The Diary of a Serial Killer's Daughter

by L. A. Detwiler

  Maybe Daddy is just really tired. He’s said that a lot this week. His job keeps him busy. Daddy builds things. He works in construction and he has built a lot of things in town. He helped build the church and some houses and even a big mall. He says he was always good at building things.

  Sometimes, I like to look in the bed of Daddy’s truck and look at all the tools he keeps in there. Shovels and axes and all sorts of things. Daddy says you can never be too prepared. That you never know when you might need to build something.

  I like that Daddy is good with tools. It makes me proud.

  I think tomorrow maybe I’ll ask Daddy to help me build something. Maybe a birdhouse. I like to watch the birds sometimes. That would be good. Maybe Daddy wouldn’t be so sad if I take his mind off of things.

  Stay Safe,

  Ruby

  October 7, 2009

  6:57 p.m.

  Dear Diary,

  Yesterday was a bad, bad day.

  Daddy’s been having a hard time. He’s moody. He forgets things like our schedule and our dinner foods and to get milk at the store. He tucked me in bed early even though he knows how much I hate being off schedule. He rushed through Goodnight Moon. I noticed when he held the book, his hands were shaking.

  “You okay, Daddy?” I asked.

  He nodded, but he didn’t look at me. “I’m fine, Ruby. Just fine.”

  But he wasn’t. I could tell.

  He tucked me in, and I tried really hard to fall asleep. To not worry. I was feeling okay—until it started to storm. Really storm. Crashes boomed through the house and lightening blinked in the sky. I’m terrified of lightening. I hate it. Even more than that, though, I hate the loud booms of the thunder. It startles me every time and it makes my head spin and hurt.

  I snuck out of my room and down the stairs to find Daddy. He always rubs my back when it’s storming. Why didn’t he come up to sit with me? When I tiptoed into his room, he wasn’t there. Empty. I looked out the window. His truck was gone. How did I miss it? The thunder was loud, the rain crashing into the house. It pinged like popcorn on the roof. When I realized it, I was panicked. It was terrifying, the storm booming and banging and hurting my head. I dashed back to my room and flicked on the lamp. Then I rocked back and forth on my bed. Back and forth. Back and forth.

  The storm passed, the lightening stopped. But I was still scared. Where did Daddy go? Why did he leave? Tears fell. After a long time, I heard the truck pull up. I peeked out my window. Daddy was home. He was getting out of the truck parked by the garage. He was rushing, frantic. I thought about going down, my tears drying now. I wanted to see if he brought another lady to play with in the garage. But I was mad. I was still so angry that he left. As if he could sense me, he turned and saw the light on in my room. I froze. Now Daddy would be mad. But I was mad too.

  Daddy ran in the house. I heard the door slam. Up the stairs he came, his feet pounding on each step. I sat on my bed rocking. Rocking.

  “Ruby? Are you okay? I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” His voice was calm, but I could tell he was nervous.

  I rocked. I didn’t answer. Tears fell. I wanted to explain, but the words got all tripped up and I just cried harder and louder.

  “Ruby, dammit, answer me. Are you okay?”

  I rocked and rocked, my head hitting against the wall and rattling the picture above it.

  “Storm.” I choked out the single word.

  Daddy knelt down in front of me. I looked down. His hands were dirty. Why were they so dirty?

  “I’m sorry, Honey. I am.” He softened now, sighing. I felt the anger melt a little bit as I looked at his boots, staring at the floor. “I had to go out. I tried to get home as soon as the storm started. I did.”

  “Why?” I wanted to ask why he left, but only that one word came out. Daddy knew me, though. He knew what I meant.

  He cleared his throat. There was a long moment. “There was an emergency. The storm knocked down a tree, and one of the guys from work needed some help. I didn’t want to wake you.”

  I rocked. That didn’t make sense. Daddy didn’t leave when the storm started. He was already gone when it started storming. Still, I didn’t want to ask. I didn’t want to make Daddy upset. I could tell he felt bad enough.

  “Ruby?”

  He sat beside me but didn’t touch me.

  “Okay.” I replied. It was better now. Daddy was back. Nothing else mattered.

  “I’ll sit with you until you fall asleep,” he said. “I promise I’m not leaving.”

