LOVE YOU TO PIECES (Diary of a Serial Killer)

Posted: November 7, 2011 in Poet; Writer; Author



To the outside world, her screams are horrendous, bone-chilling, a wretched thing.  In mine, it is music to my blood, which is dead without it.  It is in those dark, beautiful, unforgiving hours that my heart comes alive while yours goes peacefully, at first, to sleep.  It starts with the whirring of her gasps as she struggles and fights for the precious air denied her.  Her moan and writhe is a drug, my highest of highs.  What am I, you must ask?  Call me what you will:  Hitler’s demon seed; Satan’s protégé.  I could be your waiter at a five-star restaurant, the Valet attendant who drives your Lexus to a safe parking space, or the Insurance Adjustor sitting across from you in an classy high-rise office with your pathetic File in my lap.  But for the most part, I’m your neighbor next door, the one that waves to you and you wave back to with a blind smile as you head out to your 9-5.  I’m also your worst nightmare.  So nice to meet you.




This new Novel still in progress by Poet/Author Susan Joyner-Stumpf is going to be the fictional day to day account of a prolific, Prince Charming serial killer named Trace Pierce whose reign of terror eludes Law Enforcement for a solid decade.  He taunts their efforts over the course of his 10-year killing spree with letters to the press and police quarters to throw them off his trail, copy-catting the behavior ofLondon’s 19th century Jack the Ripper.

Trace, with his almost magical allure and movie star good looks, takes the cliché adage “tall, dark and handsome” to a whole new level of Evil.  With his “killer” looks, women find him irresistible and to DIE for, and all of them do.  Using his uncanny wiles and whimsy, he turns the table on every femme fatale who has the dire misfortune of crossing his stealth and clandestine path, allowing them the short-lived pleasure of assuming they have the upper hand  in the fickle game of seduction.  They couldn’t be more bloody wrong.  Like many predators, Trace craves nothing more than to initially play with his naïve and unsuspecting prey, wooing and wining them until their fragile resolve is finally broken down into rational pieces, melting like molten lava into his wicked embrace.  But finally, boredom at last drives Trace to discard the mask of undying love, to succumb to that insatiable, unstoppable hunger festering inside him to end the charade and move on to the next challenge.  The kill comes sweet and swift.  His victims have no time and no chance to realize they have just been loved to pieces.

Expected release date for Love You To Pieces  will be Fall of 2012.  For those of you new to this writer, Susan Joyner-Stumpf has the uncanny ability to write on subject matters which normally are out of most peoples’ comfort zones including her own; plotting twists and turns of events for which she either personally has never experienced nor has little knowledge of.  True to form and as is her unique signature and wicked style, in this horror/thriller written in first person, Mrs. Joyner-Stumpf literally jumps inside the head of and takes on the persona of the serial killer himself, Trace Pierce.  As you read along, you will swear you are reading the real life diary of the most horrific and sadistic serial killer of our Century as he relays, in gruesome, graphic detail, each sordid, vile escapade.  The least you will expect is that this body of work is written by a female writer who wouldn’t hurt a fly.  Her fictional unravelings will take you into the darkest, deepest recesses of a twisted and demonic psyche, literally shocking all your senses of gravity and sanity.  Come immerse yourself as Susan Joyner-Stumpf takes you on a journey through the outskirts of predatory seduction and murder, as though actually seeing through a killer’s haunting green eyes, acting upon his blood-hungry and driven heart.  Not for the faint-hearted.  Sweet dreams while you can still have them, readers, for after reading Love You To Pieces, you will begin to know what nightmares are all about.

Video for Love You to Pieces:

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(Sept 1990)

My eyes scoured the familiarity of the smoke-perfumed confines of the Aqua Lung Club and Lounge.  I’d seen it all before: the 1980 disco strobes, the neon dance floor, the Botox Babes, the wallflowers, hags, the new blood making their debut, flaunting their dewy youth and virgin breasts as though they’ve been touched before.  Then other men, setting the course of action for their own prowl: will it be another night of sucking down drinks alone and on a hard or leaving with a whore to wake up with in the strange hours of the coming morning.  All in how you play this wretched game where everyone is in it to win it.  I could tell by the shoulder to shoulder rubbing, the gyrating to a rhythm all their own.  Friday nights at the Aqua were always packed, as live entertainment promised deafening sound and just as well to drown out the non-talent that usually performed up there on the rickety stage.

