Excerpt of Curse Undone by Brandie June

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Your Midweek Update for 19/10/22

The one thing I forgot to consider about this curfew is the power of Gen Z’s not giving a shit. Technically, the police have placed a curfew on all minors in the area but after about two weeks, kids have just stopped caring and going out anyways. It’s kind of hard to arrest all of us – or, more likely, the police just don’t actually care that much – which is a terrifying concept for everyone except for me. And now I can go outside after dark without being suspicious which is such a fucking relief. But also…

Do you ever work so hard to get something and then once you get it, you have no idea what to do with it? I’ve been trapped inside for two weeks, just waiting and waiting to get out and now that it’s here, I don’t know where to start. So many people to kill in so many ways, the choices are overwhelming.

I wish I had more to report but I’ve just been doodling in my math notebook all the different methods with which I want to kill people and I just can’t decide. Do I want something bloody? Something subtle? Something quick or slow? A knife, a rope, a screwdriver? Something conventional or unusual? I have this dream of running someone over with a lawn mower but it’s autumn now so I might have to put that dream on hold.

Maybe I should go through mom’s old entries to find inspiration. Something’s gotta jump out at me. She was an incredibly creative and prolific killer.

Or maybe I just miss her and want to hear her voice.

Both, I think.

Sincerely,

Casey

Your Midweek Update for 10/12/22

Welp. The curfew is still on because surprise, surprise, they still haven’t caught the Fraternity Killer. Because that’s what they’re calling me this week – even though it makes zero sense! The victim nor the location were a fraternity so why has the media started attributing this kid’s death to college partying? Who knows. Maybe it made a better story than underage drinking at a prominent lawyer’s house.

Oh yeah. Learned that little tidbit after the fact. It wasn’t the lawyer’s son but their kid hosted the party while they were out of town. Now suddenly the news has shifted the narrative away from her house? I smell a coverup. That doesn’t matter to me so much as this fucking curfew!

Everyone at school is paranoid and angry. Teachers are less than understanding and parents are less so. It’s like the whole student body is walking around in a haze with nothing to do and nowhere to go. It’s harkening back to days we only JUST left behind and everyone is miserable.

I don’t really know what can be done, though. I can’t exactly turn myself in and with the narrative being so muddled, I doubt the police are anywhere near pinning the crime on someone. Maybe they’ll declare it cold soon. Just give up. I generally pray for the police to be shit at their jobs and be defunded – for my own reasons but also ACAB – but now more than ever, I just need them to leave it alone so everyone can get back to their lives.

I don’t feel guilty for causing this. Not a lot, anyways. So if it could just… go away? That would be great, thanks.

Sincerely,

Casey

Your Midweek Update for 10/05/22

I am big enough to admit that I might have fucked up on this one.

See, since school started, everyone has been treating me weirdly. There’s been a lot of looks and people get quiet when I walk in a room. Or they just straight up ask me how I’m feeling since my mom died and that’s better but also worse. I’m sick of it all and I just needed people to focus on something else for a bit.

So I killed one of the Juniors.

There was a party, I didn’t go but I knew it was happening so I went over there (I told James where I was because you should always tell someone where you went, if only to help find your body when you go missing). I snuck in through the back door which wasn’t hard considering most every was blasted by the time I got there. 5 minutes later, I was sneaking out the way I came, having dumped his stabbed and bled out body in a pile of passed out teens. He wouldn’t be discovered for hours but when he finally was, all hell would break loose.

Unfortunately, it broke a little too loose.

The school made the announcement on Monday morning about the kid’s death and that, in conjunction with the mayor and the local police, they would be issuing a curfew to everyone under 18. Every after school activity was cancelled, there are signs all over telling people to report any suspicion of a party. Nothing is allowed to happen after 8pm.

James tells me there are no clues about the murderer but they’re looking into his life to see if he had any enemies or crazy ex’s – because obviously some obsessed lover is the only one who can sneak into a party and stab a man to death. But apparently he was seen fighting with someone. I completely missed that but it’s a stroke of luck.

James also says the curfew will be in place until the killer is caught or the investigation is called off so it may be a while. Why did they have to pick this case to finally start caring about children? It’s very inconvenient.

Sincerely,

Casey

Excerpt of Fate Awakened by Jocelyn Montana

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Excerpt of The Willing by Lindsay Lees

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Your Midweek Update for 09/28/22

Apparently buses and bus shelters are still excellent places to murder people. They’re poorly lit, they’re poorly maintained, their poorly populated. The city really does not do a great job at promoting their public transit system. Really, I’m doing them a favour.

