The Diary of a Serial Killer's Daughter

by L. A. Detwiler

  At least the weasel-like principal listened. He’s suspending Clarissa for ten days. But what does that matter? She’s still won. I had to get my hair cut today when Daddy couldn’t get the gum out. I look like a boy. I’ve lost Mama’s beautiful, wavy hair.

  Maybe it’s a good thing. After all I know about Mama now, do I really want to look like her? She was weak and pathetic. She thought I needed to get away from Daddy. I’m glad she didn’t win. I’m glad she killed herself so I can be here with Daddy. I don’t think she was as good of a woman as he would like to think. Memory taints reality, that’s what our history teacher said once. He also talks about how the victor tells the story. I think because Daddy’s still here, he’s painted the story of Mama being a good, loving woman. He feels sorry that she killed herself. He feels guilty. But he shouldn’t. He’s seen her diary. He knows what she was going to do. How could he feel anything for her but hate?

  I run a hand through my ugly hair. I’m still mad. I still think Clarissa needs to pay, severely. But I’m also realizing it might be a blessing in disguise. I’m not Mama’s girl. I’m Daddy’s girl. I will not follow in her footsteps. I’ll follow in his.

  Besides, I’m sure Grandma will hate this haircut, so that makes me a little bit happy. I can’t wait to hear her gasp at the sight of me and demand answers from my father. Maybe she’ll make Daddy so mad that he’ll have no choice but to make her next in the game.

  Sometimes I think about what it would look like, her fleshy, pallid skin falling in chunks to the ground as her face is finally frozen in a permanent silence. I picture all of the lurid cuts, all of the bites into her skin of the sharp saw. It makes me grin, even in the face of all that’s wrong.

  Me and Daddy. That’s all that matters.

  What a glorious story we will write, the two victors after all.

  Stay Safe,

  Ruby

  Invisible girl, see-through and worn.

  Where are you going? When will you get there?

  They don’t even look through you.

  They look completely around you,

  Their weary eyes too drawn

  by the flashing lights

  behind

  and beside

  and in front of

  you.

  You are not them.

  You are not shiny and shouting.

  Quiet and skulking,

  you slink along unnoticed.

  Will they ever see you?

  You watch the world move by you.

  You watch her, with her

  Golden locks

  and perfect thighs

  grabbing their attention

  While you perish in the mud.

  Down,

  down

  you float,

  until only your forehead

  is left out in

  the cold.

  Mud fills

  your lungs,

  and the daffodil

  wilts.

  It is difficult to be

  invisible,

  but more difficult still

  to float

  above them all

  And not

  know

  where

  you

  are.

  September 24, 2018

  9:57 p.m.

  Dear Diary,

  He’s going to get caught.

  That’s what I’ve come to realize. That’s what I’ve come to fear. Even Sweeney Todd couldn’t escape forever and eventually met his demise. Daddy’s ramped up his killing—but there are no pies to hide the bodies in.

  I’ve tried to figure out why Daddy’s killing more and more. Is something in him completely snapped now? Or is it because as I get older, he feels like he doesn’t need to protect me as much? Like there’s not as much of a risk? Or maybe he’s just gotten brazen, gotten arrogant. Or, I am afraid to even write this . . . maybe he’s just lost it completely. I don’t know.

  Sometimes there’s a new lady in the garage every week. Usually on weekends now. He still leaves late at night, when he thinks I’m sleeping. He’s grown complacent, grown comfortable. He figures his daughter is none the wiser, that she’ll never uncover his truth. It makes me shake with anger sometimes that he thinks I’m that naïve. Hasn’t he spent his whole life teaching me that I’m different but smart? Is this a white lie he tells to save our relationship? Because if he really thought I was smart, wouldn’t he realize that I know?

  Stop it, Ruby. Stop it. Stop doubting Daddy. He loves you. He thinks you’re smart. This isn’t about you. Besides, it’s a good thing he doesn’t know. That means you’re a good secret keeper. It’s important to keep his secret so you can help him. This is about keeping him safe, not about you.

