Maison, a five year girl old girl never expected her ears to hear a blasting sound of sirens that night she was about to finish her Finding Nemo movie, closing her eyes to drift off to sleep. Screams filled the house of threats and curses, sounding like her mother. An hour after of silence, rolled over with a new sound. A new voice she had never heard before. It was a man, around fifty years old. He started saying something right as Mai was about to reply her movie in her locked room. She locked it herself. Tears rolled down her face. She had no idea what was wrong with her. She kept thinking that she was the reason why her mother hurt her father and sister. She wondered why her mother said that a surprise was happening that night. As she turned the volume down on her VHR, she heard a man speak.
“She’s staying in the big house for some time,” the man grunted. “She can get bailed out, though. All she needs to do is call somebody on the telephone. She’s available to one call. What’s her name, again? Candace?”
“Carol,” her father, Thomas, answered. “She’s done this multiple times. I just didn’t know this would happen to one of my loved ones along with me. She’s manic-depressive, you know, officer.”
“We don’t need that information again, sir. You have told me. What are your kid’s names? They sound nice.” The officer asked, scratching his head. Maison had her head against the door, listening. She wouldn’t dare open the door. She now knew the truth about her mother. Since she saw what she did earlier that night.
“Harper and Maison. Harper’s seven; two years older than Maison. Maison has Asperger’s, but they both have good reports in how they do in elementary.”
Maison turned her head to hear the voice of Dory, acting like a whale, getting louder as her sister pushed the volume up. “Harper, I’m trying to listen!” She whined, jumping on her bed, pulling the covers up.
“We might get in trouble if the cop hears silence all the sudden, let’s just relax and watch the movie.” Harper says, snuggling next to Maison, putting her freezing feet next to her warm toes.
“Harper, your hand,” Mai says, seeing blood leak down it. “Did mommy do that?” Harper nodded, as Maison grabbed her hand. She put the cut where her mouth was, and licked the blood off.
“Eww, Maison, don’t do that!” Harper giggled. “I might get you sick.”
“I’m going to help you no matter what,” The little sister replied, hugging her sibling tightly. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Crazy Girl.”
Maison rubbed her eyes tightly. She had never been good with eyesight, and without glasses it was hard to see the whale swallow the two fish whole. “Don’t rub those eyes, sis,” Harper warned, holding her sister’s hands down. “Listen to the sounds. It might help a little bit better.”
They both watched the movie, Harper helping Maison on what part they were on. They both were about thirty minutes before the credits when a sound came from the window.
“What was that?” Maison asked, hiding under the blankets in her bed. “It might be Moose; don’t worry.” Harper answered. Moose was their pet dog; a tame Pit Bull in its old years. Harper opened the door, but it wasn’t Moose. Instead, it was a teenage boy with pasty white skin, and jet black hair. But that wasn’t just it. He had no eyelids, incapable of sleeping, nor blinking, and a carved red smile. “Hello, girls,” The boy snickered. He pulled out a bread knife covered with rust and old blood, holding Harpers shoulder as she stood there silent in shock. He was about to stab he heart, going to kill her and her sibling, until he heard something come through the five-year-olds mouth.
“Excuse me?” the teen asked in bewilderment. He climbed through the window, picking the child up and putting her back on her bed. She struggled out, giggling, slipping out of his grasp. “You’re funny, too!” she said, hugging the teen. Harper stared in awe. Why was she doing this? She shook hard as the boy wrapped his hands around the girl. “You’re the first… to say I’m beautiful…”
“Well, people would say you’re ugly, I can see why. They need to see true beauty, inside and out.”
“Little girl, what’s your name?”
“Maison. What’s yours?” She asks.
“Jeff.” He says, keeling down to the girl. “Maison, can I give you a favor?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Can you promise you can keep it?” Jeff says, exiting through the window.
“Come here,” Jeff says, as Maison does so. When she comes face to face with him, he pecks her on the forehead. “I want you to enjoy the sight of blood.”
And with that, he closes the window shut, and runs off.
Maison and Harper forgot there visit with Jeff the Killer after a few weeks. While months and years grew, they both were different, yet similar in a way.
Harper had good grades, had a lot of friends, and liked it when people hung out with her. Elementary passed and she had an equivalent of fifty friends. In middle school, she had over one hundred twenty-three friends. She got invited to many parties, and got many texts from her friends. She started high school; already having many friends. She is talented in abstract art, and read with fast speed.
