein hammer and put it in his car, within easy reach.

                                                           ***

Andrew had found out a long time ago that is was much easier to work a scam if you were
well dressed. He chose a conservative dark grey pin stripe suit, a white shirt, a discrete
maroon tie, grey socks and black lace-up shoes polished to perfection.

He made his way to an upmarket gay bar in the city. He was known there but he was not
worried. As usual, the place was dimly lit and because it was early in the evening it was just
starting to get crowded. Arthur had an eye for a mark and there was a perfect one sitting
alone at a small table in one of the alcoves. The guy had rich, coke snorting, Yank poofter
written all over him.

Andrew bought a drink at the bar, ambled over to the alcove and asked: "Do you mind if I
join you?"

"Not at all," said the man. "My name is Peter."

Andrew introduced himself and sat down.

"New to this town?" he asked.

"Yeah, first time in Sydney. Just arrived from Singapore. Too many heavy meetings. I’m
exhausted. I need to relax a little for a day or two and then it’s back to the grindstone again."

Perfect, thought Andrew. A few drinks later they were quite chummy. Peter was coming on
to Andrew and Andrew let him think he was interested.

"Where can a man get some good coke around here?"

"I wouldn't touch the crap they peddle here," said Andrew. "I’ve got some decent shit at
home, if you are interested."

"Very much so," said Peter.

"Tell you what we’ll do. I’ve got my car parked quite a distance from here. I’ll go and get
the car. You relax and finish your drink and in about ten minutes go outside, turn left and
walk about twenty yards. You’ll find a loading zone there, where I can pick you up without
getting booked."

"Sounds perfect Andrew. See you then."

Andrew gulped down the rest of his drink and got up. Just in case anyone was watching, he
waved to Peter as he made for the door.

Sure enough, the mug was waiting when Andrew turned up ten minutes later.

"Gotcha!" he mumbled.

On the way to Andrew’s place Peter was bragging about how much money he was making
selling real estate. As before Andrew drove into his garage closing the automatic door behind
them after they had come to a stop. He picked up his hammer as he opened his door and
climbed out of the car. Peter was fiddling with the door. It wouldn't open. Andrew had
jinxed it.

"Hang on a sec that blasted thing sticks sometimes. I have to open it from the outside."

Andrew went over to the passenger side, keeping his hammer out of sight, and opened the
door. As soon as Peter stuck his head out Andrew hit him on the skull. Peter went down in a
heap.

After relieving the unconscious man of cash and credit cards he threw him down the hole.
The murder weapon went after him.

Seconds later he was masturbating. The orgasm, if anything, was better than the first one.
Again, after imagining his semen hitting the smashed up body, he shot rope after rope of the
viscous liquid down the hole

This time the murder had netted him a tidy amount. There was about five grand in cash, as
well as several platinum cards. He would get good money for them from his Chinese friends.

Andrew was ecstatic. He was proud of himself. With a tally of two murders he would only
need one more before he became officially a serial killer. There would be many more, he
promised himself.

And so it went. Over the next five years Andrew killed over five hundred people, making
him the most prolific serial killer in history. No one suspected a serial killer was on the loose.
There were a lot of missing persons, but in any big city there always are. Andrew’s
cupboards were bulging with cash. He had no friends and no one had ever been to his house
except to get killed.

Housewives, teachers, students, doctors, nurses, business people, all joined the ever growing
pile at the bottom of his pit as well as the rubbish from his house. He unceremoniously
dumped the bodies, just as he dumped the rubbish from his house. Rubbish to rubbish he
said with a smile when he emptied his household garbage down the hole.

                                                         ***

It was Sunday morning. Andrew was feeling good; he had killed only last night and his
pecker was still lively. He was trying to decide if he should make himself some coffee or to
have a wank first when the doorbell rang. Probably some pesky salesman, he thought, as he
went to the door to give whoever it was a piece of his mind. To his surprise it was the lawyer
who had handled his inheritance. Without thinking he bade the man to come in. Once inside
the house the lawyer pulled a Taser from his pocket and shot Andrew in the chest. The
electroshock deprived Andrew of the voluntary use of his muscles and when he had regained
his composure he found himself bound hand and foot on the floor of his living room.