  I can’t blame Daddy for what he does. I don’t think he knows the women he kills, not really. How could he? Daddy doesn’t go out that much. I think they’re random. Well, that’s not true. I think they’re carefully chosen as to not be missed. Prostitutes, drifters, women who are on the edges of society. Women like me, who have no friends, who would go unnoticed if they disappear.

  I know, too, that the hanging ritual must be a homage to Mama. Why would he want to do that, though? After what she did, what she almost did? It ticks me off sometimes that he still reveres her. It makes me feel like he’s disloyal to me after all. I shove the journal pages I have memorized aside, though. It’s complicated. I know that’s what Daddy says. But is it?

  Mama killed herself.

  She left me behind, even knowing things might be difficult for me.

  Mama, as I’ve come to realize, never loved me.

  It’s okay. I don’t feel sorry for myself. I never needed her love, in truth. I’m better without it. Daddy’s done a fine job of making me feel loved, safe. I just hope he doesn’t blow it now. Because no matter how old I get, I still need him. Doesn’t he realize that? Why is he risking it all?

  The world’s a lonely place, isn’t it? It’s an unforgiving, daunting place filled with lies and pain. Everyone is out for something for themselves, and no one can be trusted. Even after all this time, I’m still dealing with the same problems at school, the same bullying and cruelties. It’s okay, though. I’ve grown used to it. People are afraid of different. That’s what Daddy says. And how do they deal with that fear? They abuse. They take advantage. They mock. They belittle. I’ve come to learn that the world is full of monsters of the worst variety, and Daddy isn’t even close to being one of them.

  Daddy tells me it’s okay, that after high school, I won’t have to see these people again. He tells me I can live the life I choose. But I don’t think that’s quite true. I know I can’t leave him, not now, not ever. I can’t leave him all alone. What if he needs me? What if he gets caught? He needs me to help protect him, even if he won’t admit it.

  I’ve got to go, Diary. Daddy’s coming to say goodnight. His hands are shaking. I think he’s going out tonight to take out some frustrations, to set some things straight in the world.

  Because when I was young I didn’t understand Daddy’s game, but now I do.

  Darkness prevails in the world. Daddy needs a way to set things right, to get out some of the rage. We all need an outlet. And even if those women might not deserve it—which I’m betting they do—we all need a scapegoat to pay for the sins of others. We all need someone to take the blame.

  We all need some way to set the universe even, to let the darkness balance out.

  Stay Safe,

  Ruby

  September 25, 2018

  7:57 p.m.

  Dear Diary,

  I didn’t really want company, but the boy didn’t ask.

  He just sat down at my lunch table and started talking to me a mile a minute in his Southern drawl—which I find irritating, I might add.

  Apparently, Aaron is from Tennessee and just moved here last week. His dad’s job in construction transferred him here. He used to live in Georgia when he was really young. That’s where he was born. He’s an only child.
He likes cars and wants to be a mechanic or maybe a lawyer because he also likes to argue things. He loves pizza, and pizza only. He packed his lunch so he could bring pizza. And he loves history. He could rattle off all of the presidents in order and tell me what date they were sworn in.

  Not that I asked any of this, of course. Aaron took it upon himself to tell me all of that and more within four seconds of sitting down. It was a ceaseless chant I couldn’t make stop. Still, it was like a train wreck—I couldn’t look away, no matter how much I knew I should.

  Aaron, I think, will be the death of me.

  For all those years I wanted, needed a friend, I now realize that the grass really isn’t always greener on the other side as Grandma likes to say incessantly. I spent my lunch staring at the table, hoping if I ignored him properly, he would go away.

  There were two good things about the boy with pale skin and a motor mouth, though.

  He didn’t ask me any questions. I like that he was fine with my silence even though he isn’t fine with his silence, apparently.

  He has red hair. Really nice, coppery red hair. I like that.

  Aaron walked me to my classes—not that I asked him too. I don’t know why he picked me. I doubt it will last, though. Eventually, he’ll learn from the other kids that Ruby Marlowe in her bright red sneakers or bright red boots is to be avoided at all costs because she is social suicide—I learned that term from Clarissa last week. But my days, like it or not, might not be so empty, at least for a little while. At least until he gets a bit wiser.

