He pounced
on me with a two handed overhead swing of his four-foot hoe-stick. It landed
squarely on my forehead. There was no pain, just shock. He landed two more in
quick succession and I fell on my back. He stood over me and continued
bludgeoning me on the head. I couldn’t see his face but his dark silhouette was
imposing against the moonless sky. I suddenly found my voice and could hear my guttural
scream of impending death coming from somewhere deep in my throat (and heart).
It dawned on me that this was the serial killer who had been terrorising the
villages around my area for the last few months.
There was a
blank darkness where his face should have been. He had not uttered a word and I
couldn’t hear him breath. I have a strong sense of smell but I couldn’t pick
any scent from him. No perfume or sweat. He could as well have been a ghost. I
must have disappointed him because I didn’t pass out even as he increased his
tempo. Instead, I matched his speed with the intensity of my screaming. I must
also have been violently kicking out because I picked the smell of the bushes at
the site whose branches I had slashed away. I still shudder when I smell that particular
kind of bush.
As the
killer continued raining blows on my head, hitting only my forehead, I was
trying to shield my face with my hands. It was at this point that the stick
landed on my open right hand and I clasped it. This was more of a reflex than a
planned move but my tight grip made him lose his balance. He fell on my legs
and I now grabbed the stick with both of my hands and disentangled it from him.
He ran off immediately and left me on the ground still struggling to get up. By
now I was really scared and when I got up, I scampered to the main road a few
metres away to where I had alighted from a matatu a few minutes before.
By the grace
of God, a friend was dropping one of my neighbours at the road so that he could
also take the same path along which I had been attacked. They had actually
heard my screams but had initially assumed it was a drunkard until I showed up.
They rushed me to hospital where I was attended to. I got four stitches to
close that gaping gash on my forehead. The physical injury is now healed save
for the obvious long scar on my head. However, that killer took away my
courage. I am now extremely afraid of the dark and have a problem falling
asleep at night.
Lessons from the Ordeal
When I
approached the crouching attacker, I had assumed it was a sweater thrown on the
bushes. By the time I realised it was a person, I was too close to him and he
didn’t waste time pouncing on me. I should have turned back without waiting to
confirm if it was a person. Now I know.
Profile of a Serial Killer
Save for his
face, I noticed a number of things about my attacker. He was dressed in a
sweater with blue and white patterns. He had medium hair that appeared well
combed. His lack of a smell described above could also point to the fact that he
is a clean and well groomed person. In my mind, I see a person who probably has
a family and a regular job. He had left his wife preparing supper at around
seven in the evening as he went out to get his kick. He then went back to check
his kid’s homework. The kid innocently asked him, “Daddy where have you been?”
to which he coolly answered, “Just stretching my limbs a bit”.
