I Am Mr. Handsome [SHORT STORY]

I Am Mr. Handsome


I’m all dressed up with nowhere to go. 

I’m all dressed up with nowhere to go. 

Looking for an invitation to arrive. 



I am Mr. Handsome. I am sure you have heard of me. My reputation precedes me. 


I won’t tell you too much about me but every story needs at least a setting? Well, there is only so much I can tell you that will give you a taste of the kind of person I am and what I do but not give the entire game away. 

So, first things first. I am Mr. Handsome and I live in the city of London. That’s London, England. Not London, Ontario. Not London, Michigan. Or London, Kentucky. 

No - I am from London, England. The same city where Old Jack comes from. That’s right. Jack The Ripper. And I see myself as a 21st Century Jack. They’ll never catch me. Try as they might. They will never catch me. I am the spiritual successor to Jack… 


I live in a small apartment alone. I work a fairly menial job which allows me to go under the radar and there’s really not much in my daily life or routine that would ever garner your suspicions (apart from being Mr. Handsome of course). 

It’s the nighttime when the demons within me come out and the evil simmering inside of me comes to boil in a violent froth. And my night will usually always end with a new victim. 

Now. Let me tell you what type of victims I like and this is often reported in the media (don’t you people read the newspapers). I like young women. Twenty somethings. They HAVE to be blonde. 

And let me let you into a little secret about catching my prey. When you’re Mr Handsome - it is EASY! 

That’s right. The girls come to me. And I honestly don’t know how the ugly serial killers did it. Because Mr. Handsome does not wait around for his prey. I don’t have to stalk the city nights for long. The newspapers and TV are trying to guess how many victims Mr. Handsome has taken now but hell, even I don’t know, once you get into the 20s you begin to lose count. 


It was Saturday night and I had been venturing in and out of the bars that evening, I had been out for about two hours. The bitter frustration of a damp squib was looming on the night. 

Everybody was on high alert about me at the moment and you can see the fear and paranoia emanating from the city. 

There’s a hysteria whenever I go out now. I try not to put too much pressure on myself to find someone and on days like this I try to just have a drink and look around. Before you know it - the girls will come to you. 

At least, they do for Mr. Handsome. 


There’s an isolated bar just outside of my apartment. I won’t tell you the name because, like I said, that will give the game away. But this bar is perfect to go hunting in. 

It sits just off a main road which leads to the motorway and the carpark backs onto this quiet woodland. The kind of woodland that’s normally few and far between in urban London. 

I try not to stalk this bar because sometimes it’s nice to have somewhere which is separate from my business. It’s nice to not have everybody poking their business right outside your front door and I try to keep police away from my area. Even though I set myself a series of rules for Mr Handsome’s conduct but sometimes the urges are just too much. 

The Urges. 

The Urges. 

That is what it all came down to, isn’t it. I am a product of my urges.


Elizabeth approached me at the bar. Which is natural when you’re Mr Handsome but also surprising given the high alert of that evening. I must have fit some description she was after. The lady looked me up and down and said simply: 

“What are you drinking?” 

I was in my finest suit and tie and I probably stood out amongst the other clientele, with their big fat beer bellies hanging out from their Millwall Football shirts.

The woman fit my M.O perfectly. She was beautiful. She was delicate and slim. She was blonde. She was blonde… like my mother was… 


“Red wine tonight my dear.” I said.

“Would you care to split a bottle?” She asked. 

This was too easy… 

We got to talking and I gave her my name (I think I was Clive this evening?). I told her that I was a gardener which was actually true and that I had been raised in the area my entire life, another half truth although I was actually born in Aberdeen. She didn’t tell me much about her. Almost like she didn’t want to. 

Her name was Elizabeth. She worked as a receptionist but she was actually trying to be an actress. She came on quite heavy in talk but when I motioned to go near her she almost flinched in my presence. She walked a tightrope between attraction and fear. Something didn’t seem right. She wasn’t actually attracted to me. She just acted like she was. She talked and talked but when I touched her she’d recoil. 


“Are you from around here?” I asked her. 

“Yes. I don’t actually live too far from here.” Elizabeth replied. 

“But you were born here?” I asked. 

“Of course.” She said with a smile.

