Well its been a while since Ive posted anything here so I guess its way past time that I give this blog an update.

Where to start, I guess I’m writing to get some personal things off my chest. I’m in a pretty mono mood, the mood swings have been dying down. So yea, In the past two months I have come off multiple meds and been in recovery for far too long. I miss the old me, the one who felt normal. Even though that normalcy was a product of being numbed by the pills my doctor had me on. After doing research I found out how bad the meds were which prompted me to cease them. To give you some indication, one of the meds I had been taking every day for over 5 years actually KILLED all of the lab-rats during the testing trails but the FDA still approved them. Lovely isn’t it? Blows my mind.

Anyway to make matters even more complicated, a boy started talking to me again. You know the one, there’s no need for me to tell, Ive written about him here many times before. So he confesses that he likes me the same week I quit my meds. For any addict can tell you, this …was bad.

Between the dope-sickness, seizures, erratic mood-swings, night-sweats, shaking …well you get the idea. His telling me this news was one of two things that actually helped take my mind off of the gut wrenching agony that my body continuously stayed in. So whats so bad about that, you may be asking. Nothing, the only bad thing was my reaction.

My best friend Chris gives me a hard time because I have a tendency to subconsciously sabotage every ‘good’ relationship that comes my way. He says I get freaked out and make it impossible for the suitor in question to get through my guarded gates. I suddenly ask the world of them and demand so much from them in an attempt to run them off without actually realizing that I’m doing it.

Now couple that theory with the aforementioned medication problems. I mean how do you even explain that? “Yea I’m acting like a lunatic but I still like you!” Ugh. Hell sometimes I wonder if maybe a really am crazy, but I know its just the ‘draw’ talking. Either way most of the time he doesn’t talk to me on yahoo when I try to hit him up, he may not even get my IM’s I don’t know.

Yet there is always that small nagging voice that tells me I’m a failure and he’s just leading me on. Since he isn’t there to dispute it, well it makes it easy to believe during those lonely nights when im sick and shaking. Especially since I have a terrible tendency to over-think things and dream up the worst. Still tho, I wonder. Am I being led on again? I wish I knew.

Looking up just now I realized that I have the exact same banner for this blog that I had when me and ‘him’ were last talking, I chose it because it reminded me of us. Both there, but too far apart and to scared to touch. Damn. How can so much change in a year and yet other things, no matter how small, remain the same? How can the feelings grow stronger but the actions remain hindered by fear like they always were?

I once asked him ‘If he had good dreams’ one night. He said ‘The only good dreams was those where we could be together.” That was the sweetest thing he ever said to me, I’ll forever remember it. I think maybe its time we both come to terms that maybe, just maybe some dreams were meant to come true. That sometimes we get scared and create our own nightmares instead of letting the lovely dreams unfold as they normally would. Perhaps Im not alone, maybe on some level he sabotages too.

I don’t know, he’s closed off to me nowadays, compared to before I mean. He talks about sex a lot and his store but thats about it really. I think the first one is an escape-type coping mechanism he’s fallin into since our last dance around. Maybe to escape getting hurt. I could be wrong though.

He opened up to me the other night for a bit, that made me happy its been a while since he really talked to me that way. (while Ive been coherent from the draw anyway.) I hope he does it more, he always trusted me I’m just not sure why he doesn’t now. I always liked that he could confide in me and vice versa. I wonder what I did to sway that trust. I wonder what I should do. Should I give up again? Is it time for me to walk away? At this point would he even care? I don’t know blog, I really don’t know what to do anymore. And it really makes me sad, god knows…I need him now more than ever. I need his help getting through this. I was always there during his emo/sad times, or I tried to be. I wish he could be here for mine, I really do. Who knows maybe wishes are meant to come true as well as dreams. Maybe.

All I know is, it hurts. It just…. hurts me. To think, to know, to wonder….how he really feels now that Ive gone all lunatic withdraw crazy on him, if im the only girl he’s talkin to, if he’s playin me….. If I’m just another stupid girl. Adam thought I was and after him, well I’m starting to wonder if maybe he was right. Not in a self pity sense, but in a ‘I keep making the same mistakes’ sense.

Adam is and will always be my biggest regret. Stupid girl.

As for the present boy, sometimes I flash back to the time I house sat for my dad, my heart hurt so badly back then. He wouldn’t tell me then, how he felt or the whole story. He could tell me what it is now though, I wish he’d just write me a big long letter and spill everything. I really wish he would. Even if it held bad news, I would still feel better. I hate not knowing. I hate not understanding where I stand right now. I wonder…am I ever gonna’ make it to his priority list? Or am I on there somewhere already? Or do I stop waiting? I wish he would just tell me all of these things. Or just tell me things he’d personally want me to know. I wish he would just let me know……

(Insert cheesy video that correlates to feelings here….)