Maison, on the other hand, had good grades, but not very friends. In fact, in kindergarten through sixth grade, many people bullied her about being different. Many beat her up during and at the end of school. She started seventh-grade, at a different school, and now has about thirty friends, all different, but enjoying Maison’s company. She never really got invited to parties until this year, in fact. She is talented in singing, piano, and art. She likes to be on the loner side, having quiet time is pleasured in her life. She loves having company though with her friend that lives within two houses distance, and loves giving attention to her dogs.
Here’s the problem-Maison suffers from homicidal thoughts. She loves creepy stories, along with creepy music. She suffers from anxiety, and post-traumatic-stress-disorder. The number one person she wants to kill is her mother.
. . .
“Harper?” I ask, opening the door that leads to her room. “Harper!”
“Please don’t tell dad,” She says, looking at her slashed arms. “Help me, please.”
“Please don’t do this!” I say, grabbing tissues, and applying pressure to her arm. There were only so many tissues, so I lift them up and lick the blood off her arm. “Eww. Maison, why’d you do that?”
“I always do.” I answer. “Where’s the oil?”
“On the shelf,” She answers, pointing to it. I walk over and grasp on to the bottle and open the cap. I pour the liquid on my hands and rub it on my sister’s arm. I look at the previous scars on her, and sigh. Try to get better, okay? Break this habit.” I say, patting her arm.
“Ouch,” she says, flinching.
“You get better. We have to get ready for dinner, anyway. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
I walk into my room, smelling my incense with a big breath. I shake out my coldness and put some socks on to warm up my feet. I fix my pony tail too, because my hair looked to frizzy. At last I put on my glasses, looking into my mirror. I don’t look that bad. Chubby, but good. I look pretty, in my own way. I don’t have to starve or throw up to look nice. I zone out with my reflection until I hear a thudding sound that makes me concerned. I look out my window. It’s pretty dark.
I open my room to see my sister’s is wide open. It never stays open…
I peek my head inside, and then gasp. My mother has her hands around my sister’s neck, making her choking her to death. “Harper!” I scream kicking my mother in the crotch. “I feel my sister’s cold, knocked-out face. Tears pour out of my eyes with sadness, and then anger. A thud pops in my chest. Kill her! My brain screams, laughing in my mind.
“My little baby girl,” Carol says, with a chuckle. I walk up to her and smack her face. “Fuck you.”
“I was worried you would say that,” She sighed. She got something out of the pocket. A pocket knife. She flips it over to a blunt knife and licks it, making her tongue bleed fast. A swelling comes into my heart. Making me lick my lips, in a weird passion. I shake my head as she walks over to me, with her bloody-mouthed grin, and her knife.
I run out the door, running into the kitchen. I hear her footsteps; sprinting. I scream in fear, but see the cabinet. I snatch a bottle of sleeping tablets and bust open the laundry room. My dad lays there, out cold as well. I cry out and pry open the last door, outside in the pitch black sky.
As I rush out my house and slam the door, tears pour out of my eyes. It’s time Maison. You have to do so you won’t feel pain. First, though, you must hide.
“Maison, I love you, don’t leave you mother!” she screams, holding an opened pocket knife. “I love you, so much.”
“Fuck off!” I scream, running to the drive way. The gate is a few feet away; maybe I can gain some time!
My homicidal thoughts used to be gone. I was a happy child. But know, seeing her face again, I wanted me to see her blood. I want it to leak down my hands.
I grasp on the gate with trembling, cold hands and slam it closed. I grab the chain and wrap it around, while she stands where my hands are.
“Don’t leave me!” She screams, stabbing the opened pocket knife in my left palm.
I know my eyes are red, red with the wanting to see her blood. I shake my head though. No! Stop thinking about it!
I scream and run as she tries to unfurl the chains. I run out of energy fast, though. I have to find a path that she won’t expect. My writing hand wasn’t hurt, but that didn’t mean the left hand didn’t hurt like hell. Tears leak down my face as I struggle to walk to my neighbor’s house. My friend lives there, but her mom hates me.
I run to the backyard, taking a giant breath and sprint to the fence. How the hell to I get over this? I see my bare feet cold and numb in the darkness.
“I can hear you panting, Maison. Momma’s got you.”
