The sisters real diary.
I don't feel guilty. That guy raped me. I would kill him myself if I could, but I can't. He is too big and strong. I know how my brother is. He is a violent predator. He needs to kill anyway. So, if he kills, good. Let him kill this raping, arrogant violent boy. I will never lose any sleep over it.
The sisters fake diary.
Poor Jenny. She told me today that Brian Spencer raped her. Somebody should do something about that. That fucking bastard has been getting away with that sort of thing for ages. So what if his father runs this town? He should have to pay for doing that to girls. It's not right. Somebody should hurt him. He needs to be hurt, like he hurts us girls.
Went to the ice cream store today. Saw Brian stalking a new victim. Someone should stop him. Really. I can't. I want to. I so want to. I just don't have that violent streak in me. But somebody should stop him. He must be stopped. He wont stop himself.
Jenny told me that she heard at school he has done this more than 10 times. He deserves whatever he gets. I hope he suffers, he deserves to suffer, like he has made us suffer.
I am afraid for myself. One day he is going to come after me. Who is going to protect me? Somebody should. I am just a small little Asian girl in this creepy Southern town.
I need a protector.
Diary of a Serial Killer in the making
Being 14 isn't easy at the best of times. You think you have things figured out, but you don't. Even at this age, I know that now. I do know this: I am me. And only because of me. The urge to kill was born within me. I may have seen some things along the way, but I kill because that desire is born within me. I have been raised in a loving and stable home. My parents are good people. They didn't raise me to be the animal I am. It's not their fault. Mostly because of that, I hope I they never find out. That I don't get caught..at least until they die anyway. I want them to always think that they did a good job and got a good result.
And they did do a good job. Even if I was raised to be a saint, I would kill. Will kill. I have to kill. I just have to make it useful. To have purpose.
I've always had the urge to kill. I can't remember a time when I didn't. If I knew what it felt like to be peaceful I would tell you. But I don't. Killing is what I do. What I like. What feeds my hunger.
The kids in school don't get me. They never will. They are too young to know better, but even when they grow older, they will never understand what motivates me, drives me..to be who I am. It is not within them to get that.
They get mad, they vent, they lash out. The anger is gone.
I get mad, I don't vent. I kill. The anger remains. I only want to kill more. That won't ever go away. I must feed my hunger, with worthy victims. Good thing there are so many.
I see things. I see kids being bullied. I see wrongs that need to be righted. I so want to take care of that. But now is not the time. The time will come. Yes...it will come. There is a time and place for all things, and that time will come.
I will be careful that way. Yes, I need to kill. But I also need to keep killing and to make sure that no one finds out. I just have to be better than the others. I will be the killer they marvel at. The one that they write about when I am long gone.
How did he do it? How could he do such things? I will do those things. Yes, I will do those things.
I keep notes. Lots of notes. Each kill is another story. They will study me. These other killers as just pure sick animals. I have a plan. I will execute that plan. That is why I will be around long after they are dead and buried somewhere that no one will ever find them. And in my case, long before anyone ever knows what they did. They are not me. I am the greatest killer that ever lived, and I will prove that by eliminating the ones who aren't.
That is why I can justify it. The kills. Yes, I kill. Yes, I am sick. But I also help society. They just don't know it. Not yet anyway. I kill the killers who take innocent lives. I kill killers so they can't do that anymore. Of course, I get that I kill them because I want to be the best, the one that endures. But at least I have purpose. They have no purpose. They are just animals that need to be slaughtered. I am better than them. Yes...I am better than them.
Yes, I am a killer, just like them, but I am not like them. I am better than them. Yes, better. Much better. Yes, I kill, just like them, because I need to kill. But ...I don't just kill anybody. My kills are deserving kills. I do have purpose. At the end of my life, they will say I did good. They will champion me. They will say "he killed those that needed to be killed". They will build statues and monuments to me.
I have always known. How could I have not known. A father knows when there is something wrong with his child. He tried to hide it. He was good at it too. There wasn't much to find. His mother never suspected. Neither did his two sisters. How could they? They didn't know what the signs looked like. Of course, I did. Because I was just like him. I killed too. He never knew that either. Nobody..well..almost nobody knows what I did.
Of course, I wasn't as prolific as he is going to be. I only killed 4 in my lifetime. They were deserving. Yes, just like the "victims" he will kill, they were deserving. Just the scum of society that needed to be killed. Who deserved what they got. And it didn't burn inside me like it does in him. I killed and then the urge would go away for a long time. It didn't pre occupy me. Haunt me. Guide me. I killed and then let it go. It didn't burn in me like it burns in him.
Can I stop him? I don't know. Probably not. I won't ever find out, because I have no intention of trying. It isn't for me to stop my son from being who he was born to be. We have raised him well, and steered him away from violent behavior. But it is within him, just as it is within me. I stopped, because I don't have that strong urge he does. I just want to make sure his mother never finds out. It would destroy her to find out what we have made..what we have raised. She is so pure. She is my rock, my center. She is most of the reason I am able to keep these urges from overtaking me and killing again.
She will never know what I did, and I hope she never finds out what he is doing and is going to do. I see it. He is determined to kill. Nobody is going to stop him. Anybody that tries is likely to be just another victim. I won't be one of those.
Do I feel guilty that I read his diary? No, I don't. I didn't go looking for it and when I read it, I know I was meant to find it. At least now I can monitor him, and help him, without him knowing it, any way I can.
They thought I never knew. Mothers know. Wives know. We are perceptive. We feel our loved ones pain. It has been a while since I last had to deal with the hate. With the rage, with the violence. Nobody here knows that. I left that all behind when I moved from Tulsa to Lafayette. I told them all ...my parents died. That wasn't the truth. They didn't die. I wanted them to die. I wanted to believe they were dead. To convince myself they were dead. I needed a fresh start. But, I never forgot.
Now, I see it again. And, I know it when I see it. It is in our blood, I know that now. I have killed, my parents killed, my son will kill. That is just how it is going to be. And I married a man who also kills. He thinks I can't see that, but I can.
He thinks I'm an angel. I'm no angel. I could be just like them. In many ways, I am just like them.
I stopped, because I had to, not because I wanted to. I still feel like killing. But I have a higher calling now. Keeping my son out of trouble. If he is going to kill, he needs to learn how to do it right. Like I did. So he can get away with it. Not like my stupid father. He was just an ignorant drunk who killed a couple of guys in a bar fight, because he was angry. What a fucking idiot!
I am not raising an idiot.