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To My Dear Stalker,

 

Now listen, fuckwit.   Yes – you.   I’m talking to you.   I know there’s every likelihood that you’re actually reading this – one of you little voyeuristic wannabes out there has put two and two together and spelt Jonathon8 somehow.   Just fuck off, okay?   Stop hanging around my house in the middle of the night, trying to hunt the hunter.   You’re sneaking past my windows, creaking up my porch and even freaking out my Cat.   It’s starting to seriously piss me off.  

Tell you what.   Cut it out now, and I’ll even let you live.   Won’t come looking for you next time I’m hungry.   We’ll just pretend it never happened, yeah?   You saw the light of reason and it saved your life.   Hearts and flowers, sweeping violins – happy end to the story.

 

Otherwise, buddy, I’m telling you – it’s gonna finish in Jonathon seeing red, and you’re not going to enjoy that.   Why not?   Because it sure as hell won’t end happily, dude.   It’ll end with things like blood-curdling screams, heart-stopping horror, and pain.   Lots of pain.   Oh, yes.   It’ll be bloody messy.   I promise you that.

See, Mr. Stalker, yours truly is not new to the concept of turning predator into prey.   He’s had his fair share of dangerous public attention before and come out fairly unscathed, while the enemy have wound up with him licking their wounds.   You see, there’s been some crazed fans over the years, a couple of lynch mobs, a few run-ins with self-proclaimed bounty hunters – and the occasional encounter with one of my own who either has a score to settle or a screw loose.   Frankly, only the last pose any kind of threat, my friend.   They’re the only ones who might possibly be fast enough, and strong enough and smart enough to take little Jonathon on his own turf – and even then, it’s yet to happen, so: your odds?   Not good.  

There was an Italian aristocrat’s bastard son maybe four hundred years ago?   Followed me around for about three months, begging I make him “my brother in blood’.   In the end, there were blood lines spilt, but sure as hell not extended – like I need a whiny kid brother.  Sheesh.    And a few decades later there was a Romanian girl I played with for a long time but finally tired of after she stalked me for seven years – the fucking mad woman wanted me to marry her, but geez.   I didn’t want to be tied down.   Neither did she in the end, but drowning anaemic bodies go down so much quicker when they’re not flailing.   Then there was a medieval village somewhere – might have been Greenland?   Somewhere bloody cold, anyway.   They got all pre-Frankensteinian lynch mob with full-on spades and firey torches, man!   Hilarious.   I picked off a few stragglers, and the rest ran for home pretty fucking quick to slam the shutters and shiver.   I moved on that time.   Oh yeah – there was a party of explorers too, that I joined up with in South America somewhere century before last.   They caught me snacking and – well.   Could be wrong, but don’t think the bodies were ever found, actually.   

Who else?   Ah – the hellfire and damnation preacher who tried to ram home religion to me in the form of a sharpened table leg.   That didn’t finish pretty.   And a crazy goth boy a couple of decades ago who’d been watching too many lame horror films, and came armed with all the wrong stuff.   Poor (tasty) little idiot.   Yes – then that wacky mother a few years back, who got it into her head I ate her baby.   Wierdly enough? – that one wasn’t even me.   Dunno why she thought it was – must have tapped into some long-forgotten genetic ability to smell danger lurking and just happened to pick the wrong villain.   Sad mistake.

Plus Amelia.   Survived even that one, didn’t I?

So, my dear stalker – yes, you there, the reader with the obvious death-wish? – think about just who you’re playing with here.   Don’t say I haven’t warned you thoroughly.   I know you’ve been staking out my house at night – and the pun is fucking intended, dude.   But I’m ready for you.   And one of these evenings when the moon is low and the shadows are deep, and you think you know who’s doing the watching and who’s being the hunter?   I’ll be making a surprise entrance and causing a twist for the ending.   And I mean that.   Watch your back, man.   All the time.   I’ll be coming for you soon.

 

Until then – sweet dreams.
                                             – Jonathon8

 

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