“No!” I shriek, running to the sliding door. I grab the handle and pull. Weird, they left the sliding door open. But man I have luck. I slid it down and lock it. She stands there, with a crooked smile. She grabs the pocket knife, and stabs the glass. It cracks slightly. She hits it again. Cracks more.
“Maison, what you doing here?”
I turn to see my friend’s mom right behind me.
“Mrs. Tokanisha, I know you’re not fond of me, but my mother is trying to kill me!” I cry, and run to the front door.
“What do you mean…?” The glass shatters as I open the door. “Run!” she says, grabbing a knife from the kitchen cabinet. She starts to chant Taiwanese, but I already ran outside.
My feet warmed up in there, but it made them number when I stepped outside. I cry out in pain as my hand starts to burn. I catch pace and run into the street. No cars where there, and I needed to find something. I run into the bushes, and walk further into the night. The sound of chorus frogs and crickets are the only sounds I can hear. I strain and wheeze to catch my breath, trying to find something out of the bushes. I can’t see anything, using only the sound of my feet and the feeling of hope to guide my way.
“You really are cute when you struggle, Maison.”
I jump to the sound of my mother behind me and try to run. She grasps my neck in a headlock and licks my head. “You’ll always be mine. I gave birth to you. I will be the one to kill you.”
I chuckle. “Yes, I was born from a monster’s vaginal area. It was a dark and mysterious place. But you killing me? I will be in charge of it.”
I bite her arm, and she flings back. “Give me another chance! I’m walking on eggshells for you.”
“Bitch, I’ve been walking on broken glass trying to escape from you…” I gasp as the end of the bushes is a steep hill. I fall backwards, seeing my mother smile. I get the breath knocked out of me, I try to catch it back, seeing her walk slowly to be, flipping her pocket knife to a very blunt side.
I take a gasp of air and grab my mother’s leg.
I flip it over so she trips and bonks her nose. She starts to catch her breath, while I run to a brown colored house.
My urge pulls me to her like a magnet, but, I bite my hands and sprint to the place.
The grass grows high, and the door to the house has no lock. In fact, the door doesn’t even have a handle. “Shit!” I say, as I see my mother get up from the ground. “Dirty words, they are bad for the soul.”
I swing the door open and try to find light. I see some stairs, it might be useful. The top is dark, I have a plan.
I climb to the top and then stomp acting like I am walking further in the house. She franticly climbs up. I can see the sweat and blood on her body. Some of it isn’t hers though.
“Where did you go, baby?”
“Right here!” I kick her feet once again, causing her to fall down the stairs with a large thud. She seems knocked out.
Do it. Do it now. End it. You don’t need this anymore.
I search for a bathroom. I open the nearest room. Bedroom.
“Hello? Anyone here?” Nothing.
I open the second room. Bingo. Even has a lock, too.
I go inside and lock the door. I see a bathtub rusted over. I pray (not for god) that water will come out. I smile as warm water pours not even a bit rusty. I breathe in as I pull out a bottle of dietary pills from my pocket.
I read the bottle: Melatonin.
I normally take two and end up asleep in fifteen minutes. I’m going to eat all forty left.
I chew on the minty capsules and take my shirt, bra, jeans, and underwear off. I jump in the water, turning it off as I plop in. I feel tired already.
“Maison, come out.”
My eyes shut, but the smell of blood urge opens them wide again.
“Maison, What are you doing? Let me see.”
My mouth sinks in the water. I can’t feel myself swallow. I know I’m smiling, though.
“Maison? Let Mama in!”
My nose sinks.
“MAISON!” She screams, kicking the door open. My eyes sink, still open.
“Shut the fuck up, you old bitch!”
It was a boy’s voice. About the same age as me. I can’t control my arms.
My ears sink, concluding my full body. I only hear muffled sounds under the water, as I take my last breaths.
Or so I thought.
When I thought I had a few moments left, I saw a blurred image of someone looking at me. A hand pressed my neck. It was warmer than the water.
Quickly, the person pulled the water plug, and then pulled me out, shoving his fingers down my throat. I didn’t feel the fingers, but I knew they were there when I started puking white-mint-flavored throw up all over the ground. Again. And again. And again. I was shivering, and beginning to feel my sense back after two hours of barfing up the magic. Tears rolled off my face, but the boy wiped them off.
“Why did you save me?” I cried in pain after barfing the last serving of the forty pills.