I looked back down into my near empty Whisky Sour, the scent of this God-forsaken place burning the fibers of my nostrils.  Why do I bother to come here?  I signaled Ellis the bartender.  Somehow, I caught his eye, even across the stench of semi-darkness.

“Another,” I motioned with a bent finger downward towards the glass, shoving it towards him.

“What’s up, Trace?”  Ellis drug a dirty rag across the bar in front of me, swiping the glass away.  I grabbed a cheap napkin in the little holder shaped like a seashell to finish the sloppy job he started.

“Not much, just out for a winter stroll,” I smiled.

Ellis chuckled.  “Yeah, in six inches of snow, got cha…”  He shook the blender of Whiskey Sour mix into a shot of Jack Daniels and splashed it into a tall, slender glass like I liked with an extraOrangeslice and a Cherry.  He knew what pleased me and I respected that.  “We got it early this year, in Bedlow.  Normally don’t start till round at least end of October.”

“I got four-wheel drive, I’m not worried.”  I laid down a five dollar bill with excess change for a tip.

“You come in alone a lot, Trace,” Ellis said as he laid the glass in front of me.  “How’s that, a striking looking guy like you?  You could have anyone in here, probably a man too if that’s the way you swung.”

I searched his face for a redeeming quality.  Poor Ellis, with his bulbous red nose and chimp monk cheeks.  Must have had acne real severe in his youth due to all the pot marks in his face that reminded me of moon craters.  And as if he wanted to bring more attention to his ugliness, he sported a nose ring that every time we spoke, that’s all I saw go up and down with every vowel and pronoun that spewed from his overly large mouth.  But I liked him.  He rarely questioned me, or judged me, accepted me for the silences I gave and the clues I took away without him even knowing about it.  I enjoyed messing with his bald head but too often he wasn’t intelligent enough to get it and I’d get bored and have to move on to something or someone else.

“It’s not who you walk in with but who walks out with you.”  And taking my own advice, I looked from left to right of me and realized I had both male and female company, all getting rather rowdy and loud and falling into me and I politely shook them away.  I don’t think any of them in their drunken state even felt my repugnant shrug.

“You’re so right,” Ellis nodded and disappeared into the bleakness to feed the addictions of other thirsty fools.

A brunette who was on my right suddenly shifted attention from her group and began to focus on the bowl of Cheese-Its I had to the side of me.  Her fingers started to play seductively with the cheesy squares, rolling them in-between ruby studded fingertips, then allowing her tongue to lick the salt in a malingering manner but not yet going for the full bite.  I found this interesting and yet continued not to give her what she obviously wanted.  Her mascara-brushed eyes burrowed into me, begging me to play back like a silly puppy; to acknowledge her invisibleness.  From a side glance, I discerned quickly that she was quite attractive and to my liking, doe-eyed behind straight long tresses, gold body glitter meshing with the rolling sweat down her long, swan-lean neck.  Her perfume was overwhelming but I was willing to suffer this slight downfall of her femininity for the Greater Good.

I continued to pretend to ignore her and she got more heated and flustered with determination.  I loved doing this because it absolutely drives a woman nuts, especially if she’s vying for your utmost attention.  She lowered her head so that from my sitting position, all I had to do was look down at her Chocolate lip gloss eclipsing my Whiskey Sour.

“Too bad they have these things instead of nuts….I like nuts, don’t you?”  She smiled a row of white, healthy teeth.   This time she let the Cheese-It go down and she swallowed purposefully so that I could hear the machines of her throat crunching the cracker to dust.

“Depends on your point of view,” and I pushed the bowl closer to her, finally looking into her face.  “If you’re talking about the hors d’oeu·vre, maybe so.  Otherwise, I’m on your side of the fence, if you know what I mean.”

She giggled that school-girl laugh that always turned me on because it meant she may not only be flirty, but not the brightest star in the sky.  “You like girls, then,” she muttered, knowing the answer before she even asked.

“Guess you could say that, what’s your preference?”

Her face came within inches of mine, her breath sweet from Chardonnay and lipstick.  “I think I like you.  If you don’t mind my saying, you’re really ho….hot…” and she spilled her damn drink all down my friggin crotch.

I sat up and reached for a couple of napkins, signaling for Ellis again.