For every minimum wage 20-something I gut with broken glass I found AT THE BUS SHELTER, the city adds 20 more dollars to their infrastructure. Maybe one day they can afford to carry the body away.

I really shouldn’t be killing minimum wage workers, sooner or later we’re going to run out of people to flip burgers. I’m the real reason bosses can’t find people to work for them. No, but for real, capitalism has created an over-inflated emphasis on productivity and profit at the expense of the worker. The real people I should be killing are the millionaires and billionaires – and I think we have a trillionaire now? Strangely, none of them take public transportation and I had a murder boner I needed quenched now.

Sorry I said boner.

But that’s what it’s like – for me at least. I get these urges and my head turns into this mantra of “kill, kill, kill.” I can quiet the mantra if I have a plan in place but the only time it’s ever completely quiet in my head is the few seconds where I’ve watched someone take their last breaths. Then, I’m so focused on the task at hand that I forget about everything else and the whole world goes silent. Then it’s just me and the body. But soon enough, the voices come back and I feel the urge all over again.

Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do. It is so fucking fun to slice a man’s throat and then poke 100 holes into his body to see him bleed out like a sieve. But there’s something about the quiet that I crave most.

So sometimes I have to kill the underdog in order to satiate my hunger until I can get to the CEO. There’s really nothing to be done. Well, the city could fix the bus shelter but that’s never going to happen.

So I’m going to keep on killing.

Sincerely,

Casey

Your Midweek Update for 09/21/22

Last week I said I would talk about the cop and the deer so here’s the story.

Last week (last Tuesday, actually, which is why I was falling asleep standing up all day Wednesday) I was disposing of a body in the woods just south of town and as I was digging, a deer walked right up to us. Just sauntered into my little patch of dirt and stood there, staring at me. It was genuinely unnerving. Have you ever had a staring contest with a deer? It’s like staring at a god. They know more than you and yet they’re at peace with the world. So I was staring into the abyss and the abyss was staring back when the deer bent down, eyes still penetrating my soul, and bit into the body on the ground.

I swear to god that’s what happened. This fucking dear – that I’m pretty sure was just some minor deity – started eating the dead woman at my feet. I didn’t want to startle the horror movie monster but I also had a vision of it not caring whether their dinner was living or dead so I needed to get out of there. It genuinely took me 20 minutes just to successfully step out of the small clearing. As soon as I was out of visually range of the demon in the woods, me and my shovel high-tailed it the fuck out of there.

No pun intended.

Cause I said “high-tailed” and deer have high…

Anyways

I finally made it through the line of trees leading to the main road; I hadn’t even stopped running when I came upon a police officer – probably doing something shady but I didn’t really get a chance to ask. He asked why I had a shovel in my hands and I was so frazzled by the local cyptid that I said the first thing that came to mind: I was burying a dead body.

He laughed because I’m adorable and innocent-looking but I was aware enough to know what a fucking mess I’d be in if that cop lived to remember me. So I offered to show him. I took him back through the woods to the spot where the woman’s body was still being torn apart and before he could fully process what he was seeing, I hit him on the back of the head with the shovel.

That didn’t scare Bambi’s mother away which was the final straw that convinced me I was hallucinating or I’d somehow died and this was my purgatory.

As I suspected, it didn’t really care what it was eating, so long as it was satiated and before I knew it, the police officer’s shoulder was being nibbled apart.

And then his fucking radio went off, informing “Officer Brown” that he’d left his post and would need to return there immediately.

You know what I did?

I walked away. In a few hours, they would go looking for Officer Brown and find whatever was left of him and the other woman. Even if they do perform an autopsy on their mangled flesh, it’s unlikely they’ll be able to put this bizarre story together. As far as I’m concerned, that deer can eat all the evidence and then waddle off to whatever cave it crawled from. I am never burying a body in that woods again.

Whatever I saw there, can fucking stay there.

Sincerely,

Casey

Your Midweek Update for 09/14/22

I slept in and I don’t have time to update or else I’ll be late for school.

Just… next week, remind me to tell you about the cop and the deer.

I don’t know how mom did this every week.

Sincerely,

Casey

Your Midweek Update for 09/07/22

I think at some point in my career, I would like to kill someone over the phone. I don’t know exactly how that would work but I’d like to actively be talking to them when they’re murdered. Think about it: it’s the perfect alibi.

