Everyone had or has imaginary friends; what do yours tell you to do? Well, I'll tell you about my friends. Back in the 1980's, I was living the worthless life of an abused child, one that society doesn't care about. I was what they called poor white trash; my father was nowhere around and my mother was a whore and drug addict. Every night she would bring different men into the house, hoping to score enough money for a hit, and most of the time she would sell me to them. I was raped, beaten and molested, but she didn't care; my innocence was making her rich. Instead of the men asking for her, they'd asked for me. Yes, I tried to fight back, but the men were too strong for me. I called out for my mother, but she ignored my pleas; she sat in the room and smoked her cocaine as the men had their way with me. She never came to check on me; she didn't know if I was alive or dead before she set up another john. I begged her not to sell me anymore, but she didn't care, that cocaine was more important to her than I was.
While the men were having their way with me; I began to blackout and go into a world that I called my own. I had to step out of reality in order to keep the little bit of life I had left in me. When my mother saw that selling me was a great idea, the best thing that had ever happened to her, she continued to do it more and more. I tried to run away, but was always caught. My mother began to lock me in the old cellar; it was damp and creepy, there was no light, no windows and every day was the same as night. I was afraid, I began to scream; the dark frightened me so terribly that I would wet my pants. No matter how often I wanted to stop from going to the bathroom on myself, I couldn't. The fear was so deep; I could feel it in my bones. I begged my mother that I would do whatever she wanted, that I would be a good girl, but she never answered me; she left me in the basement for days, weeks, months.
The men would come down with a kerosene lamp and do their business with me. I got so sick of the abuse and the rapes that I began to talk to myself. I was trying to convince myself that it would be okay, that one day my mother would love me and make everything all right, but that day never came. I waited patiently; I closed my eyes and prayed for a miracle, and yet the miracle never came, it was always "in the works'.
I sat in the corner of the dark, damp cold cellar, crying my eyes out, wanting to be set free, wanting to be back upstairs with my mother. I was so afraid that I began to make up imaginary friends, a group of people that would love and protect me, a group of friends that would never let anything happen to me. As I sat there, the first friend I created was Johnny. He was a white guy with really blonde hair; dressed like a cowboy and always toted a gun in each of his holsters. Johnny was a cool cat that always told jokes, very sarcastic ones, and smoked the hell out of some cigarettes; he loved Marlboros. Even though it was dark, I could still see the creation of my friend in my mind, and I would stare into his blue eyes, like a damsel in distress, and hope that Johnny would save me.
Then my little fantasy would be over, and I'd come back to reality. But, when the memories of the rapes and abuse got to be too much for me to handle, I'd make Johnny appear in my mind to help me, and then he'd disappear. Until one day, or night, I never could tell because I was locked in the fucking cold dark cellar, sitting there fully awake, I began to smell cigarette smoke! At first I thought I was still in my fantasy world, but I wasn't; I remembered waking myself from my fantasy. Then I got scared; could Johnny really be alive? Could I have the power to raise my thoughts from the dead? Could my fantasy come to life?
Well, it did! While sitting in the corner, I could feel the soft clouds of smoke grace my face, and from a distance I could see a red light in the background. I was afraid and began to move around in the dark, trying to make my imaginary friend go away. I covered my eyes with my hands; when suddenly I felt a soft touch pull my hair. I was so afraid to turn around; I kept my eyes closed and counted to ten, hoping that whatever I had created would go away. But it didn't; it came closer and closer, until I was forced to open my eyes.
I screamed as I saw this figment of my imagination come to life. I screamed and screamed, but no one could hear me; there was a party going on upstairs and the music was too loud. I screamed so much that I lost my voice, and Johnny just stood in the corner, smoking his cigarettes, laughing at me.
"Dude, chill out," he said.
But, I was in a state of shock; I had just been fucking scared shitless because my imagination had come to life, and this shit was scary. It took hours for me to calm down, but when I did, Johnny was still standing in the corner, only this time he was playing with his gun, twirling and spinning it around his fingers like a toy. He glowed in the dark and I got a better look at his face; he was perfect, just like I had created him, but his blue eyes glowed a faint red and that was disturbing. Nevertheless, I was happy to know that I had a friend to be with me and chase out the bad guys. Johnny pulled out a deck of old cards, I could tell that they had been used before, from the wear on the back of the cards, and in the light of his glow, we played go fish and memory match.
Johnny always let me win; he was the perfect man, he was the father I could only dream of having. He was also a great storyteller; he told me of back in the old days how he used to rob banks and could outrun the sheriff of the town, and of days spent sleeping on the open range and getting run off the land by the owners. These stories, to me, were very comforting and relaxing. For the first time in months, I was able to fall off asleep without a care in the world; for the first time I was not afraid to sleep alone, the cellar never frightened me anymore. Johnny was here to save me and protect me from all the evil men that had hurt me.
I could see him pacing the floor at night, he was talking with someone, but I couldn't see who that was. I didn't care, I was happy to have peace of mind and my own bodyguard, but I was concerned that Johnny was talking to someone or something, and whatever it was, it was a heated conversation. All I could see were Johnny's lips moving and he kept looking back over his shoulder at me. I overlooked his mischievous ways and began to drift off to sleep, for the first time in a long time I could close my eyes without the fear of finding a strange man on top of me. With Johnny there, I was completely safe, nothing could hurt me ever again. Johnny was my hero, he was always there, but seemed occupied, as if something else required his attention. But, I didn't mind, as long as I got peace and quiet.
Suddenly, I heard footsteps coming down the cellar stairs. A voice shouted out, "You little bitch, where are you? Come and play with daddy."
I quickly ran behind Johnny to protect me and he didn't let me down.
Out of the darkness, Johnny approached the john and said, "Now, that's no way to treat a young lady."
For a minute, I didn't think that the two would be able to see each other; after all, Johnny was just my imagination. But, something strange happened, they could both see each other, and the john became very afraid.
"Who the hell are you? I paid for her first," shouted the john at Johnny.
"Well, I'm her new best friend; and your worst nightmare," said Johnny.
The john pushed Johnny out of the way and headed toward me, groping my chest and private parts. Out of the blue, Johnny began to shoot his gun at the john over and over again; it seemed like Johnny was never going to stop. Finally, I went over and prevented him from putting another bullet in the john. At first, I was a little terrified, but it served that john right; I was young enough to be his daughter and he was paying my mother to sell me to him. From the glow off of Johnny, I could see the blood splatters all over the cellar walls, I could see the guy's head full of bullet holes and his eyes rolled back and facing the heavens.