I love my blog, it doesn’t judge me ^^

I actually saw a green orb like entity through the camera screen. However, it showed up as blue when I got a good look at the picture. In a rushed attempt I clicked the camera again numerous times trying to catch the green orb.

I was clicking like a madwoman by this point and managed to get a good photo of the orb turning into a streak of light.

(I caught red and orange lights near her head a lot. I often wonder if they actually mess with her head a bit.)

(I’m not sure about this one but I really liked how her life sized grim reaper forms the image of a human head and torso)

(Her ghosts really like the Grim Reaper decor and I find them circling around that a lot.)

(There’s a face in the reflection behind her, look closer)

(See it?)

(It got around my purse a lot)

(Notice the birdlike thing behind her, it protrudes out from the glass. I caught it on the wall in the following frame. Also note the red streaks near her head..again.)

(I love this one. It formed above her head near the ceiling.)

I returned to this investigation for school and I wanted a second go around at this residence after the woman reported more night terrors possibly caused by the spirits. Charley did not appear as clearly as before but I’m still happy that these lights were caught. During the investigation I had trouble keeping my Nikon camera in focus, in the living room only. When checking the bedroom, spare room, and bathrooms my pictures came out clear. No flash was used in any of the rooms. However, in the living room my pictures were rather hard to take, not only did my camera want to run slower but it almost seemed like an entity was obstructing my view. I also set up a recorder but it stopped due to Charley draining the battery after roughly 2 and a half hours. I am still reviewing that footage. Actually my headphones kicked the dust so I have to wait until black Friday before getting a new pair and analyzing the sound clips more. Anyway, I thought I would go ahead and post an update on Charley for those of you who love hunting the paranormal too! So enjoy and I will update on him again as soon as I can!

If you have not seen the first investigation of Charley then go here First Investigation

As everyone knows I am a huge animal lover, cats in particular. One day I even dream of having a business called the “Cat house” and possibly a “Dog house”.  These buildings would be specifically designed houses, drawn up by me, built to cater to the needs of each animal species. IE: cats or dogs. The houses would be spacious enough to hold an allotted amount of animals, no overloads. If the business worked well enough and overcapacity was a problem then a second house would be built nearby. The houses would shelter mainly animals that are sentenced to uthinization and of course, offer adoption to the little one’s left behind at the shelters.

But what about the people who bring animals into their own homes and keep bringing them until hordes of fluffy little kitty’s pile up to the ceiling with the laundry? As we all know this can cause disorders and health problems not only for the owners but for the other healthy cats as well. So the debate goes on, when do you stop? When is having a helping heart only hurting those your heart loves the most?

After searching the internet for a winding ten minuets on Google I found multitudes of pictures about hording animals. I’ll show you a couple here. Now don’t get me wrong, as a cat lover myself it would awfully hypocritical of me to take sides, so my solution? Moderation. Example, “The Cat House”. Anyway, here’s some examples of what’s going on now due to lack of shelters, funding, and help.

(130 cats in one apartment)

Any cat lover knows that our furry friends can often be moody and morose, often wanting to be alone. Animals are a lot like humans, they have complicated personalities and feelings, but how could they get away and gather their thoughts in this lady’s rendition of Kitty Cat New York? They can’t. These little fuzzies have no privacy what so ever. But at least the house isn’t filthy and the kitty’s are taken care of; unlike the picture shown below.

(Whose bright idea was this???)

Which brings me to my second point. The age-old response to these situations is “I’m helping.” But after watching several interviews and being a part of a few myself I have come to notice that it’s often the human psyche attempting to justify a terrible past, or human’s by-passing an issue. Here’s some examples of what I mean.

**By saying, “Oh I gotta watch the cats tonight.” A person can weasel out of a date because they hate failure and don’t want to be let down again by another bad relationship.

**by saying, “At least they love me.” A person could mean they had a bad childhood and want to fill the void of fitting in.

**By saying. “They are always there.” A person could be referring to their loneliness and being abandoned by so many friends.

**By saying, “Helping animals gives me a purpose in life.” Could mean it’s really their purpose or they are simply searching for a reason to live.

So here’s my question. When did saving these beautiful creatures become such a selfish act? When did people decide to save them in order to heal their own hearts rather than healing the hearts of the animals? How is this justifiable? It isn’t. The more people use excuses like the ones above the more cats they will continue to bring home. This isn’t to say these people don’t want to help, they obviously do.

