Geocache Killer

[Spicy for swearing and murder. (probably should be in mild, but whatever) I keep seeing this Geocache Treasure Hunt thing, and I’m like “Wow that’s cool but what if?…” hahah here is one what if.]

She bent down and picked up the small plastic Tupperware bowl and peeled back the lid. Harriette reached in and lifted out the small notebook and flipped though it.

“Jack pot!” she said, and tore out the first four pages.

She replaced the notebook back into the Tupperware and tossed some Jacks and a bouncy ball in with it. It was around midday,  on a sunny early afternoon. Warm, but with plenty of trees for shade, late in August. Another cyclist came riding up and hopped off his bike, flipped the kickstand with his foot, and approached.

“Is that the cache?” The cyclist asked. Harriette nodded in response and smiled.

“Yea, I’ll put the lid back on and replace it so you can find it on your own. One sec!” She said.

“Oh, that won’t be necessary! I’ve never run into another cache hunter! How awesome! My name’s Chaz … umph” Chaz looked down and saw a hand attached to a handle, sticking out of his belly.

“I said, one sec. Don’t you fucking listen? People sometimes! I swear.” She said, pulling the knife out and stabbing the man multiple times in the belly as blood began covering her hand and burbling out of his mouth down onto his red and black sport cycling shirt.

Chaz stopped supporting his own weight, and Harriette let him fall. She pulled the knife out of his belly before he hit the ground. His helmet clacked on some pebbles as it bounced, and his sun glasses flew off his face.

“Great! You screwed up my spot. Now I’ll have to find another one.” She said and kicked him.

She needed to be quick now. She took a towel out of her backpack, wrapped the knife and the Tupperware in it, wiped her hands, and shoved it back into the pack. She had bought everything, except for the bowl, on the way to the park. Harriette was thorough with her planning, but she was hoping that something like what had just happened, wouldn’t. But it did.

She was wearing a yellow and black cycling shirt, shorts, black socks, and black sneakers. To top off her look, she wore a pair of sport sunglasses and a yellow and black cycling helmet. All purchased this morning along with a red silver trail-skimmer mountain bike. The only thing that made her look different from most other cyclists, were the deep scars running crisscross and jagged, covering most of her face. One of the worst, was an obvious slash through both, her top and bottom, lips.

She hopped on her bike and peddled off. It was alright; she could still get her revenge. Her actual target may have escaped justice–her justice, anyway–as he now sat in a federal prison, and will probably stay there for the next thirty years. That was too long for Harriette. She needed to get revenge, and as far as she was concerned, she could put the bastards face to anyone. It was his face she saw when she stabbed Chaz. It would be his face she saw when she went through the four pages of Geocache treasure hunters that had made the rather large mistake of signing their names in her log book.

“This is for you, Daddy. I’ll get him, and he’ll pay for what he did to us. I’ll make him pay, over  and over and over and over….” She chanted as she rode along the bike trail.


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