  I lay back down, thinking about the storm that had passed and about Daddy leaving and about how I was glad he was home. I lay for a long time as Daddy sat beside me. He seemed calmer now. More peaceful. I didn’t understand. I closed my eyes and pretended to drift off, feeling much more at ease. After a long while, I heard him turn out my lamp and walk out of my room and down the thirteen creaky steps.

  But he didn’t go to his room. I counted his footsteps. There weren’t enough. He was in the kitchen. I heard the back-door crack open, the opening of it alerting me to the truth. He didn’t keep his promise. It was still raining but softer now. I didn’t get up and look out the window, though. I didn’t want Daddy to be mad. I didn’t want him to know that I knew the truth. He was going to the garage. He must have to clean, I had thought, as I drifted to sleep.

  When I woke up this morning, Daddy was already in the kitchen. His eyes were dark, and his face stubbly. But he was smiling, making breakfast for us. He was happier. I don’t know what it is, but the garage makes him smile more. Maybe he should go in there more often. Why does he wait so long? Maybe last night fixed Daddy. I’m still mad he left during the storm. It scares me to be alone. Maybe some time he’ll let me go with him. I wish he would.

  I don’t think so. I don’t think Daddy wants me knowing what goes on out there.

  It’ll be our secret, Diary. Our little secret that we know what Daddy does out there. Secrets. Secrets. Secrets. We all have secrets. My teacher says not to keep secrets. Grandma says secrets don’t make friends. Either way you look at it, it seems like secrets are bad.

  But I don’t like my teacher, and Grandma is horrible, too. I think secrets can be fun, and I don’t have any friends except Daddy. Daddy and I both have secrets . . . and no one knows them but me. I just giggled a little bit at the thought. It feels good to know something others don’t. I like knowing more than they do. I like the secrets I get to keep.

  Stay Safe,

  Ruby

  October 28, 2009

  6:57 p.m.

  Dear Diary,

  I finally did it. I finally got to see it all.

  Well, not all. I got to see the ending part. I got to see how he cleans. And it was so pretty. I loved it. I wished I could help. I have it memorized so I could tell you, Diary. I wish you could have seen it.

  I knew Daddy was going to go out when he tucked me in. He had on his boots, the ones he had on the other night when it stormed. He was also shaking when he read to me. I know when his hands shake when he reads, it’s a garage night—or at least close to one. I almost asked him to go along. I asked if I had to go to bed.

  “Stick to the schedule, Ruby. You don’t want to be off schedule,” he said. He looked surprised I was asking. I nodded. I wanted to go with him, but he was right. Schedules are important. And I could tell he had a schedule of his own, one he didn’t want me to know about. But I know all about the schedules he keeps, don’t I, Diary?

  I waited and waited. I almost fell asleep. I let my mind dance over memories of me and Daddy to keep myself from falling asleep. Finally, I heard his truck pull in. I heard him click open the truck, but I stayed quiet. I didn’t want Daddy getting mad that I wasn’t sleeping. I heard him moving around the garage. Good thing no one is around to hear it. I don’t think Daddy wants anyone to see him working. It’s private. Good thing we live far away from everyone and Grandma doesn’t like to drive at night. We are alone, just the way Daddy needs it. That makes me gl
ad.

  After a while, I couldn’t wait anymore. I needed to see him clean. I imagined the red, swirling puddles of it all about. I imagined how clean it would be when he was done, everything in its place. I wanted to be a part of that, to know how he did it. I couldn’t wait anymore.

  I was very quiet like a mouse when I snuck out. Not like the stupid one in the book we’re reading in school, but an actual, quiet mouse. Except I didn’t even squeak, not at all. I was silent, silent, silent like a sneaky shadow or a gentle breeze that barely moves the flowers. I needed to make sure I didn’t get caught. I didn’t know what Daddy would do if he saw me. So slowly, quietly, I crept downstairs. I edged out the door and around the house, the back side. I counted my steps, careful and calm. The hard part would be getting to the back of the garage. I had to sneak. I snuck along the ground, low and quiet, fast fast fast. I made it to the back, clinking of metal telling me Daddy wasn’t done yet.