But what is their reasoning? What happened to them? Why do so many people relate to these abandoned animals? Well that’s unique to the individual. But all I ask is this, the next time you see a cute fluffy kitty do this, ponder the reasons WHY. Consider how your other animals will react to a new-comer. Then honestly ask yourself, “Can I find this cat a better home than mine?” Yes, it hurts but you aren’t in this for yourself remember. You’re in it for those adorable little babies who got left behind. Do what’s best for the animals. Ask your friends who share the same love for these creatures that you do. There’s plenty of lost and wandering kitty’s in this world…. So share. Don’t horde.

___________

The name of the town is Hopewell, exact location undisclosed; for a good reason may I add. The town of Hopewell holds many secrets of distorted perception based upon centuries of myth. Many will tell you the inhabitants of Hopewell are simply evil; blasphemous creatures. However, this could be the case in any town, serial killers, murderers and drunkards. However, for Hopewell, the rumors you have heard are probably true.

My name is Claude; I’ve lived in this overly guarded town for the past 112 years. After all, the town has only been in existence that long. Before Hopewell I wandered the earth as a lonely old man. Dying at the tender age of 53 by the hands of an overzealous vampire; I too, was turned into the same kind venomous creature that killed me. Yet Hopewell changed my life; or lack thereof. I suppose Mayor Mae is to thank for that.

Granny Mae as most call her, founded the town of Hopewell. Some believe she named the town Hopewell because of her insistent hope of becoming immortal. Granny Mae, although rigid at heart, wanted a place for the creatures of the night to call home. Luckily for us Granny Mae stumbled upon the key; our redeemer. A creature of the mist, rumored to be living in the Loch of Ness, would hold all of the answers Granny Mae needed. Shortly after finding the creature Granny Mae realized the powers held by the monster were distinctly unnoticed by the main populous of the world. Yes, this creature remained hidden all of this time. But how? You ask. The solution is a simple one. A barrier surrounds the monster even to this day. The barrier serves as protection for the last remaining creature of its kind; cloaking its very existence in an invisible array of admiration.

Yes Hopewell, truly served as a reigning beacon of optimism for many. The creature’s barrier was later used to protect and cloak the town; thus keeping us cursed one’s safe as well. However, there are a select few of us who have come to learn over the past 112 years that danger still lurks in the name of Granny Mae.

Reminiscent of an old elementary school teacher, Granny Mae is a rigid and cold woman to her very core. She built this town mainly for herself, to gain supernatural powers, or at least for the ability to control and wield those who had such powers. Every year my point is proven when the festival draws near and we are sent to scour the lands for sacrifices. Each class of the town holds specific duties as ordered by Granny Mae. Harley, for example, is a werewolf and thus, has been ordered to stand beyond the barriers and guard Hopewell. However, I hold no job. This is in part due to my past relations with the Mayor herself. Yes Granny Mae was once the apple of my white-washed eyes.

The product of our relationship was nothing short of heartbreaking. After years of drinking and gambling on my part Granny kicked me to the curb. However, I was allowed to visit Mayor Mae nine months later when she bore our love child Sydney. How could an ancient vampire such as me and an old woman have children? You may ask. This too, is a simple question to answer. The barrier over the town keeps Granny Mae and other humans here immortal. So Sidney was born as a hybrid; half vampire and half immortal human. Of course the barrier affects him as well. If Sidney or Granny Mae were to leave the comforts of Hopewell they would both die. Even so, Sidney’s life isn’t an easy one. His age progression slows due to the false immortality. Basically Sid ages every seven years.

But now I stand here, on the main street corner in town just outside of the pub. Watching as the creatures of Hopewell bring in their new human recruits; dazed looks sketched upon their unknowing faces. The scattered buildings and homes are decorated in the usual streams of orange and black as the tradition allows. Drunken fiends like myself wonder the streets in search of another buzz while the recruits gather in grand masses.

Tyler, a human serial killer who works as a sheriff walks in front of me, incarcerated victims from other towns following close behind him. The tattooed, scruffy men wear the usual orange jumpsuits of prisoners, thus fitting in rather well with the festival colors. I suppose that’s what multiple personalities and jurisdiction in neighboring counties will get you, a handful of imprisoned sacrifices to show off.

