Your Midweek Update for 03/31/21

The search for Casey’s mother continues. Strangely, looking for a woman who’s been in hiding for nearly a decade is not a simple task. But we’re about to find out who’s more stubborn: a woman nearly murdered by her daughter and now on the run for her life, or the adopted mother who happens to be the most prolific serial killer across two centuries?

Am I using that word correctly? “Prolific”? I don’t know when this blog became about grammatic rants but I can use my platform however I please so if you don’t like it, you can leave.

I’m just kidding. I know where all of you live.

According to Google, “prolific” means: producing much fruit or foliage or many offspring which may not be the most accurate description of what I do.

It also means: “present in large numbers or quantities; plentiful” which is more accurate. I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I’ve lost count of how many people I’ve murdered. One of the nice things about my journals is that they were a literal record of my kills so I always knew what my number was. The bad thing about my journals is that they were a literal record of my kills. Losing them was not a bad thing in the grand scheme of things. Losing possession of them for a time was a VERY bad thing, however, so I will not be restarting. It does mean that I don’t know what my number is. I suppose it doesn’t matter.

If the public ever discovered what I am, they will never be able to track or claim how many people I’ve murdered over the years. Even if I confessed to everything, they could never verify it all. I’ll be on one of those Wikipedia lists as someone who ~probably~ murdered ~at least~ 600 people but no one will ever know. Not ever me.

Did you know I once chopped off a man’s head on a high angle, severing from the top of his spine (the actual top of his spine with the little ball thing). And then I split open his back like a zipper and cut until I reached bone. I peeled off his skin and muscle and nerves around his ribs (which too forever, that shit is tough to cut through, let me tell you), and I pulled out all of his organs through his back and through them in the river. Each individual organ. Then I tossed the rest of his skeleton over a waterfall – because James and I were on vacation with kids at the time. Do you think if I lived near a waterfall, I wouldn’t be there every damn night tossing body parts? I burnt the head before tossing it over just to make identification a little challenging for the coroner but not impossible.

I don’t know what happened to that body. I don’t know where any of those parts ended up or if it was even discovered in its entirety. No one will ever know for certain, just how successful I really was.

Some people might think that taking a life – taking hundreds of lives – makes me psychotic. Makes me evil. And they may be right. I’m certainly no saint (although saints are highly overrated and always worse than people let us believe) but I never wanted to be.

All I ever wanted to be was exactly who I was. Who I am. I wanted freedom and to live my life unapologetically. If I had the uncontrollable desire to restore old books, then I would have crafted a life that made restoring old books the most incredible and successful thing in the world.

But I’m a killer. It’s who I was meant to be. And I’m fucking great at it. It makes me happy.

I would rather have that than anything else in the world.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Midweek Update for 03/24/21

I will make this very brief because I just watched the series finale of The Good Place and I am currently contemplating my own existence and place in the universe. That was supposed to be a funny show. I did not expect to have so many existential crises. Next on my list of shows I’ve been meaning to watch but never got around to it: Santa Clarita Diet. Cannibals seems much more my speed. If that show makes me feel things, I’m going to be very put out.

Honestly, the only thing of note is that I killed a woman with her toe.

Admittedly, that was not my intention. It was very cool – don’t get me wrong – but I was doing another experiment to see how long I could remove someone’s limbs and keep them alive. As you’ll recall, I kept that man alive when he was only half a body for over a day, but that was a sort of hard and fast test. This time, I wanted to see if the level of pain would change if I removed a body part one piece at a time rather than all at once. And I wanted to see how many body parts it took for someone to die.

So, I cut off her toe.

Like before, I removed the toe at the knuckle with a clean cut and cauterized the wound immediately, there was very little blood. I left her for an hour or so and then I came back and removed another toe. Surprisingly enough, by the time I’d removed all ten toes, she was barely crying. However, she screamed just as loudly when I burned the tenth as she did with the first. Severing the nerve endings versus killing them elicits different levels of pain.