For once in my life, I felt so powerful and unafraid. Johnny loved it too, he began to kiss and caress his gun; then he took his old handkerchief and wiped the bloodstains off. Johnny wanted to do it again, he wanted to kill, he loved the idea of killing. I told him that we had to get to the top of the stairs and escape, but he seemed reluctant to go up there. I let him know that it would be all right; then he confided in me that when grown ups are around; kids tend to forget about their imaginary friends.
I said, "Oh no, not me I'd never forget about you, I love you!"
Johnny just smiled, giving me a soft peck on the cheek and held my hands; his eyes began to turn red again, and although it frightened me, I pretended it didn't exist because I wanted him around, the first man in my life that never wanted anything from me. Johnny was the perfect gentleman and I was willing to overlook his faults. My gut was telling me that something was wrong, but for whatever reason, I ignored my gut feeling and began to enjoy the pleasure of revenge.
Before we went upstairs, Johnny told me that we had to get at least four more friends. He let me know that I had the power to conjure up anything I wanted, and in order for me to be totally safe I had to kill all of those evil people upstairs, and all throughout the world. At first it didn't sound right, especially when his eyes began to glow red again. When Johnny saw me thinking too hard, he reminded me how he had protected me, and how, if I had many more imaginary friends, I could be protected for life. The offer sounded good, and I jumped on board; besides, what could go wrong with just a few more imaginary friends? Not only would I be safe, but I could help other abused children that were in the same situation. So, for about an hour, I conjured up images of the perfect friends that I'd want to save and protect me.
First, I closed my eyes and said, "Samson, come forward."
And, he did. I could hear his huge footsteps in the background. I slowly opened my eyes, and saw my imagination come to live. Samson was a huge black gorilla, at least nine feet tall and over a ton. He had the biggest brown eyes, and his coat was so soft; I just ran up and hugged him tightly. At first, he didn't move or make any loving motions toward me, but then Johnny spoke up.
"Yo, Samson, you big ape, give the little girl a hug."
Suddenly Samson warmed up and hugged me with his huge paw-like hands. That was the softest coat I had ever felt. But, as I was excited to meet another one of my imaginary friends, Johnny was pushing me to make more.
He kept on telling me, "We need at least two more."
So, then I conjured up Emily. She was very spooky, her skin was a pale ashen color, and she looked as if she'd been dead for years! She was really skinny and limber, the same age as I was, but she was a little shy; her long black hair covered one side of her face. I finally built up enough nerve to approach her.
I called out, "Emily!"
She just stood there like a zombie, slowly moving in an awkward fashion. Her legs and arms looked as if they were broken, but that was just the way she moved and walked; like an animal on all fours. Finally, when I called to her again, she answered with saliva coming out of her mouth. I went over and hugged her, but I could feel the evil coming from inside her. Something just wasn't right, but I wanted to be free so bad that I once again overlooked all of the common sense that Jesus had given me.
And, last but not least, I created an old man named Walter. I liked to call him Sir Walter; he was nicely dressed, always in a white tux, and with dark shades on. He was at least seventy years old and carried an old wooden cane. I loved Walter's silver hair and I made him to help me keep the others in line. But, what was disturbing about Walter was that he had no eyes, and worms lived in the socket. These worms were Walter's friend; he wouldn't let me take them out, he loved those worms like pets.
Once I had all of my friends together in one room, they began to whisper to each other, as if they had known one another for years. I told them to stop it; I didn't like being left out. They all apologized in sneaky voices, but I was just glad that they had; for once someone said that they were sorry for something they'd done to me. Now it was time to take revenge on my mother and all of her friends. We walked up the cellar steps like a big bad gang.
After Samson tore down the locked door, for the first time in my life, I had all the confidence I needed. Once I made it to the top, I could hear the loud music, and I could smell the drugs in the air. Anyone who wasn't having sex was snorting cocaine.
"Lil girl, go back in your cave," shouted one of my mother's friends.
I became very angry and told Emily to scare the daylights out of her. I watched as Emily crawled on top of her. As the girl began to scream, Emily put her entire hand down the girl's throat and ripped out her vocal cords. Blood went everywhere. The music was so loud that no one could hear her. Even though it was a bit gross, I loved it. I began to enjoy someone else's pain, the same way they had enjoyed mine.
Now it was payback time. I ordered Samson to go through the house and smash anything he wanted, kill as many as he saw fit. He was happy; a big smile came over his face. He began to pound his chest and bellowed with a loud roar, I had to cover my ears because it was so loud. Off Samson went, smashing everything in the house, putting huge holes in the walls. I could hear the people screaming and falling over each other, most of them thought they had a buzz from the cocaine, but little did they know that it was real. Many of them began to run, but Samson threw them against the walls like rag dolls. I could see people flying through the air; everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. I was guarded by my four friends, I was untouchable.
Samson went through the house like a whirlwind, ripping electric cords out of sockets, tearing down ceiling fans, and knocking over television sets. No one was safe in the house, and that was the way I liked it; because I was never safe in my own home, no one else should be either. I saw Samson pick up one man and break him in two, his body's top half went one way and the bottom the other. I watched as Samson pulled out his spine and threw it against the wall.
Then, as one man tried to escape, Walter tripped him with his cane so Samson could catch him. The more the people screamed, the more pleasure I got from watching their deaths. For the first time in my life, I was in control; no one would be able to hurt me again. While Samson was destroying the house, and Emily scared people, I sent Johnny to execute as many people as he wanted. His eyes lit up, and before I could say go, Johnny was gone. I could hear the gunshots in the air, the sounds of dead bodies plunging to the floor and the wicked laugh of Johnny. I didn't care; I wanted to let him have all the fun he wanted.
Walter stayed constantly by my side, nagging me about how we had to clean up and get rid of the bodies. He was more the mother hen, making sure we all did what we were suppose to. Blood was everywhere; one wall looked as if someone had painted it red from all of the blood splatters. Then, as Walter was giving me my chore list, I heard my mother's voice, she was begging for her life. She was in the kitchen on her knees asking Johnny to forgive her, begging and pleading for her worthless life. She turned and looked at me, as if I was supposed to help her; after all she had done to me, she wanted me to save her.
"You have to be kidding," I said.
But she continued to beg. I then had the brightest idea; I called for Samson to come into the kitchen. When he showed up, I told him to make a hole in the wall and stick my mother in it. Johnny tied her hands and legs, and then I called Emily to tear out her voice. Emily came quickly, stuffed her hand into my mother's throat and ripped out her vocal cords. I could see my mother tremble as she held onto her throat, blood beginning to fill her airways, and I watched her slowly die, but that was not the end to her torture. I had the walls of the house sealed up.