I spot Granny Mae’s pet Jackaby strolling casually beyond Sherriff Tyler and his future victims while a fetching clod of unsuspecting women cling to his broad shoulders. No doubt the women are praying for more than just a dinner and a meal tonight. Jackaby is notorious in the town of Hopewell for his charming looks and sly demeanor. Finding a suitor will never be Jackaby’s curse. At the tender age of 21 Jackaby was, however, cursed enough to die and be changed into a vampire like myself. And so he’s lived on for the past 130 years, being chased by women throughout the world. Yes, Jackaby is one lucky bastard.

In the heart of town, Sarah, a small child known by everyone, holds the hands of worried strangers. Sarah is also a vampire, stuck in the body of a 9 year old girl, she lures adults by pretending to be lost in neighboring towns. “Help!” she screams as her crocodile tears begin to well. “I can’t find my mommy!” Soon people gather and that’s when Sarah knows the herd has taken her bait. Now Sarah stands by Nessie’s pool, the dazed adults behind her barley able to stand under her mesmerizing allure. Sarah’s not new to the game, even though she’s young, being a vampire for only 22 years, her maturity shines throughout the town when she so openly displays her undying love for the much older sheriff Tyler.

Looking up, I see crossing through the town gates, a raven haired Maggie. She treads slowly, holding the hand of a young man who seems slightly more aware than the other victims. Maggie is no sucker when it comes to luring in multiple herds of people, not anymore. For the last few years Maggie has chosen to concentrate on one person for a couple days, stringing them along until they follow her here. I don’t think she likes having to go out of her way to kill humans in order to keep her immortality as Maggie is also a human. However, Maggie is also a charming and well-spoken witch who likes to dabble in dark magic. Her allure and abilities to wield evil forces must have come in handy when retrieving her next victim.

The town’s clock tower chimes twelve consecutive times, letting us know that the festivities are beginning. Personally I am not the kind of person who likes the company of crowds so my feet will remain on the sidewalk until I’m told to leave. However, I doubt anyone will ask such a thing. Even though my drunken title proceeds me, most are too scared to approach me. I have Granny Mae to thank for this as well. I hate socializing and I hate people; dead or alive.

Suddenly appearing beside me, Sidney hands me a bottle of Jack Daniels’s and exclaims his excitement for the annual sacrifices. Granny Mae stands above the crowds, preaching her vows of keeping the town of Hopewell safe for yet another year. The unknowing strangers shift their stances, fumbling like bubbling idiots. From a distance I watch as Maggie whispers what appears to be sweet nothings into the ear of her suitor.

Soon the first victim is placed on a plank and after a series of chants; he willingly jumps into the pool where Nessy awaits. Crowds of creatures cheer and jest, as streamers and confetti light the air in tangerine splashes. Beside me Sidney bellows his approval. Sarah leads her humdrum followers to the pit as they gather in a single file line and begin their descent to death. However, behind the crowds Maggie still stands, holding the hand of the young boy. Julian I believe she called him, a worried look bestowed upon her beautiful and seemingly young features. “Run!” I hear her whisper in a hushed voice to the one named Julian. The two of them scurry beyond the crowds, who still cheer and chant in approval of Sarah’s unwavering abilities at mesmerism. Silently, I watch as Maggie and Julian’s heads quickly dart above and below the herds of overly excited people. Bobbing and weaving as they run into an alleyway. I vaguely hear them whispering about their intents of escaping Hopewell. I suppose Maggie fell for her sacrifice this time around but escaping Hopewell will be her true sacrifice. I wish both of them luck and continue to watch the sacrifice ritual.

Through the remainder of the night two hundred victims were sacrificed in the name of keeping the barriers up. The town of Hopewell completely trashed and scattered by the hordes of overly eager creatures. Another year of anticipated safety has been set into motion and us, the creatures of the night, will remain unseen in the realms of Hopewell for another 365 days. So after all of this you may be wondering why I have revealed to you the secrets of our kind. I simply tell this story as a message, a warning. Do not look for us, do not search. We cannot be found. We will not be found. And if you dare try, I warn you, it will be you who ends up walking the plank as our next sacrifice!

As some of you may know Ive been seeing a boy for about five months now. I’ll admit he can be a hand full at times but there’s no worse time then when his ex pops up. She is still in his cell phone and they are still friends online. He won’t delete her so there’s no need to ask, even though he says they don’t talk. That doesn’t make sense to me. More often than not, he defends it. She calls, she texts, and she leaves persistent comments on his page and even his online game applications; speaking sweet nothings and asking about him. Everywhere I go I have to see her face. Even my own homepage on Myspace, as she constantly stalks my page and MySpace tells me. She completely disregards my comments and my blatant attempts to let her know I’m his girlfriend. If I ask him to delete her comments so i don’t have to see them he gets offended and blames me for ever having looked at his profile page which is ridiculous. That’s like not looking at ur friends pages on Facebook! He wont let me send her a message, says it’ll cause drama. He says I shouldn’t care about her but how could I not? How could I not be offended by such lack of class? His ex knows that I am his girlfriend yet she keeps on and he won’t defend me. Truth is, i feel like he never would, in any case.