I mean, my mom taught me that not needing an alibi at all is the best thing but if you do require an alibi, make it impenetrable. What is more foolproof than literally being on the phone with the victim – on the other side of the city – when they bite it. Now I just have to figure out how to kill them.

As I’m thinking about it, so much more would need to go into it. I would need to be acquainted with the victim in some way, I’d need to know their schedule or be able to perfectly control their movements when I can’t see them, I’d need some sort of machinery that I could trigger remotely and then remove from the crime scene while being an initial suspect because I reported the murder. Obviously I would be released from suspicion when the phone company confirmed my whereabouts – thank god that corporations track our every movement, right?

It's a lot. It would be a colossal undertaking but it’s not like I’m doing anything else. I mean, I’m entering my final year of school with all eyes on me because of the loss of my mother but other than that, my schedule is totally open.

Am I going to do this now?

Why wait, I guess.

Okay, then. Time to pick a victim.

The victim in the basement died after a few days. I don’t remember if I mentioned that. So that was fun while it lasted.

Sincerely,

Casey

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Your Midweek Update for 08/31/22

How in the fuck is it already Wednesday. Time has been blurring together more than normal and it’s making me feel… anxious? Like, I’m losing hours and I’m not keeping track of the days and what if I’m missing something really important? What if I’m forgetting something that could change my life? The last few weeks have gone so quickly and I don’t really remember some of it and I’ve just been so tired lately.

My immediate thought is that I’ve been sleep walking – sleep murdering if we’re going to stay on brand – but James would have noticed something, right? He’s been working crazy hours and picking up other’s shifts to make up the extra income. Funerals are expensive. Didn’t know that before. I’m usually gone before the body is discovered (or too young to be expected to worry about such things) but now I know that the business of burying the dead is a lucrative one.

Maybe I could get a degree in mortuary science. Then it wouldn’t seem odd if I smell like death and end up covered in someone else’s fluids. That seems so cliched, though. The undertaker who creates work for herself. The next step up (or down?) would be taxidermy or something else involving formaldehyde but again, it will just make it more obvious.

My initial point is that James would have noticed if I’ve been leaving the house or walking around so I don’t know what’s been causing the exhaustion and that’s frustrating in and of itself.

I just want to go to bed and sleep for a hundred years. We’ll see how this week goes.

Sincerely,

Casey

Excerpt of Favorite Daughters by Laurel Osterkamp

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Your Midweek Update for 08/24/22

School starts next week and I don’t know the type of person I want to be. It’ll be my last year of high school and I just realized that my mom isn’t alive to see me graduate so that’s a fun thought spinning around in my head today. But it’ll be my last year and then I won’t have to see any of these people again. I won’t have to wear a mask for 8 hours a day while I learn about things that are genuinely interesting with people who are generally not.

I like learning – and not just because more knowledge affords me better ways to kill people. The world is insane and overwhelming and, especially right now, it’s terrifying. But when I learn something, I understand it, and when I understand it, it’s not scary anymore. The more I learn about the world and people the more in control I feel.

As much as I’m really looking forward to no more 8am calculus with Mrs. Fletcher (who tries way too hard to be relatable that it’s just cringey), I’m going to miss having something to focus on. It seems like graduation is ages away but I have a feeling this year is going to fly by.

On top of my general teenage woes, I’m also going to have to spend the year getting sympathetic looks from everyone. At least, if mom had died doing what she loved, I could have made up a lie about her running off so I wouldn’t have to stomach everyone’s “compassion”. Because she had to die like a pedestrian, I am going to have to spend the next ten months dodging people’s not-so-subtle glances and pretending to be heartbroken when most of the time, I’m just tired and angry.

Maybe that’s what heartbreak feels like.

I’m going to have to see the councilor. James assured social services that hey would be taking me to see a therapist and then we went to see Bullet Train which was so much better than therapy. I don’t want to talk about my feelings. I don’t want to think about my feelings, I don’t want to feel my feelings. I wouldn’t even know how without talking about the murder stuff and apparently murder is frowned upon in civilized society.

I just want to get to the part when I can start the next chapter of my life. Whatever that is. I wish I had a vision of my life. Even just a glimpse of myself a year from now would be preferable.

I’m tired and I’m angry and I don’t understand why I don’t have the answers.

I kidnapped someone on Sunday. I didn’t kill them – which is new for me. I have them chained up in the basement. James had to help fix some of the soundproofing that had come off the windows. They’re just down there, waiting for me. I make sure they have food and water and I clean up after them a few times a day. It’s like having a pet. Except I can kick this pet, and punch this pet, and strangle this pet within an inch of its life. I can stab them and smother them and clean their wounds when they get infected. I can make them bleed. And for a little moment, I feel better knowing there is someone in the world who feels my pain.