All through the night, the five of us placed the dead bodies in the walls, and to make sure they didn't stink, we wrapped them in sheets with sweet smelling incense. For two days, we cleaned the house and hid the bodies in the walls, until the house was like new. There were no signs of there ever being any killings or even someone living there. I was very proud of what I had done, the world was now a safer place with my mother and her friends gone, but there was lots more to do; there were many more children like me to saved.
I felt like an agent of revenge, making all the wrongs right. Not one day went by that I was regretful, I wasn't sorry that my mother was dead, she deserved everything she got. She left me to suffer at the hands of her friends, now I hoped she was in hell suffering too. As days and weeks went by, I was having a blast with my imaginary friends. Walter would cook and Samson would eat most of the food. We sat at the table like a family; I even took them outside to play. Johnny loved the rural outdoors; he said it reminded him of his old west days.
I'd play with my friends, and children would laugh and call me a freak as they passed by; it seemed no one could see my friends but me. The children would run away from me or walk on the other side of the street. I didn't care, I loved the world I was in; somehow my mind didn't conform to reality, I was always in a dream. One day, the children were coming home from school and Samson and I were playing in the front yard.
One kid yelled out, "You fucking freak!"
Something inside of me just snapped. I told Samson to go and get that kid. He wasted no time charging after the kid like a wild animal. Finally, I could see the fear on the kid's face; the boy turned pure white. I laughed hysterically, I couldn't stop; it seemed so funny to me, even when Samson bit off his head with one chop. Blood spurted everywhere, and because we were in a rural town, there was no one around. I watched as Samson swallowed the boy's head and then regurgitate it back up, that was so cool to me. The boy's body kept walking on its own, and I let it walk for hours in the back yard. As the blood drained from the neck we even played ring around the neck to see who could get three of their rings around it as the body walked without a head. Of course, Johnny won, followed by Emily. We had a blast, until there was a knock on the door. Samson grabbed the child and placed his body in the cellar and put its head in the outdoor septic tank.
I let Walter answer the door, because he was the only one suitable, most of us had blood all over our clothes and hands. At the door stood the sheriff; he asked questions about a missing boy. Walter played it smooth, he denied everything, he'd never seen a child, and told the officer that no children stopped at this house because of his sick daughter, that every child in the area was afraid of her.
The officer agreed and said, "How true you are."
Walter gave him a fake smile and the officer went on his way; he was one of those dumb officers that never paid attention to his surroundings. Because, if he had, he would have noticed the bloody handprints on the side of the house where he was standing, less than a foot away from him. I began to laugh, law enforcement was a joke, and we could go on killing for years without anyone ever noticing anything. As the police officer pulled away, I suddenly saw him stop the car, as if he was going to turn around. I began to get a little worried; then he got out of the car to shut the trunk, he had accidentally left it open and it was flapping in the wind.
I smiled and said to myself, What a stupid cop. Then I went on my way, cleaning the blood from the side of the house, and then retrieved the boy's body from the cellar.
Suddenly, Johnny said, "What is your name, and what shall we call you?"
For a second, I paused and realized that my mother never took the time to teach me my name; I was always called "hey you", "asshole" or "bitch". I had no answer for Johnny. I was so sad to realize that I didn't have a name. I quickly ran into my mother's bedroom and began to search for anything about who I was, where I was born, or who I really belonged to. I found nothing, not even a baby picture, no diaries; nothing related to my birth, until I went to the back of her closet and pulled out a yellow envelope. On it was written "my worst nightmare". I opened it, and inside were pictures all tore up into tiny little pieces, with a note saying that she'd never wanted me, she wanted to kill me, but her heart wouldn't let her do it. So, to take revenge on her heart, she'd abuse me until the pain she felt from being raped by her father was gone.
My mother was raped by her own father and I was the product of that! I guessed that's what led her to prostitution and drugs. The letter went on to say that she tried many times to kill me, whether it was holding my head underwater or kicking me down the stairs when I was younger, but for some reason I wouldn't die. I was like a black omen to my mother; she hated every fiber of my being. One thing she mentioned that was strange was that every time she tried to kill me, a bright white light would appear. I asked Walter what that meant, and he told me it was them trying to protect me. They needed me alive so they could stay alive. He said that every abused or neglected child was so badly damaged mentally that they formed imaginary friends like him, Johnny, Emily and Samson. Without an abused child, or a mentally disturbed person, they would also die. Well, I promised Walter that I wouldn't let them die, I would never leave them.
Emily crawled on the bed next to me. "How about we name you baby doll?"
"I like it," I said to Emily.
She smiled and crawled back off of the bed. I ran to the stove and burned all of my mother's papers; I was upset and angry that she hadn't cared enough for me to even take the time to give me a name. But, who cared, I had my imaginary friends and that's all that mattered. I was something to them, and they were something to me. Then Johnny came into the kitchen with excitement on his face, even as I finished burning the letters.
"Men are at the door with a few women, and they are calling out for your mother."
I quickly ran to the window and took a peak; they were nothing more than my mother's crack friends and her johns. I told Walter to get the door, and then move so that they couldn't see him. He did so and then vanished through the walls. I could still see his outline; I knew that he was there watching and protecting me. My mother's crack friends came in, they smelled like booze and their clothing was filthy; all of them gave off a terrible odor. They came in, stumbling and making themselves at home.
"Where's that sweet young thing of yours?" shouted one of the johns.
He was talking about me. I had watched as this man raped me over and over, while my mother stood and watched. I told Emily to go and scare the shit out of him. She crawled toward him with her cripple-like body. I watched as she caressed his penis. He loved it; he never looked down to see who was doing it.
"You like that, baby?" said Emily.
"Oh, yes I do!" said the john.
When he finally looked down, he saw Emily's ghost-like appearance and he began to scream, he screamed so hard that his vocal cords burst in his throat and he began to drown in his own blood. Then Emily ripped his penis out and took it to the bathroom to flush it down the toilet. The john shivered in pain, he couldn't talk; he felt what I was feeling back when he was raping me and I couldn't scream or I would be beaten or raped even harder.
I ordered Samson to place the body in the walls of the house. He wasted no time picking up the john, who was still alive, and pushed him into the opening in the walls. I saw the john screaming, begging for my help; it felt good not being the powerless one, it felt good to see someone else beg me for mercy. Finally, I was getting my revenge; I couldn't wait any longer on the Lord, I had to take matters into my own hands.
