The Diary of a Serial Killer's Daughter

by L. A. Detwiler

  Daddy’s watching TV. His hands are shaky and he looks angry. I hope the principal takes care of this whole situation for Clarissa’s sake. Because if he doesn’t, I think for the first time, there might be a familiar face in the garage game.

  I can’t say I would mind. I don’t know what the other ladies did to end up in Daddy’s game, but I know Clarissa is one who has done plenty to deserve a worse death than Daddy gives. In fact, she doesn’t even deserve the garage game, the beauty in the dance of it. She doesn’t deserve the peaceful field under the beautiful tree with the gorgeous women.

  She deserves much, much worse. My neck itches at the thought.

  Tonight, when Daddy is sleeping, I have an important job to do. I need to take the knife back to the kitchen so Daddy doesn’t notice. Partially, I’m returning it because I’m not as afraid. Not with the principal knowing about the situation and with Aaron there to keep an eye out.

  But there’s another reason, Diary. Another reason I’m putting it back.

  My hands are feeling itchy. They’ve been wanting to grab that knife all day. They’ve wanted to track down Clarissa’s house and bury it deep in her—for saying those things about Daddy. For spreading bad lies.

  And most of all, they’ve been starving for a reason to paint a bloody masterpiece of their very own.

  Stay Safe,

  Ruby

  A trembling voice

  Rattles through her skin

  Her fingers are tempted

  With the divine hunger

  Cool metal,

  Silky and scorching,

  Calls to her

  Dying brain.

  Piercing,

  Cutting,

  Stabbing,

  Stroking.

  Death’s dance

  Has a rhythm

  Of its own.

  Red smears

  Decay into black.

  A dark soul

  Tinged by a

  Scarlet goodbye.

  October 22, 2018

  7:57 p.m.

  Dear Diary,

  The weekend dragged by like a wayward train that gets lost on its own tracks. I couldn’t stop thinking about Aaron and the mess at school. I couldn’t stop wondering what would happen to Clarissa. I couldn’t stop studying Daddy, the hatred in his eyes palpable from across the room. He hates Clarissa. I don’t blame him. I do, too. I haven’t seen what Daddy does to people he hates—but I have a really good idea that it isn’t pretty.

  I thought Daddy would go out this weekend the way he was shaking all over. He didn’t, though, staying and stewing in his venomous animosity instead. I wonder if he was afraid to leave me with all that’s happened. I did notice him on his computer a lot. When I would come over, he would turn the screen. I wonder if Clarissa’s video has made its rounds despite the principal’s promise to Daddy that it was taken down.

  I go back to school tomorrow. Daddy told me I could take another day off, but honestly, I’m bored. I thought being alone at home with Daddy would be great. But I miss school. Correction. I miss Aaron. It’s weird how he inserted himself into my life and now he’s become sort of important.

  Not as important as Daddy. Obviously. But I realize that he does make things better.

  I just hope he’ll talk to me. I hope he’s not believing the video. I hope he hasn’t realized what he should have long ago—talking to me is trouble. It’s suicide. He should probably stop.

  What makes him talk to me anyway? I often wonder. There are so many other people. Why me?

  There are a lot of mysteries in life. How Grandma is still alive and no one has murdered her—she stopped by yesterday, having heard rumors about the video from her blabbering friends. She brought a rhubarb pie for us. Disgusting. She stayed and forced Daddy to make her coffee and talked on and on about how in her day, there weren’t such horrific occurrences because they didn’t have technology. She then proceeded to ramble about a woman at Bingo, her arthritis, and other things Daddy and I couldn’t care less about. She always has impeccably bad timing. But Grandma’s mindless chatter isn’t the biggest mystery in my life, not at all.

  There’s the mystery surrounding Mama. I haven’t forgotten about it despite all of the other chaos.

  There’s the mystery surrounding the women I write poetry with in the field.

  But above all, lately, I’ve been thinking about the mystery with Aaron. What drives him to talk to me?

  Grandma always says if something seems to be too good to be true, it is.