I don’t know how long I’m going to keep them. Maybe until I feel better? I think that could take a while. In the meantime, I have this plaything that distracts me from all the things I’m starting to dread.

It’s not enough. But it’s enough for now.

Sincerely,

Casey

Your Midweek Update for 08/17/22

It should come as no surprise to anyone that murder has been a comfort to me in the weeks since mom died. I’ve gone out hunting about three times a week. I don’t even necessarily have to kill them. I do. I’m really not into the catch and release. But my point is: it’s not about them.

The victims.

Yes, I tend to look for older white men because punching up is always preferable and slightly confuses my karmic balance. I also don’t tend to stalk or get to know my victims before I go in with a pen to their eyeball – that was so messy! I don’t care who they are, just that I’m in the mood to kill and they’re very killable.

I think, for me, it’s a bit about control. Being able to determine someone’s death (the what, where, when, why, and how of it all), it makes me feel calm. Like, everything might be falling apart and I’m being sent to another foster home, that bitch at school outs my friend, or the closest thing I’ve ever had to a mom dies in a random car accident, but only I get to decide how and when the old lady at the co-op will choke on the bleach I put in her tea.

No one else gets to decide how their life ends but me.

I don’t really know what to do with my life.

I’ve been reading old entries and doing way too much math and it’s just made me feel… lost. In a few months, I’ll be the same age as Sandra when she died. At my age, Jason was in the process of escaping “the family curse”, and mom had committed her first murder. I have more than a few kills under my belt but I don’t have the support system she had, or the future Jason had, or the past Sandra had. I’m graduating in June and I have no fucking clue what I’m going to do after that.

All I’ve ever been focused on is death and I can’t exactly make a career out of it. I’m not as closed-off to the idea of assassination as mom was. I would not mind make a few thousand dollars to do something I already do. What’s that old saying: do what you love and the money will follow.

Even if I did go into the incredibly lucrative business of murder for hire, I still need a cover job. I need skills and knowledge that help me blend in to society. And despite all the shit I’ve been through, I feel like I know absolutely nothing about how the world works. I can throw a kitchen knife and have it land in a man’s jaw from 50 feet away. I know the exact blend of ethylene glycol and soda that makes the poison undetectable.

Neither of which I can put on my resume when applying for college. Not that I’m sure I want to attend college. I just don’t know what I want to do. And why, the fuck, do I have to figure it out now?

I’m seventeen-fucking-years-old. Why do I have to have my entire life mapped out? It’s not fair.

Nothing that ever happens in fair.

That’s why there’s people like me in the world. For every bad person and bad thing that happens, someone else gets to smile. I just kind of wish I got some of that happiness, too.

Sincerely,

Casey

Your Midweek Update for 08/10/22

When I was in juvenile detention, I had one really good friend: Zainab. She was really loud and kind of pushy but she always looked out for me and he bonded over our love of Shawn Mendes. I never had to hide myself from her. She understood why I killed my foster father, and I understood why she robbed a supermarket afterhours using her shitty older brother’s manager keys. I found a kindred spirit in the most unlikely of places. A few months into my stay there, I wanted to do something nice for her. But it turned out to be one of the worst things I’ve ever done.

I gave Zainab one of my shivs. And I taught her how to use it. I taught her how to find the floating ribs and dig into the fleshy part, I taught her to never go straight for the heart because you’re more likely to hit breastbone. I taught her that cutting off their means to cry or flee was more important than surprising them. I taught her how to defend herself and live her life.

Well one day, a fight broke out in the yard and a guard got hurt.

I say “he got hurt” but he actually tripped and scratched his cheek on the wall. But the administration was out for blood and some people got brought in for questioning. They took Zainab – even though she wasn’t anywhere near the fight – and while they were questioning her, they searched her bunk and found her shiv.

She got blamed for “attacking” a guard and sent her to a “proper” institution. She got sent to a women’s prison down south even though she wasn’t legally an adult and she didn’t do what they thought she did. But she was a threat and a problem they didn’t want to deal with so they just threw her away. My only real friend in that place.

I stabbed that guard less than a year later and I made my escape. But I never saw Zainab again.

And then yesterday, I see her face on a wanted poster in the post office, saying she’d escaped from holding and was wanted for the assault of three officers on top of her original crime. I couldn’t believe it.