Then I ordered Emily into the next bedroom, where some more of my mother's girl friends were having a ball smoking a line of crack. I sat by the door in the hallway thinking, do I really want to kill them or not? I saw the way they wasted their lives, smoking balls of crack one after the other. I came to the decision that I would let them go, but when I came into the room and asked them to leave, they laughed at me over and over again. The laughter was so wicked that it pierced my heart, for some reason I just couldn't take the laughter any more, and it hit my emotions so hard that I began to sweat. Beads of sweat ran down my face, the palms of my hands became wet; soon I had the urge to kill them both. I ordered Johnny to kill them, he loved shooting his gun, and he loved killing, this was a piece of cake for him.
Johnny jumped on the bed and began to pump the ladies' bodies with bullets. I watched as they tried to leave and were blocked at the doorway by Emily and Walter, they loved to see death themselves, but the bullet noise was too much for my ears, I had to leave the room. From the kitchen, I could hear the ladies screaming and calling out for help, but there was no one to help them, they were way out in the country where houses were far apart. This was hillbilly country. I could hear Samson cracking the bodies of the ladies, getting them ready to be put into the walls.
Walter and I had a ritual; we would bathe the dead bodies, and embalm them like the Egyptians did their dead. To me, this was funny and exciting at the same time. One by one, Samson crushed the bones until they couldn't be crushed anymore, and then handed the dead over to Walter and me. We prepared a special bath, Emily cleaned up the blood; sometimes I would catch her licking the walls that were covered with blood, and I would have to spank her like a little child. But, we were a family, I was the head of the household and in charge; we ate as a family, we laughed as a family, but most importantly we lived happily like a family.
After the house was clean from all of the killings, I noticed that we were running out of food. Feeding four people and Samson was starting to be a strain, but ultimately, I didn't mind; they were my protectors and I was in charge of taking care of them. So, I told them we would go to the store and shop. First of all, I had a little money that my mother had left behind, and the store was just a small corner market that operated on credit. Walter drove the raggedy old pickup trunk that one of the johns had left behind, and off we went. For the first time in months, I was leaving the house; the sun looked so bright and the sky was so clear. I felt relaxed and happy; I had everything a girl could want, all the way to the store I kept my head out the window like a dog, wanting to see everything.
My life finally seemed to make a little sense, I was happy and so were my imaginary friends, but the more I kept them around, the more they became real. I noticed this when Walter stopped for gas; it seemed as if people could see him, but not the others.
When I asked why that was, all Walter could say was, "One at a time."
So I accepted that and thought to myself, I'll have a real family in a few more months, every one of my friends will be alive and live among the living.
Well, we made it to the store and we began to pick out our favorite foods. Emily loved jelly; I got her every kind imaginable. We got tons of bread and meat for Samson, noodles and pancakes for Johnny and all Walter liked was tea and soups. I was like a kid in a candy store; I got everything that I ever wanted, candies and all.
"Not too much, you'll get a bellyache," said Walter.
Suddenly, the owner came over and said, "Who are you talking too?"
I said, "None of your damn business!"
The owner grabbed me by my shirt collar, and suddenly Emily and Samson attacked him. Samson broke his neck while Emily pulled out his heart and stuffed him into a freezer. I thought it was hilarious, but it was time to go before someone saw us. We quickly filled up the truck with all the food we could fit; we had at least five shopping carts of food.
"Wheeeeeeeee, that was a rush," proclaimed Johnny.
He was happy, and so was everyone else; it was as if we had just robbed a bank. Samson wanted to take the body home, but it was too much baggage. I told him that next time we would. Then Samson smiled and was happy again. I reached into a shopping bag and pulled out a carton of milk. As I was drinking from it, I noticed that a reward was posted for the missing child that we'd killed. I just laughed and showed it to everyone. After everyone got a sip of the milk, we threw the carton out the window, not caring about what we'd done. Why should we care when no one ever cared about us?
Once we were almost home, we saw a massive search party looking for the same child that we'd killed. Searchers were handing out flyers and newspaper clipping with pictures and a reward. We took the flyer like we cared and once down the road we balled it up and threw it out the window. I began to laugh hysterically, for some reason this shit was funny to me. That boy would have been an evil person and I'd saved society from his reign.
As soon as we got home, we unloaded our loot. We were like wild dogs, we wanted to eat everything first, until Walter, who I called "mother hen', told us only to eat a little so we wouldn't get a bellyache. We all pretended to listen, and as soon as he turned his back, we were pigging out. Emily took a whole jar of strawberry jelly and ran off to her hiding spot. I was glad to see her happy, she was like the sister I'd never had. Samson ate the raw meat, which was totally gross and disgusting, but I just loved him, so no matter how gross or strange it was, I overlooked most of what he and my other three friends did, because I was once considered strange and unlovable.
And yet, they all loved me. All that night we pigged out and had a blast; we ate ice cream and watched cartoons. It was like having a day that everything went well. My life was perfect, I didn't care about anything anymore; I was my own person.
After the night of fun, early the next morning, there was a knock on the door and a few sheriff's cars were outside. I opened the door as if I had no idea of what was going on.
"Good morning, little girl, where's your mother?" said the sheriff.
I responded, "She went away for the day."
The sheriff looked worried. "Well, we think there's a killer running loose, so keep your door locked."
I was so humble and polite; I nodded, and said, "Okay, sir, I'll do just that."
But, I was laughing inside, this was funny to me. For once, the public was afraid of me and I wasn't afraid of them. It was as if I was having a major overhaul inside of me; not only was I becoming stronger, I was braver and my self-esteem was at an all-time high. I could see the police cars going by. My friends and I just looked out the window and smiled.
The police were just asses, they didn't know what to do, and for this being a small town, they sure didn't have the resources to fight any type of crime. Soon there was another knock on the door and an old lady who lived in the house next door came running over, repeating the same thing the police had told me.
"Oh, shut the hell up!" I yelled.
The old lady gave me the finger. That did it, I sent Walter after her, and in one big swoop he grabbed her ass into the house. She was shaking and trembling; then when Walter took off his shades, all she saw was his missing eye sockets that had worms crawling all over the inside. Johnny wanted so badly to shoot her; he was about to have a tantrum, so I just gave her to him. He dragged the old lady by the hair until he was pulling out clumps. The old lady was kicking and screaming, until Emily jumped on her as Johnny was pulling her, and ripped out her vocal cords, then ran off with it. I tried to stop her, but she loved that sort of stuff.
The old woman began to shake and blood spouted everywhere, on the walls, the carpet was soaked with it, and my new shirt was ruined. Oh well, all in a day's work. Johnny strung the old lady up by the neck from the living room ceiling, spin her around like a top, and began to shoot her; six times in the head, four in the heart, nine in the back, and fifty-two times in the stomach.