  I think that could be good, but it could also be bad. I need to stay focused. Daddy’s been moodier, darker than usual. I think he’s going out again tonight. And if Aaron doesn’t go away, it could be a risk. Letting anyone close is a risk now, I realize. It’s been a blessing, maybe from the universe, that I’ve been secluded all these years. Less interaction with others equates to less chances for me to blow Daddy’s cover.

  He’s what matters. Truly.

  Still, there was something about that coppery hair, the way it fell in his face while he talked with his hands. There’s a lightness about him, a bright aura that is stunningly intriguing. Maybe when you’re surrounded by darkness for so long, the antithesis of it is unignorable. Of course I’ve learned that you never really know what one’s true colors are, not from a distance. Still, the way he talks with his hands and the way he smiles—it’s like there’s a light shining from within. While Daddy seems to have darkness inside that he has to quell, Aaron seems to have lightness that won’t stay put.

  Maybe I should put sunglasses on to block him out. Still, the warmth I felt today—it was confusing. It was a little terrifying.

  It was a little exciting.

  Who knew presidents and cars could be so interesting?

  Clarissa doesn’t seem so happy that the new boy sat with me. On the school bus today—Daddy still takes me in the morning, but I ride bus in the afternoons. I need to be flexible, after all—she tripped me and called me a slut. Told me the new boy would wise up soon. I ignored her, taking my seat in the back. Thank God she’s one of the first bus stops.

  I’m the last, but I don’t mind. It gives me time to think. Plus, there’s a long walk from the bus stop up the lane, through the wooded path, and to the house. The solitude is wonderful, though. It lets me think.

  And today, what did I think about?

  Aaron. The redheaded boy named Aaron who sat with me—me!—and not Clarissa.

  The redheaded boy sat with me.

  Stay Safe,

  Ruby

  October 2, 2018

  9:57 p.m.

  Dear Diary

  Aaron hasn’t gone away. Still. How many days has it been? I’ll have to flip back through your pages to see. But I know it’s been a while.

  I’ve learned more about Aaron. Like that his father actually works with Daddy. It’s weird to think about people other than me knowing Daddy. I don’t know how I feel about that. It seems ridiculous I haven’t thought about it before, but I really haven’t. I guess my isolation makes me think that Daddy is isolated, too. Of course, the truth is, no matter what Aaron’s father thinks he knows, he doesn’t know the whole story. Not even close. What would Aaron think if he knew? Would he still sit with me at lunch? Something tells me he wouldn’t be so apt to sit with me and tell me all about his life. It doesn’t matter though—it’s a moot point. He’ll never find out. I’ll make sure of it. It’s sort of a shame, really, that no one will get to know just how ingenious Daddy is. It makes me a bit sad for him. He’s an artist in hiding, a prodigy who never gets to show off his brains.

  But I see them. I see you, Daddy. I know what you’re capable of.

  Daddy actually went out last night. I decided to sneak down and watch, for old time’s sake. I have the garage dance memorized, of course. It hasn’t changed, not since the remodel. There’s still the strangling, the noose, the photograph. The butchering, the blood, the cleaning. Last night, I was feeling especially intrigued, though.

  The woman had red hair. Bright, coppery red hair like Aaron’s. Like mine. I especially am intrigued when it’s a redhead. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because Daddy seems more passionate, too, when it’s a redhead. He takes his time more. He stands and stares at the noose a little longer. His hands shake a little more, too. I like that.

  I even followed him to the field last night. Quiet as a mouse, as always. I watched for a long time. Daddy’s so used to the routine, he doesn’t seem as nervous anymore. I think he figures if I haven’t noticed by now, I never will. He’s comfortable in his habits, which I understand. So many people value variety, but there’s so much to be said for predictability. It’s safe, just like I like it.

