Narrative Essay On The Night Killer

When I almost reached the door, I felt something at my foot, a broken hourglass, that had ran out of sand. Shaking and suddenly bursting into a cold sweat, I furiously jammed the key in. It felt like an eternity, but finally I succeeded. Pushing the door open, and wiping a faceful of sweat from my face, I felt this wave of aromas crash over me. Putting the key in my pocket(FORESHADOWING) and then entering the cellar I tried to calm down. I tried to look for the cask of Amontillado that I bought several weeks ago. There were millions of wines in that cellar (HYPERBOLE). But at last I found it. It felt, lighter, and after opening it I realised that it was empty. I wasn’t enraged, just tired. I made my way to the door, suddenly feeling drowsy. Then I became a little bit nauseous and shaky. Looking into the darkness, I saw, darkness. So I picked up my dying torch and put it up and almost yelled “Who’s there?”. There was no reply but a figure seemed to appear in the darkness. It was carrying a scythe and it started towards me. I fell back, and was caught by the wall, slamming my head against it and dropping my torch. The figure whispered in the dark, “Free the fortunate one, for be warned fate will find

Richard Ramirez is an infamous serial murderer who terrorized Los Angeles, California in 1985. The media gave him the name the “Night Stalker” when he was on his vicious rampage of forcing himself into the homes of his victims late at night and committing his heinous crimes. Though he was only convicted of thirteen murders, he had many more victims. His crimes were so random, disorganized, and impulsive that the law enforcement officials of Los Angeles had no luck finding Ramirez for months as he grew increasingly more violent. (Tripod.com, 2012) Finally, in August of 1985, the police had enough information from many of his victims to release a sketch of him to the media. The sketch had only been on the news for one

I Remember it all the day the bomb dropped. Me and my family were sitting in our house when the broadcast came on. I fully didn't understand it till he said the bomb are dropping across the united states. So i remembered that a guy by the name john had came by our house asking if we would like to join vault tec. So I told my family we have to get to the vault now. So everyone was rushing out of there homes to get to the vault. So we start run as fast as we can. When we get to the entrance of the vault. There was a huge crowd, then walk up to the front and then there was john only letting people that are signed up to be in the vault through.Then I tell that me and my family are signed up to get in the vault. He let us pass so we were told to

It’s dark and desolate. It’s slightly dank and eerie. The deafening silence is only interrupted by the clanking of metal chains. The unforgiving cold wraps around you as tightly as a blanket in winter. There’s no way out. No food. No water. You’ve been left to rot by someone who you thought was your friend. It’s devastating. This was the crime committed by a man (or rather monster) named Montresor in the famous Edgar Allan Poe story “The Cask of Amontillado”. Though Montresor’s crime was sinister beyond what any normal person would ever consider, it is nothing compared to General Zaroff’s crimes against humanity in Richard Connell’s “The Most Dangerous Game”.

Everything is pitch black. I am pressed up hard against my peers in this moving enclosure and have been for what feels like a lifetime. I can hardly breathe and the heat is almost unbearable. The stench of death is penetrating, filling me entirely. Suddenly, light pours from outside blinding me, I am shoved and kicked by men, who maneuver me out of my previous prison. I realise that I am free, and begin to run forward, only to collapse as my legs and lungs cannot cope after standing for so long. I am herded into yet another dark and crowded enclosure with my peers, my heart begins to race with panic, and I try to resist, squealing and thrashing around. The cruel men from earlier reappear and poke me with what I assume is a stick, but it sends shockwaves through me, rendering me unable to move. Little did I know that that would be the last time I would move. Little did I know that my death could contribute to the destruction of a planet. You are probably thinking, ‘What is this? Some cruel form of torture in a medieval prison?’ I hate to tell you, no, it is not.

Months on end I tried to rid the voices from the head, but my efforts were in vain. I snapped. Visions of gruesome murders flew in and out of my head. My memories were like a tangled ball of yarn. The muscles within me twitched uncontrollably; I let out a blood-curdling scream that echoed throughout the ominous night. The pain felt like something was trying to take over my body

About one day later, a guard came up to him and woke him up. “Hey you, wake up. You have to get ready for your execution.”

The room I was in was a cell and there was blood stains all over the walls. Then the floor was covered in bones and flesh that was rotting. I then realized I was hanging from the ceiling I was attached by a thick leather rope. I heard footsteps and my heart stopped. It was the man but he had a mask a mime mask. He held one thing in each hand one was a key the other was a long sharp knife. I wanted to scream but I couldn’t shock had overwhelmed me and all I could do is stare. He slowly opened the door and said with a sigh “I am sorry for such harsh conditions but it has to be done, you see I need your body for my collage”. Then he took the knife and dug it into my shoulder slowing the pain was unbearable. He was carving my cutting me to shreds I cried in agony and pain then he stopped he forcefully jabbed the knife into my collarbone and chuckled “Be right back don’t go anywhere”. He strood of comly singing the phantom of the

I woke up the next morning hearing whistles blaring and some people pushing us all out. Then I saw another man still laying there and he was dead. So u took everything I could use off of him and bolted for the exit. When we were outside, they randomly selected people to be brought to block 25 which was right across from my shed. In there, there were windows with bars across them and a door only to be opened from the outside. They loaded all the people from every shed that were chosen into the block. In the block, they stayed there until they all starved to death and then it was my job to clean them all out and clear the block for the next killing.

I woke up to see a man who looked like he was picking what he wanted to torture me with. I tried to get up but I was tied down to the chair.

“So, I was thinking, what sort of execution is it if I know what’s coming?”

It began the morning of September 1, we slept soundly through the night as we had always, but this time it was different. I heard ringing from the hallway but I wasn’t sure what it was, I peeked through the doorway,there was a creature standing there about to come in my room I slammed his head in and he suddenly stopped. As I went back to sleep and after five minutes I heard it again, this time the creature

What do I think about the crime now? I strongly believe, that there is no person in the world who never had a criminals thoughts, about the « dark figure of the crime » (quott. by Adolphe Queletet, Colleman and Moynihan, 1996)… I think that in special circumstances every human can have a » criminal reaction ».

     Hemingway's "The Killers" illustrates that unexplained violence is an integrated part of society.  To acknowledge the cruelties of life is to come to terms with horrifying events that can not be denied.  A person may lack the maturity to cope with everyday life if they do not realize that evil can exist in any given society.

I was stuck in the den for five years. Then I was kidnaped by DemonBloods. I was so scared. I tried to escape, but I was chained up. I coudn't do anything. I was trapped, surrounded by DemonBlood. Then I was knocked out so I didn't know what happened next.