He loved it; he jumped up and down and over the couch. "Wooo that was fun, let's do it again!"
So, we did. As it got late in the afternoon, and the lazy sheriff and his sorry men called it a day, we struck. I went to all the neighbors that were mean and cruel to me, and began to pull them out of their safe environments one by one. I had Samson as my head guy, Johnny as the lookout, Walter as the getaway driver and Emily as the distraction. The first house I hit was the Macadoo's. Mr. Macadoo was nothing more than a drunk; all he did was pimp his wife and use the money for drugs and booze. Then there was Mrs. Macadoo, who killed her son in the bathroom one afternoon. To this day, she thought no one knew, but I did; I watched her drown her own son after he cried too much. Yes, that was me peeking in the window, I saw it all, how she pushed her son's head under the water, and watched as he struggled to get free, but she was too strong for her five-year-old son to defeat. I watched as she watched him take his last breath, and then acted as if she was the grieving mother. She got away with it, and therefore she deserved payback.
As Mrs. Macadoo was in the bathroom, I had Samson break down the door. First I had him grab Mr. Macadoo, who was drunk already, and suffocate him. Then I had Emily appear in Mrs. Macadoo's bath water and scare the living shit out of her. She began to scream so loudly that Emily ripped out her vocal cords. I think the screaming does something to Emily, her ears are so sensitive. The water was filled with blood, but I wanted the bodies; I loved to keep what was mine. I hunted for those bodies, and now I wanted them in my secret place, the walls of my home. I had Samson quickly wrap both bodies in the bed sheets, and off we went to the next house.
This was such an enjoyment, I loved this kind of thing, it was like eating too much chocolate; you knew it was bad, but it tasted ooh so good. I loved to see people's hearts stop beating; I felt like God, the power was a turn on. All of my imaginary friends were enjoying the time of their lives; we had nothing to fear, but the world had better fear us. Next house was where the Bensons lived. Mr. Benson loved young girls, and when I say young, I mean try like five to eleven! I was one of his victims, he raped me every chance he got. He loved those young girls that had no mother figure in the home, and ran loose in the streets. When my mother was gone for days, leaving me all alone, Mr. Benson would come over and bring me food, and talk to me. Then he started slowly touching me in my private places, and then caressing my breast area. He was too strong for me to fight, but I fought every time, and he would get upset and beat me. Now it was time for payback.
Then there was Mrs. Benson; she knew what her husband did, but turned a blind eye, even though she was a Christian, I was not going to spare her. What she did and allowed to happen on her watch was unacceptable, and she had to pay. Once again, Samson burst down the door with his strong ape-like muscles, and then gave a big roar, showing his yellow teeth and beat on his chest. The first person he saw was Mrs. Benson, reading the Bible. When she heard the noise, she ran out, only to be approached by Samson. He bit off her head, it fell to the floor, and blood spouted in the air from her neck like rain.
Then we got Mr. Benson, who was in the bedroom raping his little girl. I had Emily teach him a lesson. She silently slid under the bed sheets and began to caress his penis.
Mr. Benson loved that, and began moaning and groaning. "Yes, yes, give it to me, baby!"
We did just that, we gave it to him. Emily jumped out from under the sheets and scared him half to death.
"What's the matter? I saw a ghost!" said Mr. Benson.
He stopped breathing, what a bummer, I wanted to see him get brutalized, but he had a fucking heart attack and died. His daughter watched. I thought about killing her, but she was too much like me. Now she could be free. I left her cowering in the corner, and told her to leave and never come back to this house or I would kill her. The little girl nodded, and when we left, I saw her running out of the house and heading toward the highway. Maybe she would find a good home.
The night was young and the killings were fun, but we had to call it a night. As we were leaving, and on the way home, I saw one of my mother's old friends, Mr. Smith; he was on the dusty road stumbling and filled with cocaine, talking to himself and fighting the wind. He didn't deserve to live, so I killed him, he was a waste of space. I had Johnny put a bullet in his head, one shot did it, and then here came the sheriff. I quickly had Samson put Mr. Smith's body in the shrubs by the road. As the sheriff stopped us, I let Walter talk and I made the rest of my friends disappear. But, they were there, I could see them. I could make them be seen and unseen, not only to my eyes but to the naked human eyes.
"Hi, Mr. Officer," I said, so sweet and polite.
But the sheriff was in no mood to play, he had a killer running around. The sheriff looked around the truck. Walter told him that we were picking up junk to take to the junk yard, and were headed home for the day. The dumb sheriff never even looked around thoroughly or he'd have seen the blood on the sheets, but I will give him credit and say that it was very dark and he couldn't see. But really, he was a stupid cop; there were bloody sheets, and hands and legs peaking out of the back of the truck, but he was too busy looking for his killers.
As he let us go, I had Samson bring the body of Mr. Smith out of the shrubs as the sheriff pulled away. That was very close, but we didn't care because I would have killed the sheriff myself if I had to. The best part was yet to come; we were going home to bury the bodies in the walls. That was my favorite thing.
As soon as we got home, I jumped out of the truck and hurriedly opened the door. Johnny kept a lookout, and we quickly brought the bodies in the house. I took my time and cleaned them one by one, until all the blood was off. But, they were so stiff; it was kinda hard to move them. Anyway, it was still fun, it was like playing with dolls. I put clean clothes on them, and made them smell sweet. Mr. Smith's stomach burst open and it was such a foul odor, I didn't want him around anymore. So, I chopped the body up and fed it to Emily. She loved that kind of stuff.
The rest, I put in the walls as my souvenirs. All that night, we could hear the police cars going by. They were in a rush; I could hear the sirens and the people lined up on the curb talking. I wanted to be a good neighbor and see what was happening. I took all of my friends with me, but Walter was the only one that I wanted to be real; the others would bring too much attention. Once on the curb, I listened as the old gossipy women talked about all the missing people, and the store owner that got killed.
One woman wanted the sheriff to call in the police from the big city, but the sheriff was filled with too much pride and wouldn't. He figured he could handle it by himself, but little did he know that this was something much bigger that he could ever handle. Most of the residents were afraid; they kept begging the sheriff to have more men patrol the streets, but in this small town there were about ten officers, and most of the time they were drunk or buying pussy from a whore. I watched as the sheriff lied to the people and told them that they would catch someone by morning, that he wouldn't get away, and the assholes believed him. I watched and studied the looks on their faces as they believed every word that came out of the sheriff's mouth.
But, there was one man by the name of Mr. Stewart, a nosy neighbor, too dame smart for his own good; he got on my last nerve, with all that men in black bullshit. "Sheriff Burke, I heard that the government has something to do with this."
