Micropasta: Twelve O'clock

Micropasta: Twelve O’clock

You don’t feel safe. Something about the approach from the empty university library exit, to the parking lot, to your car just looks wrong. Of course, you know what it is. You know why you’re so on edge.

The Twelve O'clock Strangler, so named for the midnight period during which they both claim their prey and leave the asphyxiated body to be discovered the next night, has been the terror of Alpenview for the past two months. With a rising body count and no apparent motive, the newspapers are obviously having a field day.

Maybe you’d been standing in the unearthly lighting outside the library entrance for too long. You feel a firm hand clutch your arm, and you realize you hadn’t even considered that maybe he had been in the library the whole time. Watching you, and waiting for you to leave.

“Hey, I think you should come with m-“

You scream and try to swing a punch, but he reverses his hold and kicks you in the leg, sending you into a hobbled semi-prone position with your arm locked under your stomach. This is it. It’s all over.

“Hey! Hey!” It takes you a moment to realize that a second voice seems to have made itself known. A warning shot is fired, and your captor flees for his life. When you stagger to your feet and regain a modicum of sense in regards to your surroundings you can see your savior, a Ruger LC380 pocket pistol in hand.

“Are you alright? Here, drink this” he says, offering you a water canteen which you accept gratefully. “You look terrible. Don’t worry, I’ve already called the police. They’ll be here any minute, hopefully.”

You take a long swig and thank him profusely. He must be a very humble man, since he seems uncomfortable with your praise. At last, when you are finally finished expressing your gratitude, he speaks.

“Like I said, I’m no hero. You just looked so fragile, so delicate. It would be a shame if he was the one who got to take you home.”

You feel tired. Very tired. Too tired in too quick a period of time, even considering the exhausting ordeal you just went through. As you teeter and subsequently collapse to the floor, the victim of the sedative in the water, the last thing you remember before slipping into unconsciousness is one parting comment from your rescuer.

“The Twelve O’clock Strangler is two people. We don’t cooperate or anything, though. Me and that guy are always fighting over the choicest picks such as yourself.”