He is such a fighter at heart, always ready to defend himself. But would he ever stick up for me? That’s a big thing for me, no one has ever defended me, especially a boy. If he were to do this I would probably cry out of sheer joy. I just don’t think he will. He didn’t even try to text me last week when I left, it was me who texted him. And now I’m worried, trying to hide my Facebook page and my blog on here, hoping she wont try to mess w/ my writings. I know thats being really paranoid but this girl has no respect at all!

Do you know what really bothers me? The fact that she only does it because my boyfriend is her back up plan. She’ll take vacations from calling or writing, trying to race after another boy. Then when it doesn’t work out she goes strait back to my boyfriend. But he has no idea!! Why he won’t delete her I don’t know. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t talk to her much but that’s me relying on faith and hope. Ive seen no proof. I prob never will and for the rest of our days I will have to keep being interrupted during the most intimate times with my boyfriend by calls/texts/comments from her. Its sad really. Things have been so rocky with us anyway and I almost left him last week. Now this again, I just don’t know how much more I can take. I only wish he could see how much it hurts my feelings and try to understand why. Try to see my point of view.

So I come here, having nowhere else to go and no one to talk to about it. I come here to vent, without ridicule and being made to feel stupid. I come here to cry feeling like she will always defeat me. I come here because aside from leaving him, I have no more options left.

As some of you may know I decided to take a Horror and Supernatural Lit class this semester. Of course it evolves around ghost hunting ect., but also writing and movie making. So from here on out you will probably see a lot of posts with “Horror Class Writings in the title.”

Also, I wanted to say that this particular style of writing is entirely new to me. As a writer, though, I feel its necessary to go out on a limb and try something new. Our professor has asked us to go the extra mile and write the most gruesome and horrifying stories we can. We are asked to write from the human psyche’s greatest fears, living or dead.

So with that being said, please don’t think that I am a “Stephen King-lunatic-mad woman” when you read these excerpts. I’m only writing about things that I know from personal experience and playing off of that. Try to keep an open mind and an outsider’s perspective.

Basically, just forget that I’m the one writing these stories and pretend I am a stranger. Because truthfully its the “stranger” aspect that I’m writing from. Anyway I hope these stories flip you out and have fun reading them! As always good critisim is welcome just don’t be all, “This stuff sucks!!” lol. That’s no fun but luckily I haven’t heard that yet =)

Anyway, I realize how gruesome this story is. I imagine those who know me probably wonder where on earth I come up with this stuff. Basically, the easiest answer to hear would be “I watch too many movies.” In reality I’ll be honest, Frankie’s death for example; is based off of my own past experiences. All writer’s are told to write about what they know and so in essence, a part of them and their history will always be in their work no matter how fantastical it may be.

Also I ask that you read this post–> A word about my Horror Class Writings before reading this one as it will make things a bit more understandable.

(Rough Draft)

She always wondered if I was her child. Annie could never see herself when glimpsing at my face; my eyes never matched hers; nor my nose or any other features. Some days Annie would simply sit in her rickety rocking chair and stare at me, a blank expression bestowed upon her grim rigid face. Annie never looked away, never trusted me, and certainly never loved me. Hence, I never blamed her.

Annie-girl Armstrong

“Ya’ know death is an interesting concept.” I told the bleeding woman in front of me. Her blond, crimson stained tresses mingled with the open gashes marked upon her shoulder. The ever flowing leakage added a subtle scent of iron to the same air this lady so desperately gasped for. “We are always looking for a way out of death or so we think…” I knelt in front of the woman whose head hung low. She slumped from the wooden chair that I had tied her to only moments before. As her head fell closer toward mine; I leaned inward. “But what we really fear is how we will die, not the world awaiting us afterwards.” The woman let out a stiffened groan as she made a weakened attempt to move despite her fractured ribcage. I laughed.

Over the past few months I had become rather acquainted with the idea of torturing my victims before putting a slow end to their pathetic lives. The people I murdered were sick, simply put. These creatures from the otherworld liked to breed in families, blending in with the rest of our industrious society. Hell, 1911 had been a good year for us, great weather and wholesome crops. I would not let these demonic people harm our world anymore.