"Shut the hell up, you stupid old man, and go in the house!" said Sheriff Burke.
Everyone started laughing at Mr. Stewart. He got upset and went in his house. I figured that this was the perfect time to make a stupid story dumber. I told Sheriff Burke that I saw men in black leaving town the other day, and they quickly sped onto the highway. These people were so stupid that they believed every word that came out of my mouth, what a bunch of jackasses. Nevertheless, I had a great time making the adults who mistreated me look like fools. They whispered all night about how they heard that the government was sending men in black to do so many experiments on their small town. Hillbillies are so, so stupid.
My friends and I just cracked up laughing, and we went into the house and left the neighbors standing and talking all night. I kissed the wall where all of my bodies were, except my mother, the bitch could rot some more, I hated her even in death. I hoped she would bust hell wide open; sometimes I could still hear her scream. I got joy out of hearing the walls scream; they wanted me to let them out. The soul always wants its body, but why should I have to spoil my fun and give them their bodies? There was no way in hell that I would ever let the souls be with the bodies.
As I peaked in the crack of the walls, I could see all the spirits fighting with each other; then they would run up to the hole, begging me to let them out, scaring the shit out of me.
"Fuck no," I said.
They got upset, and all night they banged on the walls like little children. Despite what anyone says, a spirit can't go to the other side if they are murdered; they must find peace, and to get peace they have to avenge their death from the grave. Basically, the spirits would have to get the person that killed them.
"Good luck on that," I said.
My mother was the worst; she would call me bitch and whore because I wouldn't let her out of the wall. But, why should I? She was mean to me and her spirit would hunt me for the rest of my life. So, all night I had to listen to banging and whispering in the walls. Sometimes at night my mother and the others would come and try to scare me. They would make the room look like the pits of hell, or they would have a demon of some sort torment me, but it didn't work. I either sent Samson to kill the demon, or I'd send one of my other friends to make my mother shut her fucking mouth. Then the night would go by fast and morning would come, and it was as if nothing had happened.
Walter would sit by the table, cleaning out his eye socket. Emily would be eating a jar of jelly, Johnny would be cleaning his gun, and Samson would always be looking out the windows. He always wanted to play, and I had to play with him, so I would take him outside, until things started getting weird. Other children passing by began to see Samson. He would do it on purpose to scare them, but I didn't make him real in my mind, so how did he get real?
I pulled Samson by his fur and let him know that I didn't appreciate what was going on. He played dumb, as if he didn't know what I was talking about, but something was definitely strange. I was becoming very nervous that Samson could be seen by the other children, this could be a big problem for us. At night, I'd listen to Walter and my other friends talk. I'd pretend to be asleep, but I had one eye on them. They'd talk about how I was the best friend they'd ever had, but Samson was fearing that one day I would grow out of it, and erase them from my mind, like most children did when they turned a certain age. They'd forget about dolls, toys, and stuff like the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus, and they'd also forget about their imaginary friends. That's what Samson and the others were afraid of. Now that I knew what was on their minds, I had to assure them that I'd never leave them.
The next day, I held a family meeting and let them know that I'd always be there, and unlike some kids, I'd never leave them. Samson and the others were happy to hear this. I then told Samson that I understood why he wanted to make the other children see him, just for the simple fact that he wanted to find another friend, just in case I moved on. But, I gave the big smelly monster a hug and let him know that I was here to stay, and when he heard this he melted like butter in my arms. From that day on the other children couldn't see him, but they'd always ask me where my monster friend was. I just laughed and let those little brats know that if they didn't move out of my yard I would kill them. Then I would make Emily appear and frighten the hell out of them. Emily was very scary to the children, her yellow, black straggly hair; she was nothing but bones, and she was dirty looking. To me, she was perfect, but I wanted to buy her some new clothing; so I decided to go shopping.
I only took Walter with me, and reminded Johnny that he was in charge, and to watch the house until I got back. Well, that was my first mistake. While at the store, I could feel that something was wrong, but I shopped anyway. Walter and I picked up a bunch of clothes for everyone and we used one of my mother's dead friend's credit cards. I was so thrilled to shop for clothing for the first time in my life. I was picking up everything I ever wanted, from dresses to hair bows, I got new socks and panties. By the time we got to the line, I started to get nervous thinking that the card might not ring up. It paused for a minute and I got scared because the cashier looked us up and down. Walter and I looked like a strange couple, but when the card went through, we hurried up and left. I got so carried away that I forgot what I was worried about. I had good reason; on the way home I kept telling Walter that something was wrong and I could feel it in my bones.
I looked all around and noticed that police cars were coming from everywhere. I became very nervous because they had their sirens on. At first, I thought that we were being pulled over, but all the police cars wanted us to do was get out of the way. Like any law abiding citizens, we pulled over to the side of the road and let them go. As I got closer to home, I saw all the police cars around our house. I was so afraid to go inside.
Then a cop came out from behind my house; I let Walter talk to him. This cop was strange looking; I had never seen him around before. He was very skinny, his eyes almost looked dead. His skin was so pale and rough, it seemed to be dry and flaking off. He was a dirty blonde, and his uniform was wrinkled. Walter once again asked him what he wanted. The policeman introduced himself as Officer Clark. He began to go on about how the neighbors said that they heard strange noises coming from the house and that maybe someone was inside. I assured the officer that no one was in my house, but he wanted to check. As I opened the door, I could see Emily hiding a body in the hole in the wall. The officer looked around, under the beds, down in the basement, and in the closet, but found nothing. He quickly apologized and went on his way, but I knew something was wrong; the officer had to have seen something.
So, as he was leaving, I stopped and asked him, "What's wrong? Are you all right?"
As Officer Clark stood outside the house to catch his breath, he was breathing very hard, I could see his chest pounding. Whatever it was, he was very scared. Then Sheriff Burke came forward and asked Officer Clark if he was okay. I could hear Officer Clark tell the sheriff that he thought he saw a ghost. Burke just patted Clark on the back, and told him not to worry; he'd just been working too hard. I just smiled as Officer Clark looked back at the house. I could tell that he was afraid of whatever it was that he'd seen. As the officers cleared our house and were headed toward the neighbors, two women came running up to the officers, shouting,
"Our children are missing!"
Sheriff Burke tried to calm the two ladies down, but they were very shaken, and were afraid that someone had taken their children. One of the ladies reported that a neighbor child said that a big ape came and snatched the children out of the street. Sheriff Burke just laughed and called the women crack-heads, but Clark took them seriously and comforted them as Sheriff Burke went next door. I quickly locked all of the doors and called Emily, Samson, and Johnny out to the living room. I wanted to know what had happened; I knew they'd had something to do with it.
