Trilogy Of Evil. Three Women Who Love To Kill. Poem by Shaun Cronick

Miss Goody Two Shoes...




Whiter than white,
Purer than snow.
A virginal saint,
You'd like to know.

Always the first,
To say how are you.
How can I help,
What can I do.

Caring and sharing,
All day through.
When you are ill.
She'll look after you.

Never the bearer,
Of any bad news.
A heaven sent teen,
One to amuse.

She simply exists,
Her name I did choose.
I simply call her,
Miss Goody Two Shoes.

For she holds secrets,
So dark and vile.
She loves to murder,
With her twisted smile.

She is a sick bitch,
A remorseless banshee.
She's killed hundreds,
With gratuitous glee.

For I'm the cop,
Who's on her case.
This Miss Goody Two Shoes,
With an angelic face.

She'll call on you,
So late at night.
Pretend she's lost,
So sad her plight.

You invite her in,
With such a thrill.
This innocent teen,
Who's dressed to kill.

She'll drug you up,
Half knock you out.
She enjoys her work,
You'll bleed and shout.

She'll draw you in,
Then cut your throat.
Over your carcass,
She'll dance and gloat.

She kills at random,
She kills for a kick.
Her jigsaw's aftermath,
So appalling and sick.

They think they're safe,
No harm will come.
But always with her,
Death will be done.

She'll sucker men in,
By playing cupids.
When they are drowsy,
Cut off their eyelids.

She'll strap you down,
Slowly skin you alive.
For you and your kind,
Her creativity does thrive.

Your blood will flow,
Your heart will race.
The last thing you see,
Is her smiling face.

With razor in hand,
She'll cut and she'll splice.
She'll tease and she'll toy,
She's so very precise.

And last to be severed,
You'll miss the most.
Fountains of blood,
Turning white as a ghost.

She will not stop,
She'll never falter.
All evil sacrificed,
Upon her bloody altar.

Her innocence stolen,
That wicked day.
She seeks payback,
In her own way.

A teenage grim reaper,
She's death incarnate.
Never mixed morals,
Her mind does debate.

She can't be stopped,
She's one of a kind.
So intensely driven,
With a killer's mind.

She is so macabre,
But no necrophile.
Each victim is,
A sick paedophile.

I will never catch her,
She loves her fun and games.
I text her very often,
And give her all their names.

*

She...

She was there wearing her dress cut from sin.
She was there with a ravenous devil's desire.
She was there with the words of dead saints.
She was there with a hypnotic voice from a choir.

She was there whispering a haunting melody.
She was there picking out her targeted prey.
She was there waiting for the sun to go down.
She was there waiting for my lust to stray.

She was there casting her fathomless black shadow,
She was there with her smile never reaching her eyes.
She was there with her polished ornate silver dagger,
She was there gleefully plunging it into her helpless prize.

She was there stealing my heart.

*

Enchantress...

Miss Goody Two Shoes.
No, not that one teen paedophile slicing slaughterhouse.
She's out of the country.
She's teamed up with The Lady Killer.
They're showing off their macabre blood fest worldwide.
Gone on tour you might say.
Sort of a busman's holiday.
Did you hear what they did to those six paedophiles in Paris.
Let alone that bloodbath in Belgium.
Unbelievable!
They'll never be caught.
My hunch is a fellow cop is tipping them off.
But that's another story for another time.
And that one who steals men's hearts.
The one called She.
There's more death and killers out there than cancer.
And they're all women.
I'm only saying that to lighten you up.
Bring your defences down.
But you know all about that already.
All about psychology.
Anyway.
Back to you.
Enchantress.
Just rolls off the tongue doesn't it.
I'll say it again.
Enchantress.
Us cops first nicknamed you Deadlier Than The Male.
Too long.
Then we called you Spellbinder.
We liked that one.
But it was the press who finally decided the matter.
With Enchantress.
And the name stuck.
Your name.
As I look at you here and now.
In this interrogation room.
Enchantress.
The uncatchable Enchantress.
Caught.
Still you haven't said a word to me.
Since you've been in this room.
But you love to talk.
Did you know that?
So much information.
So many intricate details.
A real chatter-box.
That's how I caught you.
So lets start at the beginning...
It's all about men.
Missing men.
Men who have just vanished off the face of the planet.
Fifty five to be exact.
All at night all of them never to be seen again.
Fifty five men over three years.
And we had no leads or clues.
Nothing to work with except.
We were seeking a woman.
A real mistress of disguise.
So slippery and elusive.
A real chameleon.
Any CCTV with you and your victim was so poor.
Hell we had it enhanced by NASA.
To no avail.
Again no clues to your real identity.
A ghost.
First we thought it was one of our own.
A woman obviously.
Forensics, scene of crime officer, a fellow detective.
Checked and double checked all their police attendance records.
Then triple checked.
Nothing.
Every angle we explored led to nothing.
A big fat zero.
And still men disappeared.
So the old adage of this person started very young.
Starting off with local pets cats dogs etc.
Tortured and killed them blah blah blah.
Enjoyed doing it.
All that bollocks.
So we checked all arrest records and all news items.
Going back decades.
Again nothing.
And then you entered my life.
Just breezed into my office.
Me one of the leading detectives on this cruel case.
The most beautiful and beguiling woman I've ever met.
And an instant chemistry between us.
Or so I foolishly thought at that time.
Offering that huge reward for public information.
Information leading to the arrest of this Enchantress.
Simply because your editor was her recent victim.
You being a best selling author.
Your wealth was an understatement.
Anyway as you well know.
You truly captivated me.
One thing led to the other.
Sex with you was incredible.
But sleeping with you was horrifying.
But I had to do it.
And the last time.
I actually threw up in the bathroom.
I had to act quickly.
We easily found your underground bunker.
Bypassed all your security there.
That was the easy part.
Then we entered.
That was the not so easy part.
We had found the missing men.
All of them.
All your chosen victims.
And we were horrified.
All of us thought we'd seen it all through the years.
Nothing could prepare us for what we found.
Then I found that empty display cabinet.
The one with my name on it.
You sick bitch.
All of them with their innards guts vital organs removed.
And fed to the over weight dogs in the other room.
All of them named and behind individual glass cabinets.
All of them stuffed and embalmed.
Like shop window dummies on display.
A real charnel house.
A Madame Tussauds from Hell.
Such bible black evil on display.
All for you to admire and gloat over.
Because simply you hate men.
Because you really hate me.
And so we laid a trap.
We waited for you.
In your chamber of horrors.
Waited in the dark.
Surrounded by evil.
And we waited.
With the patience of Job.
And you turned up.
The shock on your face was only fleeting.
Then you said well done congratulations.
And then you smiled.
You sick bitch!
Men.
The ultimate hunt.
Murder.
The ultimate thrill.
A real player of the game.
A power game.
You the predator.
You sick bitch.
Never in your wildest dreams or crime novels.
Would you dream of getting caught.
That's not exactly true though is it.
I'm a good detective.
But no genius.
No Sherlock Holmes.
Truth is we would never have caught you.
You're too good.
Too perfect.
As I said to you at the beginning.
You love to talk.
And that's how I caught you.
Enchantress.
Because...
You talk in your sleep.