  Maybe Aaron is too good to be true. Maybe he’s just like the rest of them. I hope not. Because if that were the case, I don’t know what I’d do. I think the pent-up anger I keep swallowing would spew out. I think I might be uncontrollable with sadness and hurt and rage, all rolled into one. I think that would be a dangerous concoction.

  Sometimes I think that’s what’s going on with Daddy. Sadness and hurt and rage. I think it’s Mama’s fault. I don’t think she was as good of a woman as Daddy claims. From what I’ve read in the paper, everyone thought she was perfect. But they haven’t read the things I have.They haven’t seen those lines from her Diary.

  There is something severely wrong with me, in truth.

  Anyone would say sure, to commit suicide, something has to be wrong. That’s not normal behavior. What is normal, anyway? I could argue. Regardless, I think about the other lines. The other words Mama wrote. I don’t think suicidal tendencies were the only thing wrong with her. I think there was something else.

  Me.

  That hurts, to be honest. Which I try to be these days except when it’s necessary to lie.

  It just makes me think. And I’d never say this to anyone else, Diary. But if even Mama thought there was something wrong with me, if even Mama was driven to extreme lengths to escape me, how could anyone else love me? How could Daddy? How could Aaron?

  Maybe I’m a hopeless case. Maybe, like Mama, my life is a shitshow.

  Maybe I should’ve let Tiffany Glasgow crush me. Maybe Daddy would bury me in the field and it wouldn’t be so bad after all. And, this is the hardest part to admit. Maybe, just maybe, even Daddy would be better off without me.

  Stay Safe,

  Ruby

  October 23, 2018

  8:57 p.m.

  Dear Diary,

  Thinks are looking up. I almost want to scratch out the darkness from the past few entries. But I can’t. I know they’re a part of my story. I can’t just pretend those thoughts didn’t exist. That wouldn’t be truthful. But today, I’m seeing things much more clearly. Things aren’t so bad. They’re fine, actually.

  For one, Aaron did talk to me. And as much as I hate to admit that I was clinging to the hope that he would, I know now that I’m relieved. He sat with me at lunch, and things weren’t even awkward. He filled me in on the mundane occurrences in the school on Friday and about his weekend—he’s in mock trial, and they had a competition. He didn’t even bring up Clarissa or the video. I thought about just leaving it go like the typical Ruby would. Keeping my lips sealed, pretending none of it happened. But I knew that I couldn’t. I knew this was different, that Aaron was different.

  So I’d asked him. “The video . . .” I murmured. It wasn’t what I’d wanted to say, what I’d rehearsed in my head. But they were the only words I could get out.

  “Ruby, we don’t need to talk about it. Those girls are awful. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

  “It’s not true,” I managed to murmur as I eyed my chicken tenders on my plate, pushing them around aimlessly with the plastic fork.

  “I know,” he said, reaching his hand towards mine but stopping it right on the table near mine. He let his pinkie float over and lightly brush against mine. I looked up at him, into those eyes that exuded kindness and joy and understanding.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, my chest heaving with nervous tension and the inhalations I couldn’t slow down. And then Aaron did the best thing. He moved on, talking about a book he read on Wo
odrow Wilson last night and about presidential debates and all sorts of things I don’t care about.

  It didn’t matter though. Listening as he yammered on about his life, his average, not-so-grand life, I was entranced. And for a moment, I realized that it could all be okay. That there was life beyond the moment with Clarissa, beyond the confusion of the garage and the itch in my hand. Aaron quieted the urges I’d felt to hold that knife, to create a blood-stained masterpiece. Aaron made me think about other choices, possibilities.

  And most of all, Aaron didn’t make me feel like thinking about it was a betrayal of Daddy. For a moment, I could picture something I’d never dared to imagine—a life beyond our home, a life beyond my bedroom, a life beyond Daddy.

  A life with the redhead who loved presidents, politics, and talking about cars.

  A life with the redhead who knew my limits and respected them.

  A life with the redhead who could make me feel like it might all turn out okay, that I wasn’t a monster, and that I wasn’t that different after all.