When Emily came out, she was covered in blood. I quickly left the room and went looking around. Under the couch was a dead boy, about twelve years old; he was dirty, and all he had on was a small worn out teddy bear shirt. His eyes were gouged out, his tongue ripped out, there were scratches all over his body, as if something had attack him, and there were puncture wounds all over his body with blood oozing out. The carpet was well soaked with blood.
As I looked in the walls, there were three more children, two other boys and one girl. I wanted to know what in the hell had happened here! Johnny explained that when I left for the store, four children tried to break into the house; one was scared away, but the other brats broke in, and as they got into the house, Emily dragged them in and taught them a lesson. Well, I was upset that I didn't get to see the killings, but I wasn't upset that my friends had had to kill. They were protecting me. But, Walter was upset and scolded Johnny and the others, telling them not to ruin it again.
"Ruin what again?" I asked.
All of them got quiet for a minute, but I wanted to know, and I wanted to know now. Walter sat me down and told me that way back in 1863, they were friends of an African girl who came to America as a slave. Because of Emily and Johnny, the slave girl killed her white master and blamed it on her imaginary friends, which was those four. Of course, no one believed her and she was hanged. Once she was dead, they had no children's minds to invade; every child seemed to be afraid to have imaginary friends for fear of being killed. And now the same thing was happening again; Emily and the others had now killed four children. I began to worry a little and think that they might turn on me.
For some reason I had given them the power to make themselves seen. I now knew that my mind was more powerful than I could ever imagine. The human brain is only used at a five percent level; what we do with the other ninety-five percent is beyond me. I had to think and think quickly, but my love for seeing others hurt got the better of me. I fell in love with murder; it seemed to ease the pain of all I'd gone through; it was like a drug to see murders one after another. I got a high off of touching a dead corpse and feeling its pain. Now I was the abuser, and I was so powerful that the power went to my head. I convinced Walter and the others that I'd never leave them, but they had to behave themselves and only kill when I said it was safe to do so. They all agreed and we went about our daily routine.
I gave Emily and Johnny their new clothes. They were so happy, and because they were happy so was I. But my best pleasure was cleaning the four dead bodies, and having Samson make holes in the wall for me to put them in. They were like my prizes; I cleaned them up, put them in new clothing, and placed them in the wall ever so gently. All night I patched the wall and repainted it. I still could hear my mother running her big mouth, and begging to be let go, but I wasn't going to; she had to suffer like I did, as long as I could help it, her body would never meet with her spirit. For the first time in her life, she was begging for my help. I found great joy in telling her no.
Every once in a while I would peak through the hole in the wall; I could see all the spirits scratching the walls to get out, they were being tormented by the worms and the demons of hell. I just laughed and I laughed loud enough so they all could hear me. Their spirits became so angry that they began to curse me out in another language.
"Oh, that's not nice," I said and clogged the hole back up.
I could see the wall moving from them pushing on it, the pictures began to fall off, and the paint began to chip away. I sent Samson to the wall to scream at them, and soon they were all quiet. Now that the spirits knew I wasn't afraid of them anymore, they left me alone. So now at night, instead of the bad dreams and visions, I got a peaceful, restful sleep. I had become stronger, I was not afraid of anything, even though I was barley twelve years old. I felt as if I had lived a lifetime, and I was not afraid of anything or anyone.
I'd made up my mind to kill everyone in our small town; one by one, my friends and I would burst down doors, shoot through walls, and kill everyone. We'd be the only survivors of this small town. I hatched a great plan, and now it was time to implement it. I called all four of my friends together and told them we were going on a killing spree. They were all happy; it was as if we had won the Superbowl.
Look out, town, because here we come! Everyone that ever raped me, abused me, cursed me out, or called me strange or weird was first on my list. And oh, did I have a list, as long as the highway! Johnny and Samson were ready, they began to talk about all the killings they could do, and how much fun they'd have, but all I cared about was revenge. For all the days I had suffered, someone was going to pay and pay they would. To start the ritual of my revenge, I took a sharp razor and I began to slice my face open, and watch the blood run down. For some reason, it didn't hurt; I just loved the feel of the blood running down my face. I continually sliced my face over and over until the flesh began to bulge out. All night, I cut through my flesh, one slice after the other as Samson and Emily looked on. My face was entirely sliced up, I looked like a totally different person, and that was the look I was going for.
All my life I had looked in the mirror and seen someone I hated; I've seen the scars on my heart, and I wanted the world to see what they'd done to me. I wanted the world to pay; all that night I sat by the bedside and sharpened my butcher's knife, and got all my dark clothing together. Then Walter and I put extra plaster on the walls and began to paint them over and over again, until it was so very thick. I wanted all of my bodies to remain in the walls; I didn't want anything to happen to my precious prizes.
I sat and looked out the window in complete darkness. I watched as people went in and out of their homes for the night. I watched as they turned out their lights and were done for the night. I gathered my friends together and let them know that it was time to attack, I wanted them to kill everyone in sight, man woman or child, and from there we would move to another town and do the same thing. If the world didn't know me for anything else, they would know me as the first child serial killer. I was paying everyone back for hurting me and any other children that were hurt in the process. I watched as the moon began to rise. At first, it was so bright, and then all of a sudden, darkness fell.
I could see a few of the neighbors peaking out of their windows. I knew then that it was time for me to make my move. I gathered my friends and off we went. I took a moment to say goodbye to the house I once suffered in, and the one I'd called home. I didn't want to leave my bodies, but I'd come back for them; I'd start over in a bigger home so that I could collect more bodies. Soon, before I knew it, I was walking out the door. I took a look at myself in the mirror one last time, and I looked like a totally different person. My face was so scarred that no one would ever figure out it was me. I saw the spirits in the mirror, taunting me, and cursing me, but they didn't scare me anymore; I was brave enough to go out on my own. I was not afraid of anything, and that was a very scary feeling, not to be afraid of nothing, that meant I had the power to do anything and not feel sorrow or any remorse.
The spirits wanted their bodies back, but I just laughed at them and told them to get back in the wall and stay there. They walked away like dogs, with their tails between their legs. I put my black hooded sweater on, and off we went. The first door I knocked on was Mr. Penn; he was a natural child molester, he couldn't stop if he wanted to. So, I'd make him stop. When he opened the door he was having sex with a nine year old boy, and this would be the last time he did that, because with my knife I stabbed him through the neck over and over again; I even killed the boy, because he'd grow up to be a child molester, and then there'd be more children like me getting hurt.
