Cold Blood

Well, here goes. I guess you could call this my last will, although that isn’t really what it is. I’d say it’s more of a confession than anything, but honestly I‘m not really even sure if what I am writing is true or not. I grew up as a normal kid, decent neighborhood with loving parents. My dad worked at the local plant and my mom was a school teacher. We lived a normal life, did what most families did, nothing out of the ordinary.

I really can’t remember how or when it started. Almost out of the blue something wasn’t right. No, there was no monsters or ghosts, but my father really started to act strange. He would start coming home late, drunk and angry. One night it was far worse than the rest, like all other nights he was drunk, of course. He came through the door mumbling about something I couldn’t really understand. I ignored him like I usually did, and locked myself in my room. He seemed to have calmed down so I went out into the kitchen to get something to eat. There she was, lying on the floor motionless in a pool of her own blood. She was clearly dead, I couldn’t find my father anywhere, he just seemed to vanish.

Months went by and my father was still never found. I went to live with my grandparents in the town over. Everything started to go back to normal, well as normal as it could be after you find your mother, after your father bludgeoned her to death. Never the less I started making new friends and got back into a normal routine. A few years passed and the image of my mothers bloody body started to slip away. It could have been that I was really forgetting it or it could be all the meds the psychiatrists had me on. Either way I didn’t care, I just wanted that horrible picture out of my mind for good.

Soon, I had graduated from high school and moved away to college. It was nice to finally be on my own and far away from the memories of my past. I still sit up wondering how much different my life would have been if my parents were still around, but I guess there is nothing I can do about that now. Freshman year went by like nothing, It was actually pretty boring. Nothing too eventful ever really happened. I was happy for once.

The beginning of my sophomore year however wasn’t all that ordinary. I started having horrible dreams, but they just didn’t feel like dreams. They felt too real and as if I was actually there. Most dreams were the same, someone would be walking through the woods until they are attacked by someone, the attacker looked very familiar but I could never really put my finger on it. The worst part is that I would never wake up during the nightmares. I had to watch every grueling second of the murder. This guy, whoever it was had no sense of remorse as he plunged the blade into his prey time after time. Most mornings I would wake up sweating and out of breath and just brush it off as a bad dream.

That was until the disappearances started to happen. A few girls had gone missing off of campus. This stuff usually happens, girls get drunk at a party and go home with a guy only to return the next night. Nobody thought they would actually find bodies. They cancelled classes for a few days which I wasn’t against. It gave me some time to relax and get those horrible dreams out of my mind. It had been a few weeks since I had any dreams or anyone had gone missing. I thought everything had gone back to normal, classes started back up and everyone started to forget the murders. The scumbag was never found and they just assumed he was a drifter that simply got bored and moved along.

The dreams, they came back of course. But this time I didn’t wake up in my bed with my pajamas on. I woke up in the middle of the forest behind my dorm covered in blood. It was still rather early and the sun had just started to come up so I had time to get back to my room without anyone noticing me. I have no idea what happened that night or why there was blood covering my clothes. All I can remember is that horrible dream, this time it was more vivid. It was as if I was the attacker. I remember her face too. The looks of pure agony and fright. I will never forget it.

That morning I went into the cafeteria to get some food while trying to piece together what had happened last night. For some reason there were a few police officers and detectives questioning students. I didn’t think much of it until they questioned me. They showed me a picture, I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was the girl from my dream the night before. I was at a loss for words, I couldn’t help but stutter and slur my words. That’s when they asked to search my room. I of course cooperated because I didn’t think they’d find anything. After a few minutes of turning my room upside down they still hadn’t found whatever they were looking for. That was until they searched the closet. I don’t know if I half expected them to find something or if I wanted them to find something. Hidden in the ceiling underneath one of the tiles was a knife covered in blood. I couldn’t believe my eyes, was I the killer? Were all of the dreams real? I said nothing as they cuffed me and read me my rights. My nightmare were coming true.

Now, it has been a few months since it all happened. It went to trial, those were the worst days of my life. I just wanted to die. Every single picture they showed me was of a person that was in my dream. In total they linked me to ten different murders. I don’t remember a single one. My psychiatrist testified for me and got me put in a mental asylum instead of the maximum security prison. She said finding my mom murdered had such an impact on my subconscious that I committed those horrible murders without even knowing it. I remember learning on TV that most serial killers don’t feel remorse for what they had done. Every night I lay awake wishing I could have taken it all back. I’m a monster. I wish they gave me the death penalty.

Today my father visited me at the hospital. I tried telling the nurses and security guard that he was the one who had killed my mother when I was a child. They all looked at me as if I were crazier than they had initially thought. Son, my father said. “We go over this every single time I come to see you.” You were the one who murdered her so many years ago.” I couldn’t believe my ears, who does this man think he is coming here lying and trying to pin her murder on me. I can’t believe he would do this to me. What a fucking coward.

Finally, I had convinced my shrink at the hospital to let me see my file. I felt as if my eyes were deceiving me. My father was right, I murdered my own mother when I was 14 and was admitted into a mental hospital until I was 18. My grandparents, they never existed, they had died long before I was even born. I was never in college, I was nothing more than a crazed drifter who settled down in a college town for a few months while I killed those girls. My mind somehow made up the stories to cope with what I had done. I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to be a serial killer or a murderer. I never meant to hurt anyone. That’s why I must end this. It’s kind of ironic how someone that in his conscious mind would never even harm a fly murdered 11 people in cold blood. I have to kill myself before I hurt anyone else.

Today, I woke up covered in blood again…

Credit To: Ryan Richard

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