  I was allowed to skip gym class and go to study hall instead. I decided to go anyway. Maybe it was my good mood brought on by Aaron or maybe it was my good mood brought on by the fact that Clarissa was suspended for ten days. Tiffany Glasgow had been expelled.

  Regardless, nothing seems so bad, Diary. Even Daddy’s resuming his schedule as normal. He’s out right now, told me he’d be back in a few hours. I think he’s out scoping, his shaking hands telling me what’s coming.

  But I know it will be okay. Daddy’s smart. He looks more focused.

  And to be honest, I could use a good killing game round to boost my mood even more.

  Stay Safe,

  Ruby

  October 24, 2018

  7:57 p.m.

  Dear Diary,

  Aaron offered to drive me home from school today, but I said no. I need to ease into this whole vision of us thing. I need to go slow. Plus, I actually enjoy riding the bus now that Clarissa is suspended. I sit in the backseat staring out the window. Daddy got me headphones so I can listen to classical music and relax. It’s my time to think, to let my mind dance over the day’s events.

  Plus, if I ride the bus home, there’s the long walk home by myself. It’s a serene walk through the wooded lane to our house, and it cleanses my soul from the harsh realities of the school building. It makes me feel better breathing in the fresh air and being lost with my thoughts in nature.

  Things today, though, were different.

  I don’t know if it’s all the thinking about Mama or that I’m on edge because of the Clarissa incident and the fact that Daddy’s killing game has me nervous he’ll get caught. Or maybe it’s because I let my mind flirt with the possibility of letting Aaron in, of seeing where things go with him. I’m just a ball of nerves, of anxiety, and of fear.

  I was walking up the lane, and I got a chill. My eyes darted around, but there was no one. I don’t know what it was, but I got this eerie suspicion that someone was nearby. A branch crackled to my right halfway up the lane. I stopped, wishing the knife was in my boot. My breathing intensified as I listened. There was nothing.

  I shook my head. What an idiot. It was just my overwrought imagination playing tricks. I really needed to get a grip.

  I shook it off, Diary, and Daddy and I had a decent night. We settled into our routine. He wasn’t shaking today, and everything just seemed normal.

  Normal. Calm. Peaceful.

  Is this how most families are?

  Aaron said maybe sometime I could come over for dinner. I don’t know. I don’t like eating certain foods, I hate meeting new people, and I guess a part of me is still reserved with him.

  Grandma’s words keep echoing. If something seems too good to be true . . .

  And it’s not just Aaron. It’s me. Maybe I’m afraid that Aaron will realize I’m too good to be true. Maybe if he saw me, the real me, he wouldn’t be so interested.

  Maybe if he saw the words flowing through my head, the stories I could tell, maybe he’d be something else entirely.

  Stay Safe,

  Ruby

  October 26, 2018

  9:57 p.m.

  Dear Diary,

  Diary, it’s my turn to play. I know now that it is absolutely my turn.

  My side is throbbing. I re-examine the bruises, the marks that I’ve kept hidden.

  They’re a reminder that Clarissa unknowingly took things to the next level, but I wasn’t ready.

  I didn’t tell Daddy about the marks, about the hurt. I had simply headed inside to the bathroom to take care of it myself, doing my best to hide the limp, the pain I felt with every inhale. I tried to be strong like I hadn’t been earlier. I didn’t want Daddy thinking he’d raised a weak girl. He’s the master. I need to be worthy of the game.

  I couldn’t tell him the truth. Luckily, he’s distracted anyway, by his insatiable addiction to the game. At least I know he’ll be going out again, letting me exact my revenge soon.

  I couldn’t tell him what really happened—because if he found out, he would kill her. He would slice her throat, slaughter her like a deceased cow, and chuck her into the forest like the roadkill she is. There’s nothing wrong with that. I would like to see her at my father’s mercy. But, well, there is just one slight issue.

  I want to be the one to make her pay. I need to be the one to feel her perfect little body writhe underneath my fingertips, to watch her red pour out into a tumultuous display of evil and beauty mixed together as a final goodbye.