Next, we had to go to the sheriff's house. I had to kill him and every other police officer in our town, just for the simple fact that they were going to give me so much trouble, and I couldn't have that. I killed Sheriff Burke by diving straight through his bedroom window and letting the glass crash to the floor. I had Walter disable all of the light switches outside so that he couldn't see. I could hear him playing with the lights, trying to turn them on and off, and then I heard him go for his gun. I could hear the steel gliding back as he tried to load it. Finally, I saw him in the night, trying to feel his way through the house with his hands touching the walls as he glided right passed me. I had Emily lie on the floor and she tripped him. He shot at Emily, but this did no good; Emily was already dead, she was just my imagination. Bullet by bullet, I could hear them going through the air; Sheriff Burke began to scream when he saw Emily.
"What in hell are you?" he shouted.
Emily just laughed and bit off a part of his ear. At this point, he was out of bullets and still trying to fire his gun, but nothing came out. I could hear him breathing hard; he was very afraid and began to run back into the other room. I couldn't let him get there to call for help, so I had Johnny waiting with his gun, and before I could command Johnny to fire, he was already shooting bullets all through the house. One by one, they went through Sheriff Burke's head, and on the floor he collapsed, gulping for every breath, like a fish out of water. Finally, I held his nose and mouth closed until he couldn't breathe any longer, and he died, like the worthless police sheriff he was. He was never one to help the children in our community, he was the bad cop, the one buying and selling drugs in the community; he was the one who was friends with all the drug pushers that came through our town; now his reign was over.
We then hit every other house, killing everything living from cats to dogs, to boys and girls, there was no one escaping my wrath; this entire town was going to pay, even if it meant with the blood of their children. I then went to Officer Clark's house; he was in the living room watching nasty porn. I hid in the dark, unnoticed. For a minute he felt something over his shoulder and quickly turned around. That's when I disappeared into the dark, but that was when Emily appeared over his shoulders. She moved around like a snake, so quiet and with a scary elegance. I did let Officer Clark get the last sexual enjoyment that he was ever going to get. As soon as he started playing with his dick, I had Samson rip his head off. The blood went spouting into the air; I could feel the droplets on my skin. I loved that feeling; it was like drinking a cold lemonade on a hot and sticky day. Officer Clark's body started to move and jerk without the head. This was very fascinating to me, I sat and watched it for a while and then had Emily rip out his heart, after that the body fell to the floor.
Now that the main officers were dead, it was time to wake up the town. Oh, and what fun I had; I sent Samson to turn over cars and cause a huge ruckus. He went out into the streets, flipping and turning over cars one by one. I could see trucks and cars flying through the air and into people's homes. Samson began to beat on his chest as if he was in the wild; people came running out of their homes, and when they did I sent my friends to kill them all. As Samson and the others killed the people, I just sat back and watched as the homes were destroyed. I was very intrigued by the fire and the smoke from the explosions of the cars.
I took a seat on the grass of a house, watching as it burned to the ground. People began to fall over each other as if it was the end of the world. I just sat there laughing as the people ran passed me. I tripped them and caused them to fall to the ground, awaiting my friends to come and attack them. Johnny was having the most fun of all; he was shooting his gun into the air like a wild man. Every time someone walked or ran passed him; he would shoot them in the head. Blood splattered all over the sidewalks and onto other people as they ran by.
Emily was also there, giving people the scare of their lives. Once they got a good look at her, they began to scream their heads off. To be quite honest, she was very scary looking, but to me she was the prettiest thing God had ever created. One by one, I watched as Emily yanked out people's hearts and lungs, it was amazing how she could push her hands through their bodies so easily. People were dropping like flies, they were screaming, but there was no one to help them. They were so far away, the only thing close by was a deserted old highway; the next big city was miles and miles away. It would be days before anyone came around, which was just the way I wanted it, it was like a playhouse for my friends and I.
I tried to collect as many bodies as I could and had Walter lift them onto our truck. I then noticed that Walter was looking sad. When I asked him what was wrong, he just pointed at his eyes. I was then aware for the first time that Walter wanted eyes like everyone else. So, the next person running away from the madness, I grabbed them and snatched out their eyes. It just so happened to be Mr. Coffee; people on the streets called him coffee bean. He was another hardcore crack addict, so I figured he didn't need his eyes.
As I snatched them from Mr. Coffee's head, blood and body fluids splashed everywhere, but Walter was happy. He licked his lips, he was happy that he finally had some eyes. He quickly grabbed them out of my hands and placed them in his eye sockets. I watched as Mr. Coffee's eyes became Walter's eyes; they grew into his eye sockets as if they'd always been his. I was happy that he was happy. Once Walter had eyes; he began to run around and kept touching things as if he had never seen them before. Then he ran to the truck and looked in the mirror; he was so glad to have eyes that he kept sticking his fingers in them, poking himself.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," I said to Walter.
He just laughed, and once he got used to his new eyes, in less than a minute, he was killing with the others. Walter picked up his baseball bat, and began smashing people's heads, one by one by one. Guts and blood were everywhere, but no one seemed to care.
As people kept running, I chased them down and killed them with one stab to the heart; it was all I needed. I watched as the life left their bodies; it felt so good that from that moment on I joined my friends and we all killed anything that move. Samson turned over more cars and trucks and Johnny was like a wild dog running people down and chasing them into the streets. Mr. Lee tried to get his shotgun and stop us, but my boy Johnny was on it. He whipped around a corner and started shooting Mr. Lee in the face, non-stop, until his face looked like Swiss cheese.
"Weeee this is fun," shouted Johnny.
Indeed it was; everyone was afraid of us and every once in a while I would encounter someone who tried to be a hero and stop me, but I just laughed in their face. They were no match for my friends and me. I came out of nowhere, waving and slicing my knife in the air, not caring who I cut, or who was in the way. No one was safe around me, and no one would ever forget this day.
Out of the blue, Emily curled up into a fetal position and played dead. When someone would pass her, she would jump up and begin sucking the blood right out of them. Emily was small and frail, but she had a hunger for blood. She became more powerful with every suck of blood. I watched as the blood rolled down her chin in little droplets. She wiped it from her mouth with her fingers and licked them clean.
Fire and destruction were everywhere; I had Samson and Walter gather as many bodies as they could so I could take them home. As the places burned down, we left. With no survivors (or none that we knew of), I wanted to put the bodies in the wall of my house. So at least I would have something to cherish this day. As the night went by, there was no one in sight; it was as if I had just stepped into a ghost town.
"Hurry," I said to the others as they carried in the bodies one by one.