Something about this woman gave me a very bad vibe. Almost as if, as if I was being set up. I decided to pull the ultimate test: 

“You should be careful around here tonight.” 

“Why’s that?” She asked. 

“Well, you know who Mr Handsome is don't you?” I asked. 

“No…” She told me. 

I HAD HER. 

There’s nobody in this area that doesn’t know who I am and the fact she told me no confirmed it. 

She was lying… This is a set up. 

“Kiss me.” I tell her and she’s taken aback immediately. 

She doesn’t know how to react. In that instance I could read right into her. She has to keep up the appeal but the thought of kissing me repulsed her. I lean in and she gives me a half arsed kiss with her eyes open and I’m one hundred percent certain that they’re on to Mr Handsome. They’re all on to me. 

She’s bait. 

“Why don’t we get another bottle and we can… finish this at mine?” She asked, her voice turning into a false sultry tone. 

“I would love to.” I said. 

We smile at each other and I lean in for another kiss. I’m fully in tune with the cat and mouse that’s going on right now. 

“I just have to take care of something.” She said to me. 

I stare at her purposely and forcefully agape.

“It’s a very private thing… but it won’t take long. Can you meet me by the cinema? Ten minutes? Outside where the car park is?” She asked. 

She doesn’t need to overact here. This is perfect for me. I smile. I give her one of Mr Handsome’s widest shit eating grins and I tell her:

“Fucking perfect. Ten minutes.” And I down my wine. 


Outside the pub I watch Elizabeth rush off into the distance. I take off my large trench coat and blazer. It’s just left with me wearing my white shirt in the night cold. As I’m walking through the carpark, I see Glen. 

Glen’s a local homeless degenerate that I always see lurking outside of my building. The guy would do anything for money. 

I approach Glen holding up a twenty. Glen’s so spaced out, I wonder if the twenty is even necessary. But I slid it into his pocket anyway because I am a man of honour. I threw my blazer and trench coat over him and I explained that I need him outside the cinema within the next five minutes and I almost carried him across the street to the front of the Odeon. 

Crouched down under the parked cars I can see Elizabeth staring at her watch and looking about her. I whisper to Glen to calmly approach the young lady with his back straight, in the full Mr Handsome strut. I slapped him on the back and pushed him from behind the car into the path of the bait. 

For a second I nearly fooled myself; Glen was walking silhouetted against the night and looked the spitting image of Mr. Handsome.

As he’s nearing closer and closer, I can see the excitement just beaming from Elizabeth. I’m watching Glen in the distance, he’s trying to walk as if he’s sober, like this guy has ever had a sober day in his life.

His feet are banging against the paved floor and it sounded like the gallop of a horse. 

Next thing; four big burly blokes jump out. One puts a sack over Glen’s head and the other kicks him in the chest. 

Glen rolls over onto his side and screams in agony and they pick him up and throw him into the back of a van. I see a few more punches thrown at Glen as he’s being thrown into the van. 

This wasn’t the police. 

This was a vigilante job.


Elizabeth doesn’t go with the guys. Clearly it’s a task too bloody for the young, fragile drama student. 

No, Elizabeth has the audacity to go back to my local pub and have a few more drinks to calm her nerves. She thinks she’s vanquished Mr Handsome. 

What Elizabeth doesn’t know is that I had rifled through her pockets when she wasn’t looking and I had a copy of her driver’s licence; address and all. 


Here I am, sitting in the dark, just waiting… I’m writing this on my phone now and I’ll upload it online tomorrow from somewhere discreet. Poor Glen is in for a tough time but it won’t be nearly as tough as what Elizabeth has in store once she comes walking through that door. 

I’ll just sit here in the dark and once I hear the click of that door closing behind her, I’ll simply say:

“Hello Elizabeth”. I’ve got my ice pick in my pocket. It’s itching to get used. 

Elizabeth is a theatre student. I really hope she appreciates the dramatic touch… 

On my headphones I play back the song again:

I'm all dressed up with nowhere to go. Walking with a dead man over my shoulder.

I'm all dressed up with nowhere to go. Walking with a dead man over my shoulder.


I hope you all liked hearing from Mr Handsome. Because I would love for you to hear from me again. 



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