  It’s finally, undoubtedly my time.

  Gone are the dreams of a new life I thought I could choose. Gone are the whimsical, fantastical images of Aaron and me starting a new life beyond these walls, beyond the killing game. My heart pangs a little at the thought of what might have been if life was different, if people were different, if I was different.

  Different in a good way.

  But I’m not. I’m different in a bad way, as Clarissa has made known.

  And now it’s my turn to take up the family business, to pick up the reins, and take care of things myself.

  My hands shake, not with the fear they shook with yesterday afternoon.

  They shake with a hunger, a passion, a desire to make her pay.

  I think back to yesterday, how naïve and innocent I was walking home from the bus stop, down the winding pathway. I think about how shocked I was as I approached the house and saw Clarissa running at me from the direction of the field. Daddy’s field. My field.

  I think about the rage that usurped all rational thought. What was she doing there? What did she find? This was my field, Daddy’s field. I would kill her before I let her hurt him. I needed to protect him.

  But I didn’t get the chance. Before I could process what was happening or react, Clarissa grabbed my hair. She threw me to the ground, the air once again leaving my lungs as pain shot through me. Flashes of the locker room came to my head, but I knew this was different. There was no protection, however weak it might’ve been, of the four school walls.

  There was no protection for Daddy’s secret, which was the worst thing of all.

  There was just Clarissa, kicking me in the ribs over and over and over again. The pain was unbearable, my breath unattainable. I shrieked and shielded myself, wanting nothing more than to put an end to it. To put an end to Clarissa. All the while, my mind raced with the possibilities of what Clarissa had found. With Daddy’s secret threatened.

  Clarissa screamed like a wild beast about how I’d ruined her life. How she’d make me pay, and how if I didn’t stay away from Aaron, worse things would come. The whole time I gasped for air, the only thing I worried about was: Had she been in our field? Had she seen our secrets?

  “How did you find me?” I croaked out.

  “What do you mean? Everyone knows where the freak lives. And everyone knows that you walk home alone.”

  I remember back to the other day, when I had that eerie sensation of being watched. How long has s
he been watching me? Us? How much has she seen?

  Clarissa just stared at me with smugness oozing.

  “You fucking bitch. You’re going to pay for what you’ve done.”

  Clarissa kicked me once more, her foot’s contact with my side making me cry out in pain this time.

  “This isn’t finished,” Clarissa mouthed. “I’ll be back, and I’ll kill you if I have to. Stay the fuck away from Aaron.”

  And with those words, I knew what was at stake. I could deal with the physical pain. I could deal with the bullying. But I couldn’t deal with her threat. I couldn’t let her risk everything Daddy had worked so hard for.

  Daddy’s been in the garage more frequently. The cops are on the lookout for a serial killer, trying to piece together clues. And Clarissa has now come onto our property, has inserted herself into a secret she can’t be privy to. I can’t risk her coming back and seeing what Daddy’s done. I can’t ruin everything that Daddy’s worked so hard for.

  I can’t let Clarissa ruin it all. I’ll do what I have to do to save him, just like he did for me.

  When she left, I dragged myself to my feet and limped inside. Daddy still wasn’t home. He was running late. For once, I was glad.

  After cleaning myself up, I lay in bed, thinking about all that had happened. Thinking about Clarissa and her threats. Thinking about Mama and the diary. Thinking about her red hair cascading down her back in the picture. Thinking about all the women decaying in the ground. And most of all, I lay there thinking about the animalistic thirst in me to kill, to dismember, and to bury.

  Thinking about how the bloodlust rising inside of me is so exciting, so enthralling.

  I’ll do it all like he taught me. Just like Daddy taught me.

  Clarissa took things to a new level today. She’d branded me with the bruises, had tried to scare me with threats. She didn’t deserve to do that. Daddy is the master of the game. I’m his understudy. Not her.

  But soon, soon I’ll scar her with the promise of death. I’ll watch all of her red spill out, a splash of her that I get to control.