  Daddy has his dance down to a science, has the killing game mastered. It’s peaceful now. There’s no hurrying, no looking over his shoulder like when I was younger. There’s just him and his work, and me the silent, adoring spectator.

  It’s interesting, I thought last night when I crawled into bed. Never boys. Never men. Always women. I suppose it makes sense. I know there’s an attraction involved in his work; the women he picks are always gorgeous, plump, and lustworthy. Maybe that’s why he never brings live women home, into our house. Grandma was asking him the other week if he ever gets lonely, mentioning that men have needs. He grew angry and brushed her off, said he didn’t need anyone. I guess in a way it’s true. Daddy finds his own women and satisfies himself on his own terms.

  Last night, though, watching, I wondered if I were to follow in his footsteps, would I choose women, too? Like Daddy? No. It didn’t feel right. I thought about Aaron, resting on the table in the garage. I thought about what it would be like to watch the blood drip to the floor. There, there. That seems better.

  Boys it would be. Boys for me.

  If I were to follow in his footsteps, of course. For now, I’m content watching. Watching Daddy. He’s the master. I can’t compete with him. We all have a role to play. We learned that in science class today when we were talking about ecosystems. We all have a part to play. Protector. Secret keeper. That’s my role. That’s me.

  And that’s why when Aaron asked if he could come over and study for our science test tonight, I shook my head no. I don’t have people over, I said.

  “Ever?” he asked.

  “Ever.” The word was pointed and attacking. I didn’t want him thinking there was room to budge or that I would be flexible.

  He said that was weird. I didn’t reply, nor did it bother me. I’m used to being called weird, immune to it even. Besides, I know it’s not weird. It’s necessary. Guests mean unwarranted risks. Because invited guests sometimes become uninvited guests. And if that ever happened at the wrong time . . .

  Daddy’s careful of course. That’s why his work is late. That’s why the garage is locked. But we’ve had some close encounters with unexpected visits from Grandma. Last week, she decided to swing by after a late round of cards with her haggard friends. Daddy’s hands
were shaking. I knew he had somewhere to be.

  Grandma stayed and talked and talked and talked, and we couldn’t even kick her out with the thinly veiled excuse of us having work and school the next morning—it was a Friday. She stayed and yapped, and Daddy brooded and shook. It was a bad mix. For a while, I thought maybe Grandma’s flappy lips would be silenced. I imagined what the noose would look like around her jiggly, loose neck. It made me laugh out loud. Grandma thought I was laughing at her dumb joke about a bar and a horse.

  Still, Grandma’s big fat nose sticking in our business is tiresome and worrisome enough. I won’t add any extra worry to Daddy’s shoulders with guests and visitors to concern him with. I’ll let him think he’s safe. Because he is.

  He will be as long as I’m around.

  Stay Safe,

  Ruby

  October 5, 2018

  9:57 p.m.

  Dear Diary,

  That redhaired boy is dangerous. He needs to disappear. He needs to rest in the field with the others. I can’t take it anymore.

  He came over unannounced. Can you believe it?

  Daddy and I finished dinner and we were watching television. A redheaded prostitute is missing in Dunnsville, which is about twenty miles from here. I recognized the photograph. Daddy stared with intrigue at the television. I saw his smirk when the news lady said there were no leads.

  There never would be. They didn’t stand a chance. My Daddy is too brilliant. I was getting ready to head upstairs to grab my journal. I was planning on going to the field to do my writing, to spend some time by the fresh mound of earth that hides the newest woman. But before I could, the doorbell rang. Daddy answered it. He called me down, confusion and fear hidden behind the stoic expression on his face.

  Aaron. At the door.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “Sorry to drop in. I just wanted to see if you wanted to go with me for a milkshake at that new place in town I was telling you about?”

  I blinked. Daddy cleared his throat. Aaron flipped the red hair out of his face, his hands shoved in his pockets. He stared. I looked over at the yellow truck in the driveway, parked behind Daddy’s.

  My hands started to shake. I didn’t want him here. No. This was wrong. What would Daddy think? I didn’t want Daddy thinking I was inviting strangers over. This would worry Daddy.