My reign of revenge began with my own family. Yes I, Annie-Girl Armstrong, killed my entire family in one fateful night. After coming home one evening from the market I was greeted with the angry and sodden face of my husband Arny. Arny was a sweet man at first proposal but spending long days on the trails skinning animals for a beneficial profit had worn him thin. His features had grown brusque and harsh over the passing years.

Arny’s tethered flesh crinkled while his expression decidedly changed; showing off the burnt tan lines set within the wrinkles running aside his eyes.  “Annie Dear, these men are here to give ya’ the help ya’seek.” His leathery hand reached for my person; a ten foot gap lay stationed between the both of us.  Two men clad top to bottom in doctor’s attire approached me steadily.

“Where are the children?” I asked, growing scared of the doctor-men who paced faster toward me. “Where are they!” I yelled once more, growing frantic. The second doctor suddenly rushed in front of me, grabbing my wrists and holding them tightly behind my back. A syringe appeared in the second doctor’s hand as he jammed the metal needle deep into my neck, thus, leaving this Annie-girl unconscious.

I woke tied to the bed by all four limbs; my now aching limbs as a matter of fact. “You are not well Annie-girl,” my husband’s gruff tone rang though my groggy thoughts, his voice left a tainted ringing within my ears. “These men can help’ya. It’ll all be over soon Annie-girl.”

“Yes,” I looked at my husband’s stark expression, grave and dying to show sympathy. “Yes. It will indeed be over soon my love.”

For the following days I allowed the strange doctor-men to run tests on my brain and give me medicines that other places had not heard of yet. Strapping me to electrical devices to fix my head and forcing me to undergo other shock therapies. All the while the doctor-men seemed only melancholy at best. Until one freedom filled night, the doctors did not come to my bedside and my husband untied my limbs from the lavish cot we once shared. Thus, I was finally free from my bed-ridden home. Rubbing the oozing welts upon my wrists I heaved a sigh of relief.

“Daddy says you ain’t right mama!” My seven year old son ran to my arms later that night as we sat within the living quarters of our ranch house. “What’s wrong with ya?” The roasting fire gleamed off of my son’s cheeks, accentuating the large feeling of uneasiness that my stomach yearned to explain.

“It is not me who has this mental sickness Frankie.” I told the boy who called me mama. With his dark brown hair and burnt red eyelashes I often wondered if Franky was really mine. Yes, I had been there during my birthing trials. I almost died as I recall. In the end it turns out that Frankie was a demon just like the rest of them.

I watched as my remaining two daughters Isabella and Samantha played in the floor by our feet. They bickered amongst each other, fighting over a toy. I examined the girls with my eyes, were they sick too? Isabella and Samantha tugged and pulled at a teddy bear Arnie had given them as a coming home present. The girls always expected something from their father, even if his pockets ran low that week. Evil, selfish little girls they were.

I spent the remainder of that humdrum week contemplating, thinking, and devising a plan to rid the world of these maddening creatures, these evil people I called family. Late one night I went to Arny’s closet and removed his brown duster-coat from the back hook. Eyeing the closet once more I decided to take Arnie’s hat and boots as well. If the plan was laid in motion then I must execute it correctly. After gathering Arnie’s clothes I laid them, folded neatly, on a stool by the front door. Walking outside, into the swift midnight air, I decided to ensure my transportation was awaiting my arrival. A black horse deemed Faithful by my husband stood in front of the porch, tied off with a frayed rope acquired from the barn. I grimaced, recalling myself being tied up with such similar rope.

“Sshh,” I whispered to the charcoal horse, holding my pointer finger up to my lips, “Annie-girl will get this job done quickly so don’t fret my faithful horse.” Faithful peered, her oblong glance attempting to search my hazel eyes. Giving up Faithful released a snuffing sigh and laid her body to the dusty, dried up ground. Glancing upwards, I noticed that the moon reached full curvature while approaching the center of our summer’s star-filled night. My family would all be asleep at that time of night and I could easily work.

Creeping back inside my family’s paint chipped house I swiped my husband’s favorite skinning knife by a rack beside the front door. Entering the bedroom slowly I approached a sleeping Arny. “Poor Arny,” I whispered breathless and low. “The sickness has got you my dear.” I raised the rusty skinning knife above my head before dramatically plunging the tip into my sleeping husband’s chest. His eyes opened in shock, glaring at my face in terror. I smelled his fear; the stent of blood pierced the cavities of my nose. The crimson life-force of a hardworking man dribbled into the white sheets beneath him as he gasped for air. “W-Why?” he stammered for the words.