“It’s not time for you.”
“To fall asleep.” He spoke chilled when he said those last three words. He turned to me, and I couldn’t see his face. His mouth was covered with a surgical mask, and his eyes were blocked out with sunglasses you couldn’t see through. He looks down and sees my hand. “Did she do this?”
I nod. He tsks and pulls a butterfly knife from his pocket, flips it, and walks out with it. I then hear a grunt and a scream. After five minutes, he comes back with a blanket. “Are you cold?”
“I’m fine. I can deal with it.” I say, shivering.
He puts the blanket on me and sighs. “What did she do?”
I sigh and feel pressure. A tear plops on the blanket.
“No, it’s okay,” I sniff.
“Tell me this later, okay?” he says, patting me on the back. “You might have to stay here a little bit though. Don’t worry, I don’t bite.”
“I’m going to kill her.” I say, being true. “Can I see your face, please?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Why? You’ve seen mine.” I say.
“Because,” He says, walking by the bathroom mirror. “I wouldn’t be easy.”
“Yes, I can.” I say, getting up. “What’s your name?”
“Jeff.” He says as I feel his face for the sunglasses. It’s as smooth as leather, and very pale.
“I forgot it a while ago.” He says looking at his hands as I take the glasses off. “See? Easy.” His hands cover his eyes before I see them. I hold onto his hands, looking at the whites of his eyes. It’s all white, outlined with black. He has no eyelids. “I have seen worse.” I say, being kind.
“How come you’re not freaking out?”
“The only person that freaks me out is my own mother.” I say, ripping the surgical mask off. “Can you sleep at all?”
“No.” He mutters as I feel the gashes at his lips. They are scars formed to look like a bloody smile. To never sleep, yet always smile.
“Your mother is scarier than me?” he says standing up. I nod. “Follow me.”
I walk down stairs with Jeff, seeing my mother’s blood on the stairs. “Is this all from my mother?” I ask, grinning. “Nope.” He says, jumping down the last step. “Oh.” I shiver.
He pulls his butterfly blade out, and opens a door. My mother stands it chains, screaming through duct tape. He gives me a blade. “Do it.”
I’ve always had homicidal thoughts; but I was able to control them. After seeing her, I couldn’t keep it in, and he made them grow more and more on me. “Okay.” I whisper and grab the handles tightly so they won’t swing. I breathe in and walk to her. I see her fake tears running down her face. I look into her eyes. “Fuck you.” I say. I plunge the knife into her leg. She screams through the tape as I dig deeper and deeper into it. I slide the blade at Jeff’s feet. “What are you doing?”
My homicidal rage was full blown. I wasn’t Goody Two Shoes anymore. If I had a mirror my eyes would be full red, leaving nothing but black small pupils in the blood red pool.
“I’m going to do what I’ve been wanting to do for years.” I chuckle. A jolt of energy rides through me. My thoughts. The thoughts that I have blocked out for months now entered back, telling me ideas of what I should do. I rip of the duct tape. “Maison, I thought you were a wonderful child. I now know you are a worthless mistake.”
“I’m not the only one you’ve said that too.”
“Hug me, baby.”
I put my hands around her. “See? I knew you still loved me.”
I put my hands at her neck and twist. Her spasms and chokes fill me up with spirit. I have never done it before, but I wanted her to feel pain. I turn my head to see Jeff walk over, pull me aside, and with the butterfly blade, carve something into her neck. He then covers her mouth, and says in a quiet tone.
“Shh. Go to sleep.”
My mother’s body layed there still, blood leaking out. I panted there helplessly, in so much of an energy I threw up again, and collapsed to the floor. The last thing I saw was Jeff plunging the knife into my mother’s innards, smiling forever, as he stabbed. Before feeling left, putting me to sleep for a few hours, I felt someone pick me up, and lay e somewhere soft.
For the last seven years, that rest, so far, was the best one of my life.
I wake up in the dark room, breathing deeply as I open my eyes. Jeff stared at me, feeling my face. I put my fingers on his leathery face, closing my eyes. I open them again. “You seem…familiar,” I say, feeling his mouth. “Your name does too.”
“Maison, you’ve kept your promise, I have seen.” He chuckles.
I eyes widen. I now know.
“You are beautiful, you know?” I say.
Credit To – Maison Bray
Credit Link – email@example.com