The more you know. Which is literally why I’m doing these experiments. To improve my knowledge of human anatomy and its response to pain and death. As you well know.

After I removed her toes, I left her to go to work and she seemed fine. When I came to check on her afterwards, she seemed disoriented and had vomited all over herself but I didn’t think anything of it. The girl had just lost all her toes, I’d be more concerned if she didn’t vomit. I watered her, I cleaned her up, I cut off her right ankle. Everything seemed fine.

A few hours later, I went to remove her left ankle and I noticed that her skin was unusually blotchy. There were red pricks stretching up to her knee, like little blood spots. I’ve never seen a reaction like that before. But, again, I didn’t think much of it and took her other ankle.

Two days later, she was dead.

The red marks had spread up her legs and across her stomach. And the spots had gotten bigger and turned purple. She was unbelievable gaunt and definitely thinner than when I’d left her – but, again, most of this was stuff I expected. But I still couldn’t understand why she’d died so I googled her symptoms.

The bitch died of sepsis.

It’s so unfair.

I wanted to be the one to kill her but she got a fucking toe infection and took that from me.

How rude is that?

I ran over a cyclist and chopped off his head on the way home but it wasn’t as satisfying as getting to really dig into a victim.

Oh well, tomorrow is another week. All we can do is keep trying, right?

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Midweek Update 03/17/21

I told Casey the truth.

I know we were debating the merits of whether or not she deserved to know about her mother, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t keep it from her. It goes through my mind constantly: if I had told Sandra and Jason the truth from the beginning, would things have turned out differently?

Would Sandra have gone off on her own and run straight into danger? Would Jason have left his entire life behind to get away from me? Would I still have them? Would I have Casey? James brought her into our lives because I was lonely and I needed someone. Where would that little girl be if he hadn’t found her and brought her home? Where would I be if I hadn’t lost two children and gained another?

I couldn’t keep this a secret from her.

James and I sat her down after her classes were done and we told her everything we knew about her, and her mother, and the circumstances surrounding her father’s death. I asked her if she’d killed her father like she’d killed her foster father and she said “No. I stabbed my foster father in the chest but I slit my father’s throat.”

She’s got me there.

All this time, I was worried that learning her mother was alive would make her want to run back into her arms and leave us behind. It didn’t occur to me until later, that she might want to finish the job.

Casey does want to find her birth mother, but only so she can make sure she kills her properly. She asked for my help. I suppose I would want to meet the mother of my child. I just never imagined it going down this way.

The trouble is: I have no idea where her mother is. We decided to make it a family project to search. We’re going through hospital records, old contacts, police reports, anything we can get our hands on with a bit of patience and a skeleton key. We’re going to find out what happened to her mother after she left that hospital. And then we’re going to kill her.

If we find her by the time the weather gets warmer, maybe we can take a family vacation. Just the three of us on the road, trying desperately to recreate that first road trip that ended in disaster. Sun, slaying, and family.

(I spent a ridiculous amount of time trying to figure out an alliteration for ‘family’ but I gave up. Life is imperfect)

For the first time in a while, I feel hope. Genuine hope that I can put the past behind me.

And I’ve just jinxed myself. But the hope is still there.

For now.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Midweek Update for 03/10/21

For all my skills with a blade, I am terrified of giving haircuts. James typically likes his hair short so I just give him a buzzcut every few months. I’ve only nicked him once and that was early on in our marriage when I was used to shaving past the scalp (I completely forgot about razors when doing my “skinning someone alive” experiment. I’ll have to save that for the next one).

I hate my hair at this length. Too long to wear down – especially when I’m in the Murder Den – too short to wear up. So it just… exists. Hate it. I’m not going to get a haircut because I’m being a responsible citizen but it’s still frustrating not to be able to do little things like get a haircut.