  I got to my spot behind the garage, to my little hole that lets me peek. Daddy’s back was to me, but when he moved to put stuff away, I got to see the lady.

  Black hair. Short. She laid on the table Daddy had, quiet quiet quiet. I wondered if she was trying to not make Daddy mad, too. It looked like part of her was on the floor. But once my eyes saw the red, all the red, I didn’t notice anything else.

  I watched Daddy for a long time, the way he worked so carefully. The way he soaked up the red as the smell of bleach spread. Bleach everywhere. He worked for so long, bagging things up.

  After a long long time, when my eyes were heavy, he took the black bags outside. I heard the wheelbarrow move that is beside the garage. I looked at my watch. It was 3:45 a.m. So late. I crept along the side of the garage. He was driving, but not down the driveway towards the road. He was pushing the red wheelbarrow into the woods on the dirt path we sometimes walk on. Where was he going? I wanted to follow him. I wanted to see how he finished the cleaning. But I knew I had to get back to my room. He would maybe be done soon, and I couldn’t have him finding me. I looked one more time at the spotless floor, at the clean, clean, clean. Not a spot to be seen. That rhymed. My teacher would be proud.

  No one would know that lady was here, I suspected. The red was only in my memory now, like a treasure of my very own. I thought of this lady’s splotches, how they were oddly shaped and swirled compared to last time. I loved how you never knew what the puddles would look like. It was like a painting on the floor, different every single time. And I felt like Daddy wanted it that way. I smiled. I could keep a secret. I was good at sneaking and at keeping secrets. I barely talked to anyone except Daddy, and if he didn’t want to talk about his garage game, then neither would I.

  I dashed back in the house, thinking about all of the red going away, about how good Daddy was with that rag and that bucket and those bags. His garage was perfect, beautiful. All the tools were lined right back up. It’s like that lady was never there. Clean and pure and perfect.

  Last night, after I tucked myself in and fell asleep, I had dreams, Diary. I don’t remember much about them, but I know they were of red. I could smell and taste and hear all the red.

  This morning, Daddy was in a good mood.

  His garage game went well. I’m happy for him.

  Stay Safe,

  Ruby

  Little cat

  With soft white hair

  With no care

  Do you dare

  You are rare

  Your ear has a tear

  Red everywhere.

  ~Ruby

  Part II

  2010

  8 years old

  June 11, 2010

  6:57 p.m.

  Dear Diary,

  It happened again last night.

  It’s been so long. I’d almost thought Daddy was done with his game in the garage because he hasn’t been out there in so long. Or I haven’t seen him if he was. Of course Mrs. Lansberry, my teacher, gives us so much homework this year. I am always so tired. Maybe I missed Daddy’s game—but I don’t think so. It’s like something switched off in Daddy, like he didn’t need the garage anymore.

  And then suddenly he did.

  I hate that Mrs. Lansberry gives us homework. I have better things to do than write stupid sentences with the horrible, dumb words she picks for us. But maybe I’m just angry because I don’t like Mrs. Lansberry, period. Just like last year’s teacher, Mrs. Lansberry thinks I’m an odd kid because I never talk and I don’t have friends. But she doesn’t know about you, Diary. You’re my friend. You and Daddy. I talk plenty—just not out loud.

  School is almost done for the summer. That will mean I have to go to day camp while Daddy works. It’s at the YMCA. Daddy says it will be good because there’s a pool and fun things to do, but I think he might be stretching the truth. I think he just hopes maybe I’ll make friends and teachers like Mrs. Lansberry won’t think I’m so odd then. I understand why Daddy would want that.

  It will be a nice change from school. It’s better than school because we don’t get grades and the stupid teachers aren’t there. But it’s also not better because the kids are even louder there. At least I won’t have homework. Or speeches. And at least this year, Daddy isn’t making me stay with Grandma. Two years ago, before Daddy found the day camp, I spent the summer with her, and it was terrible. She asks tons of questions about Daddy. It makes me mad. I don’t want her butting in between us. She needs a hobby besides knitting me scratchy, ugly sweaters. Daddy made me wear one once to her house, and she was so proud. When I got home, I cut it with scissors. Daddy didn’t yell. He laughed. He agreed with me when I said the sweater was ugly. I think Grandma makes him mad sometimes too.

  Last night, I was drifting off to sleep after Green Eggs and Ham. Daddy bought it for me for Christmas. He thought maybe it would be good to try something new, even though I don’t like new things. But I like the green eggs and the ham. I asked Daddy if we could try green eggs. He smiled and said yes. I don’t know if I’ll like them, they have to be cooked just right. No slimy texture. Yuck.

  As I was falling asleep, I heard Daddy slink downstairs and close the front door. My heart beat wildly. I peeked out and saw his truck pulling away. I couldn’t believe it.

  He must be playing the game again, I realized. It had been so long, but I still hadn’t forgotten. For so, so long, I’ve waited to hear him go out, to see him working in that garage. It’s been hard to be patient, to not ask him about it. I’ve missed it, in truth. All that red, so pretty I can almost taste it, feel it, hear it.

  I hurriedly shoved my feet into my red boots—Daddy also bought me a new pair of those last month. The old ones were tight. My feet are growing, growing. I walked downstairs and outside and went to my spot, the familiar little peeping spot in the back of the garage. It had been so long.

  Daddy came back a long, long time later—it was 2:09 a.m., my watch told me— and he carried her in. She was wearing a pretty red dress, her long blonde hair pulled up into a ponytail. It looked a little frizzy, like it wasn’t quite perfect anymore. It bothered me. Her dress was pretty. I almost squealed out loud. I loved red. Did she know how perfectly it would match the splotches on the ground? It’s like she must have known. Just like before, he put a rope around her neck. The same rope. He has it tucked in a drawer in his toolbox. He strung her right up in the same spot and took her picture with the camera. Wow. Maybe Daddy wants to be an artist and this is his way of capturing the moment? If I were him, I’d rather take a picture of the red splotches. They’re prettier.

  If I could, I would also take a picture of his face when they’re strung up. He always looks for a long time, really sad but also happy somehow.

  After a long time of staring, he took her down and put the rope away. He carried her across the garage. I saw him place her on the table, pull out the tools, and start working on her. Once, Daddy was watching a doctor show on TV. They were doing surgery. It looked like Daddy was doing that. Maybe he was a doctor once. I should ask him.

>   There was blood running down her head and into her hair, coloring her ponytail. I noticed when Daddy went over to get his tools. Everything was the same. He carried out the game perfectly. I won’t bore you with the same details even though I love replaying them in my head, even when I’m at school. But here’s the exciting part—I got to see what happens after. Like after, after. The whole thing.

  I was scared because I knew Daddy would be mad if he saw me. But I couldn’t help it. When Daddy finally was done and loaded her into the wheelbarrow at 4:32 a.m., I crept behind. The wheelbarrow is a rusty red color, not shiny like I like. Daddy loaded it up with the bags and then started wheeling it away, past the garage and into the woods. His muscles bulged as he pushed the wheelbarrow. There’s a little trail. It’s bumpy, but I know where it goes. We walked there sometimes when I was younger. Daddy likes the field at the end of the path. It isn’t too far back, but it’s a beautiful little clearing. The grass grows high, past my waist. The field is peaceful, and I always liked picking wildflowers there. One time, we even found a lost dog out there, a big, brindle dog. It looked like the dog in the book series I love to read at the library. They’re called Henry & Mudge books, but this dog was speckly unlike Mudge. Daddy said he was called a mastiff. Daddy had leaped between us when it came near me, though, and the dog ran back into the woods. It was scary, but I liked how big the dog was. I asked Daddy if we could get one, but he said he was too busy to take care of a dog. Maybe the dog could’ve helped him, but maybe not. But the field was always so beautiful. Peaceful, serene, and quiet other than the time the mastiff was there. Just how I like it.

  I didn’t know it was where he finished the game. That changes so much, but also it changes nothing. It’s still beautiful, I suppose.

  Last night, I got to see him work in the field. I knew I should go back in to the house, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted to see it all. The moon was shining down, and it was so magical looking. It was chilly and the air bit my cheeks. I had to wait for a while, give Daddy a head start so he didn’t see me. It was so hard to wait because I wanted to walk with him. I love the trail on a regular day, but at night, it was even more exciting. More quiet.