"What the fuck are you doing," he yelled at the lawyer who was going though the cupboards
looking at all the cash stashed there.

"Very nice. You have been busy."

"Will you fucking let me go you arsehole. I haven’t done anything to you, why pick on me?"

"Oh but you have Mister Carson. You have very much done something to me and I am here
to square the bill."

"You’ve got the wrong man. Let me go."

"Remember a young man, early twenties, blond hair, blue eyes and ever such a beautiful
body, dressed in black leather? I take it you two met about four weeks ago. On a Tuesday, if
I remember correctly. He climbed into your car. What did you promise him? Some cocaine
perhaps?"

Andrew remembered the fellow well enough. One of his victims. But how could this lawyer
know? How could he prove anything?

"Might have given someone like that a lift, can’t say for sure," he said.

"I know you kill people."

"Are you nuts? I am no killer."

"Oh yes you are. Only last night you hit a middle aged woman in a black dress on the head
with a hammer and threw her body down the hole in your garage floor. You wanked
yourself off afterwards."

Andrew knew he had been caught. All he could stammer was: "How?"

"When Sean didn’t come home that night I knew something had happened to him. I had
seen him get into your car so you were my natural suspect. I took time off work and started
watching you, stalking you might be a better word.

"You were so sure of yourself, you never noticed you were followed. Last night I caught
you in the act. Your garage is not as private as you think. There are quite a few cracks
through which you can observe what is happening inside. It happened too quickly for me to
be able to help that poor woman. I went home, stole a Taser from a policeman I know, and
here I am; face to face with the man who murdered the love of my life."

"You won’t be able to prove anything. It will be your word against mine."

"There will be bodies at the bottom of this hole, the police will find them."

Andrew laughed. "The police will find nothing. You are not as smart as you think Mister
Lawyer. Go, call the police if you want to make a fool of yourself. Either call the cops or let
me go."

"Tell me, Why will the police find nothing at the bottom of this hole?"

"Get fucked."

"Brave words from a man who is tied up and at my mercy, Mister Carson. I would urge you
to be somewhat more co-operative. Perhaps this might convince you."

With this the lawyer pushed the Taser into Andrew’s testicles and pulled the trigger. The
pain was so excruciating Andrew could not even scream. He waited until Andrew had
calmed down somewhat and did it again. After the third time there was no more fight left in
Andrew. His body was shaking uncontrollably and he was babbling nonsense.

The Lawyer left him lying there and looked around the house. He found a door that led into
the garage and had a quick look around. He saw the trap door and lifted it. There was the
hole. He still had the small torch he had used the night before.
Shining the light down the hole revealed nothing. On impulse the lawyer tossed the torch
down the hole and watched as the light became smaller and smaller until it eventually
disappeared. He knew now what he had to do. Moving quickly before he could change his
mind he went back into the house, grabbed the still shaking Andrew, dragged him into the
garage and threw him down the hole.

Sean was avenged. The house, the money, the car, would be small compensation for the loss
of his love, but it was something.

                                                           ***

Andrew came out of his stupor as he was falling. He knew he would die as soon as he hit
bottom. The fall lasted a very long time, hours perhaps. Time had no meaning here. When
he landed on a mountain of garbage, it was painful, but not unduly so. With difficulty he
managed to extricate himself from the trash with his hands and feet still bound. Amazed he
was still alive he tried to orient himself. The garbage heap he was sitting on was inside a
huge cave. The walls of the cave gave off an eerie green light, not very bright, but enough to
see. As he was sliding and rolling down the pile of rubbish to get to the floor of the cave he
noticed groups of people moving towards him. They were still too far away to make out
details in the dim light, but they were definitely people. The first group reached him just as
he arrived on the cave floor. He could see some faces now, they looked vaguely familiar.
One woman stepped out of the crowd and looked at him. Andrew’s bladder gave way when
he recognised his wife.

Grinning from ear to ear, she said: "Lookie here people, see who has come to visit."

Suddenly Andrew knew it was going to be a very long eternity.
Andrew's Hole
by Hans von Lieven