When I kill, I do it because I want to – I need to (the line between need and want is blurry here) – but it’s not because I refuse to be a decent human being and follow the mandated by-laws meant to keep people safe.

Am I saying I’m better than people who refuse to wear a mask? Absolutely.

I try to keep politics and shit out of this blog (the more you know about the world I live in, the easier it’ll be to find me… despite, keeping a blog diary about my personal life) but you know how I feel about being denied basic things that I need and want. I tend to get a little crazy.

So maybe, I spent the weekend with two middle-aged men who thought they didn’t need a mask while at the grocery store, explaining to them why it’s important for everyone to do their part. And maybe I explained that by cutting off tiny piece of their face and hands until they bled to death.

Typically, the cause of death with my work is “exsanguination”. Your body loses enough blood, and it’ll just give up. Unless it’s poison. Then it could be a blood clot, heart failure, brain… malfunction.

Look, I didn’t go to medical school. If I did, I’d be a lot easier to catch because they’d be looking for someone with surgical precision. My lack of medical knowledge will be my saving grace. That said, I am much more skilled than the average serial killer but it’s more of a “learn as you go” skill. Which is, frankly, how I prefer to learn.

Practical application is always more fun than theory. I was never made for the classroom.

And I was not made for hair that is this length and impossible to manage.

Maybe I should just shave it off.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 03/03/21

I wonder how long a person can survive without their lower half.

Now, in order to measure that properly, we need to determine the circumstances under which this person lost their limbs. If it’s slow torture – like taking a bone saw to each leg and gagging them so their screams and cries don’t filter outside the storage room (colloquially named the “murder den”).

Side question: am I using “colloquially” properly? I feel like I’m not. But I also just… HATE English grammar. So much.

Anyways. If I were to use a bone saw to slowly remove a woman’s limbs, their death would be quite quick. Blood loss is imminent and their suffering would be great, but short. I don’t want short.

So, what other options are there?

I had a theory that if I could remove from the waist quickly enough, I could then place the person upright and use their bodyweight to hold all of their limbs together. This was not the case and they just leaked out all over the floor. Death was definitely slower than just hanging them from the ceiling and timing their exsanguination, but it still wasn’t stellar.

What if I added heat?

I had to get James’ help for this because I am strong but I’m not insane – I’m also 43 and not an idiot. This part of the experiment took a very long time (and two of my best rags because he bit clean through one and bled through another when they split their tongue. What a shame) but it was worth it to finally get an answer to my question.

We turned on the iron to its maximum – which we already know is more than hot enough to cauterize a wound – and got my thinnest saw. Clean cuts are a necessity for this kind of surgery. Between the two of us, we sliced and burned along the man’s torso, circling his middle until we’d cut through the center.

Like a melon.

Think of it like slicing a melon and wiping as you go to keep the juices from spilling out.

What we were left with was the upper half of a human body still pumping blood and showing brain activity. Poor lamb came in and out of consciousness throughout the whole ordeal. I imagine the pain was excruciating given the tears and rags they went through. But at the end of it all, they were still alive. The skin essentially puckered under itself as the flesh was burned so it closed itself off at the bottom. It was not a colour I’d ever seen on a human being before (almost burgundy with bits of white and green seeping out) which was actually really cool.

We kept him hydrated – though they threw up every few hours so it was difficult to keep up. They survived a day. Well, probably a day. When he left at the end of the night, they were alive. James and I took turns going to check on them, staying for a few hours at a time before trading places. Sometime between switching shifts the next night, they died.

This time, they didn’t die from blood loss, so I count it as an improvement. We talked about doing an autopsy to determine the actual cause of death but honestly, I’m an amateur mortician at best. My knowledge of anatomy is better than most, but I wouldn’t be able to properly diagnose his cause of death.

So, we decided to leave the body for the coroner a few cities over. A case like this would obviously make local news so it would be easy to keep track as their investigation ran on. I hope they can give us more information.

If you can’t learn from your missteps, what was the point?

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe