I don't know why I'm writing this, because I'm not good at horror stories. So you'll have to deal with me for now.

A Bleach horror story. Not yet sure how it will turn out. Just go with the flow and you'll be okay.

Part of the ANGST-RIDDEN series.

I never really got how this all started. All I knew was that it was very, very hard to stop.

Nobody understands what's going on, and maybe I don't want other people to understand. As if people would look me in the eye, anyway. Nobody wants to look at a monster. Nobody wants to see someone who's playing Phantom of the Opera with part of a mask covering his face.

I don't have a reason for why I started. I don't have a reason for why I can't stop. All I know is that I was insanely out of control the first time. I'd never stopped to think how it would affect me, how it would affect my significant other. It hadn't seemed to affect either of us, and he hadn't changed. Yeah, it was a he. In case you're too stupid to get that hint, that means I'm gay. Not bi. Gay, and I don't give a damn what anybody else thinks about that.

Of course, he didn't know that I'd killed them. He didn't know. He never questioned why I was out so late some nights, never asked me why I smelled like blood when I came home. That was the part that I loved most about him. He didn't ask questions, and never expected to get an answer. He was just there, along for the ride. And I think, somewhere along the way, he knew that I was the one doing it. He knew, but he never told anybody about it. And he still loved me.

But there came a point in time, after the 4th incident, that I think he just couldn't take it any more. It was not a yelling break-up, not a screaming break-up, but a quiet one. Like he was. Basically, I'd woken up one morning to find his side of the bed empty and cold, and a note on the kitchen table telling me that he'd left. His reason for leaving was, "Listen, I just can't take this. I don't like having to stay up til 2 in the morning just waiting for you to come home so that I have someone to sleep with. I'd prefer a much more stable relationship."

People think that murderers have no heart, no soul, no compassion or empathy. But that's not true. That day, I remember smashing every mirror in the house, embedding shards of glass in my knuckles, so that I would not have to look at the monster I had become, at the monster he saw me as. And yes, maybe his reasoning was true. Maybe he did want a more stable relationship. But somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that he'd left because of what I was, because of what I had become.

And I guess he was scared, too. I guess he was afraid that maybe he would be next. And if he had continued to watch the news, as he used to when we were still together, then he would know that his leaving hadn't changed anything about me. If anything, things just got worse, and continued to spiral downward.

I killed 6 more people in the month after our break-up. Six more people that I didn't know. And each and every time I did it, I felt that overwhelming high that I got when I knew I was in control. But I wasn't stupid. I had been on the bad side of the law before, and I knew enough not to leave evidence. In this way, I was still able to get out and about and walk freely on the streets with no one suspecting it was me. Of course, it wasn't like I wasn't inconspicuous. Far from it. I mean, when you've got blue hair and a partial mask, it's pretty darn hard to ignore me.

But that was the good part. No one would suspect me because people just think that way. Everybody likes to believe that it is one of them who's doing this. Someone who blends in so easily that it's not even funny. No one would think it was me, just because I stand out.

As far as I was concerned, there were only two people in the whole wide world that knew that I was the murderer. That was me, and Ulquiorra. He wouldn't tell anybody else, that much I knew. He was just that way, quiet, reserved, keeping secrets until the grave. That's why I'd fallen in love with him in the first place, and that was the reason why he'd left me.

No, I don't think it was his leaving me that spurred on those next six murders. I don't think it was because I was depressed or anything. Heck, I don't even think I wanted to kill the people in the first place, because they meant absolutely nothing to me. There was no provocation, no hurt, no suppressed feelings. They were just there, and I...well, I was just uncontrollable. I still am. Somewhere at the bottom of my heart, I know I'll keep doing this. Maybe it's to get caught, maybe it's to be told, "No. You can't do that." And maybe that part's Ulquiorra's fault. He'd never protested, never said, "No. I don't like this," or, "No. Stop that." Never arguing. But whatever. I don't know what it is that I want. I don't know a lot of things.

All I know is that this is going to be very, very hard to stop.

Feedback much appreciated. NOT A ONESHOT.

Story inspired by a horror movie cover. I can't remember the title, though...sorry.