“Because you’re infect’d,” I told the dying man. “You’re all infected in the mind. But I will fix ya’! Right now my beloved Arny.” A weakened Arny tried to reach outwards for me while his eyes began to slowly cross from the pain. Blood gushed from his mouth causing him to gurgle as he spoke. “I ss-still love yy-ya Annie-girl,” he paused for a moment, catching my eyes with his own prominent stare. “And I ww-will forgive you for this-sss… Ooo-one day.”

I watched as my husband closed his eyes for the last time then proceeded to creep one by one into my children’s chambers until they too were slain. The girls had been easy, I thought of the childish anger they bestowed upon one another. Their insistent ability to ask Arnie for more than he could possibly give them. Using that very reason for my logic I sliced their throats before either girl had a chance to scream out for aid.  Franky, however, was different. The petulant boy yelled loudly, screaming while he clenched my forearms. Franky finally caught my left hand and bit with all of his might into the flesh. The wound was a soft one; however, barley a drop of blood was spilt from beneath my skin. Still, I Grew angrier and decided to kill him a different way, distinct his own. Dragging the rigid boy from his bed, I strung Franky from a shelf in the closet by his neck. Swinging to and fro from a leather belt the boy’s face turned a sapphire blue as his life drifted away before me. I suppose one might think this was a bit too fancy, a disrespectful death. But Franky was a disrespectful child and so I felt no shame. After a moment of joyful speculation I then retreated. Grabbing Arnie’s clothes from the stool beside the front door I walked out, leaving my dead family behind.

In my left hand a toy bear dangled; the toy of choice for my beloved daughters. I suppose one may find this torn memento a sign of weakness or remorse for taking the life of my daughters. However, feelings such as this I did not have. I merely clung to the bear as a reminder while killing Isabella and Samantha. The toy served as a reminder of the evil ways in which these two girls were naturally versed.

Reaching down, I retrieved a long, dirty match from the pocket of Arnie’s duster coat. Swiping the crimson tip until a flame formed, I then allowed the fire entrance over the teddy bear’s rough fur. Turning to Faithful I tossed the evil play-thing to the ground. Faithful, now standing, rustled her feet at the fire. “Yes Faithful, Annie-girl is ready to go now.”

After leaving my family’s ranch, Faithful and I decided to roam the hidden paths of our town’s wilderness, as these lines ran directly beside the main railways. A few hours had passed when we stopped momentarily so I could change into my husband’s clothes. Standing behind a tree I caught the reflection of Annie-girl in the lake as I pulled the duster over my shoulders. “You need to be a man now Annie-girl or they will catch us.” I spoke to the blond girl glaring back at me in the water’s edge.  Twisting my golden locks, I tucked my hair under Arny’s hat before scooping some dirt from the pond and rubbing it onto my face and arms to appear more tethered and rough. Faithful rustled in the bushes, urging me to move onward. “Fine girl, we go now then.” I took one last look at the new and more masculine Annie-girl, a tiny grin upon my face; an expression only visible within the ponds rippling waters.

For weeks following that Faithful and I strode from one town to another. Sometimes we would stop in the nearest saloon to glance the latest wanted-prints. My name, Annelida Armstrong, along with a rough sketch of my face always clung to the nearest wall. I, the woman who hung her boy from a belt, stabbed her husband in the heart, and slit the throats of her daughters was wanted for a mere 500 gold. What a tragedy really, I knew that my worth had to be more than that for saving the world from these demons. My sacrifice was worth nothing to these ungrateful town’s people.

“They will see.” I spoke to Faithful the following night as we rode down an old dirt road along the countryside. “We will get em’ all.” Suddenly Faithful reared back onto her hind legs, yelling and galloping backwards. “Whoa girl!” I yelled before falling from the saddle and landing on the earth below me. Looking up at the sheepish horse, “What are you so scared of…” my voice trailed off as I saw the body of my dead son Franky hanging from a tree limb above us. His face was stark and turning blue, his eyes were brazen and dark like onyx stones. I blinked, hoping he would leave and sure enough, he did.

In a maddened scurry I retrieved the already calm Faithful and retreated to the nearest town for the night. I watched from the street corners, worried that Franky’s ghost would come back to kill me. “Arny said he would forgive me one day…” I spoke to myself. “Maybe Annie-girl just needs redemption; if I were to kill others like them demons then maybe Annie-girl can redeem herself.”