“I’m so so sorry,” and she looked genuinely unhappy.

“It’s just wine, no big deal.”  I took the rag from Ellis and wiped my leather jacket and started down my lap.  I was really pissed, the black jeans were new, designer style, and expensive, but what the heck.  If she wasn’t pretty, she’d be in more trouble right about now.

“Let me get that, least I can do.”  She grabbed the rag out of my hand before I could protest and began rubbing it between my legs, stopping when she got close to the goods. 

“You don’t want to start something you can’t finish,” I warned her.

I looked down at her, her head hovering atop my zipper, as though she were listening for a heartbeat.  The irony of it made me laugh.  Heartbeat.  Hardbeat.  Stupid bitch.  What did she think she was going to do, give me a blowjob right here in the open, at the bar?

“Oh, I can finish,” and she kept staring, getting lost like so many others before her did in my searing glare back.  “I never met someone like you, are you an Actor that I don’t know of or something?  I’ve never seen anyone like you in here before.  My God you’re beautiful.”

I took the rag from her hands, gently moved her head back up into proper lady-like position.  “Behave yourself young lady, the night is young.”  I yelled over to Ellis, who was still nearby and laughing at me, to get her another drink, whatever the lady wanted.

She dug into her purse and reapplied some lip gloss, arranged her tousled bangs from a jeweled compact mirror.  “My name is Ashleigh.  What do your friends call you?”

“You mean besides bastard and asshole?”  I passed her a new glass of Chardonnay.

“You really have a sense of humor there buddy, why did you ignore me?”

“Would you have rather me pounced on you like a Panther?”

“Oooh, now we’re talking.  Like it rough, do ya?”

“Sounds like YOU do.”

“So do you have a name or what?”

I felt like I was in a fighting ring.  Round one.  Round two.  Ding-ding.  Ding-ding.  The banter was getting boring and I knew I had to take it to another level.

“Well, Ashleigh, what do you say we blow this joint?”

“Is that what you call it?”  And she slammed her compact shut.

“You’re asking for it.”  I stared at her rhinestone waist necklace underneath her maroon corduroy jacket.  The glitter was like lightning when dim lights from the ceiling reflected off them, almost painful to look at.  It was her trim waist that forced me to peer through the dancing shards of sparkle that emanated from her body.

“And you still never told me your damn name and until you do, I won’t go anywhere with you.”

I stood back to get a full scale image of her.  She couldn’t be older than 23, tops.  Smart Alec, probably a virgin on the Tease, either a drop out from high school or that’s all she graduated from because she wasn’t college material and so still smooched off mom and pops.  She’d probably never came on to a man before and this was her test trial.  Perhaps she had friends in the bandstand cheering her on, or maybe it was on a whim or dare.  Whatever it was, it was mine now, and like a dog with a rawhide bone, I wasn’t letting go.

“Are you sure about that?”

Again her eyes soldered into mine, as though hypnotized.  Happens every time whether their high or not.  Desperate women, needy women, lonely women, ugly hags, overweight girls, cheating-on–their-significant-other-to-make-them–jealous-women, depressed women, horny young hot chicks and horny middle-aged unsatisfied housewives; the shelves were always fully stocked, it just depended on what grocery store I decided to patronize.  I grabbed her arm and led her through the sea of people, out the door, into the crisp, cold Colorado winter night.

I like the Aqua Lung.  It has served me well in the past, and continues the tradition.  This is my town, and the Aqua Lung is just one of  my lucky hunting grounds.

(¸¸.♥➷♥•*¨)¸.•´¸.•*¨) ¸.•*¨)

(¸¸.♥➷♥•*¨)¸.•´¸.•*¨) ¸.•*¨)


Author Susan Joyner-Stumpf

(¸¸.♥➷♥•*¨)¸.•´¸.•*¨) ¸.•*¨)

  1. phill jombs says:

    i cant wait to have a read

  2. Ellen McKinney says:

    This sounds like a terrific story can’t wait for the release…

  3. Thank you Phill. I expect “LOVE YOU TO PIECES” to be ready for publication in Fall of 2012. Sweet dreams until then, my friend, for after reading it, you may never sleep soundly again. Or…at least…with the lights off. LOL

  4. Susan remember, it’s just a book, it’s just a book, it’s just………….

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