For the following nights I slept in the dusty ally as I pondered Franky’s ghost and watched as the same families rolled into town each day. Finally one night I had found another infected family, two parents and two children. The boy carried himself like Franky. A Shy boy, discreet and untrusting with each step he took.  I followed them from town, careful to watch from a distance and staying unnoticed. Once we reached their farm I stayed hidden within the trees until sundown. The ghost of Franky suddenly reappearing as the stagnant cologne that my husband wore drifted through the breeze that Franky hung on. His eyes bore through mine, tweaking my nerves. I barely remember my actions after that. I only know that I killed the family I had followed in a great haste; I was there to kill demons, not to enjoy their demise.

However, this changed. After following six more families home and taking their lives late at night I had grown bored. So needless to say by the time I reached my eighth family I was more than ready to play with them. The sightings of Franky had even grown tiresome. He never talked to me, he only hung from things, trees, porches, town posts. His unruly presence only angered me. These demons deserved a long grueling death. “Go back to hell,” I would tell my victims from there on, “and let whatever devil sent you know that Annie-girl is coming!”

The night of the eighth family’s death had been fairly easy. As usual I followed them home and waited, watching as the parents put the children silently to bed. Soon I crept inside the children’s sleeping quarters. Two girls shared a bed. I slit their throats as a homage to my own girls before slipping into the parents’ bedroom. This is where the fun began, I shot two quick gashes into the husband’s legs as his wife woke and began to scream. Her piercing shrieks irritated my nerves; causing my stomach to wrench in anger. Reaching over the husband for the shrill woman, I grabbed her hair and jerked her from the bed.

The loud lady hit the floor with a startling thud; quickly I placed a nearby wedged door-stop into her mouth before slamming her face into the bedframe, thus leaving her temporarily unconscious. Soon the husband had found his footing and came at me from behind. He took a swing at me as his left leg gave out under the pressure of his wound and he fell to the floor. Quickly, I stabbed him through the heart as I had with my own husband. Looking over at the unconscious woman I grew angrier. “It was your job!” I yelled at her. “You are the mother of the household, it is your duty to protect them from the sickness!” I grabbed the ladies arm, dragging her into the main room. Lifting her, I let the woman slide into a chair as I tied off her hands and waited for her to wake up.

“Yes, death is not what we fear.” I told the barley lucid woman as I gripped the skinning-knife harder. “We only fear the way in which we die. Like this…” I trailed off using the knife in my hand to cut a long slit down a vein in my left arm. The torn flesh burned with excitement as my own blood mixed together with hers on the floor. The lady muffled a frantic scream as I placed the knife’s blade by my throat. I allowed the silver curvature of the knife to lightly graze across my skin as I slid the blade deeper in my flesh. “Yes,” I told her. “Death certainly becomes us all.” Suddenly the blade at my throat wedged deeper into my skin, forcing its way to my vocal chords. The world was suddenly hazy and black. The invisible force finished with a sharp left-handed motion as my body fell to the floor. The world went black, and I was free.

Franky Armstrong

Yes, my mother had thought me to be a demon, from someone else’s womb. Perhaps she was right. However, Annie was not very thorough in her killings; or mine anyway.  She was always so frantic, wild eyed and in too much of a rush. No, Annie never did get the job done, not once. Annie was a failure at best but I could only count myself lucky for that.

That night so long ago, after she left I managed to cut myself from the belt I hung upon. I followed her, watched her, and studied her. Thus leading me here, I could not let Annie torture the blond lady in the seat so I killed her. I came from behind, using her theatrical throat-cutting scene to get an advantage. I wondered what her last thoughts would be, of an invisible killer.  Did she believe that she killed herself?

Looking at Annie I scrutinized her laziness; it sickened me. I pulled my father’s blood stained duster coat off of her. Letting her body thump as she fell out of the coat and back to the floor landing face down. Annie’s hat had toppled off when she fell. Picking it up, I put the hat on top of my eight year old head. The blond woman in the chair grimaced. “pppzzz…” I heard through her bloody gag. I stood before her, placing my knife upon the knots that tied her hands together. “sssvvv meee” I watched as the woman tried to squirm for a moment.

“Yes. I will save you.” I told the lady in my most sincere voice. She tried to force a wry smile at me through the gag in her mouth. Hope filled her eyes as she began to weep. With an upward motion I stabbed my knife through the air until the blade found its destination. The lady’s head fell limp and lifeless as the new slit across her throat poured what blood she had left from her body onto the floor; dripping onto Annie’s leg. “Yes,” I said again. “I will save you… from the sickness.”