I didn’t actually realize that people still put wanted posters up. I thought that only happened in movies from the 50s. And before you ask: I was buying packing tape for mom’s boxes – that’s why I (a Gen Z) was in a post office.

But there was my friend posted up there for the world to see. It said she’d run about two years ago but had recently been spotted in the area. I’m still just kind of stuck on the idea that I could possibly see my friend again and I can’t stop smiling. I screwed her over so badly when we were kids and I just want to make it up to her. Even if she hates me or tries to kill me, I just want a chance to apologize.

I could really use a friend right now.

So Zainab, I have no idea where you are but I really hope I find you first.

Sincerely,

Casey

Excerpt of The Seven Hungers by Morgan Quaid

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Your Midweek Update for 08/03/22

I was thinking about this today so I thought I would share it with y’all. I love killing men. Obviously, I love killing everyone but I especially love slaughtering middle-aged men. It’s something I don’t think my mom really understood. She was much more indiscriminate with her kills because it wasn’t about making a conscious effort, it was about the physical and emotional release that comes with wringing someone’s neck until their skin turns blue. I still really like that part but I do make some small effort to target men.

In addition to the high you get from murder, there’s also a bit of a release that comes from disrupting the power dynamic. The one advantage to being a female serial killer is that people – especially men – disregard your presence. If they don’t think of you as a threat, they will let their guard down. But despite some people’s thinking: I am not committing murder 24/7. It’s actually only 3-4 hours a week. So the remaining 164 hours of my week are still spent being disregarded and treated as lesser. And with laws being written and overturned all the time (both here and abroad), it doesn’t look as though it’s going to get any better.

When I feel the urge to hunt for a victim, I actively seek out those who are in a position of power or authority. It’s one small thing I can do to bring a little balance to the world. Plus their shocked face is so much more satisfying.

I’m not trying to make a political statement or anything but also… I am?

Everything we do is a political statement, isn’t it? Just by existing, there are lawmakers who would see us punished – I’m talking about women, not killers (though some lawmakers are also against what I do on the side) – and everything from our identity to our clothes and our jobs has been fought for and won. So yes, even casual murder is a political statement and I want to treat it as such.

That doesn’t mean I won’t stab a Karen in the neck with her own pruning sheers if she tells me to turn my music down on the bus. But those are for my happiness and not the betterment of our society – well, it’s a little of both.

The point is: I want to be more deliberate in my choices because they don’t just affect me. Whether or not I like it, I am out here representing all of womankind as a female serial killer in a traditionally male position. The least I can do is use my abilities to make the world a slightly better place.

By clipping a CEO in the Achilles Heel with a scalpel I stole last time I was at the hospital.

As always, dear readers,

I’m still looking for a catch phrase

Your Midweek Update for 07/27/22

I have smelled a lot of horrible things in my life. I laid with my parents have I murdered them and they were not found right away. I once hid in an open grave to evade the police. I helped my mom clean out her murder den after it hadn’t been aired out since my kidnapping.

It turns out that all of us forget she’d rented a storage unit in which to commit murders because James got a call from the manager saying her autopayment bounced and if we didn’t pay by the end of the month, they would be auctioning off the items inside.

I don’t think they would allow that episode of Storage Wars to air.

So he renewed the rental agreement and changed it over to his name, and the two of us grabbed every disinfectant known to man (and trust me, we know them all) to go and clean out the murder den that’s been unoccupied for about six months.

The smell brought me to tears. I haven’t puked since Sarah M. shit her pants when I stabbed her in 8^th grade and it landed on my bare foot.

It’s been three days and I can still taste it. It’s like it’s burrowed into my skin. Everywhere I go, it just lingers.

But we were successful in disposing of all the materials and disinfecting the entire unit so it only smelled like month-old compost. And we did dispose of everything. James asked if I wanted to keep the place for hunts but it wouldn’t feel right. That was mom’s sanctuary so I’ll find my own. But we are putting her things in there – maybe in the spring after winter has frozen and killed all the bacteria – so it can remain her sanctuary.

It just smelled so bad.

It was one of those things that fell away when she and James split. She was so heartbroken she forgot about everything else. I was angry at him for hurting her – I still am – but he’s angry at himself, too. That doesn’t make it better but at least he knows that he fucked up. I know some of you think I should kill him and for a while I wanted to but now I don’t. He’s all I have left.

I did ask him why he did it. Why he blew up our family out of the blue.

He told me that he was a weak man. That he loved my mom beyond reason. But temptations from others were unending.

I’ve been reading through Mom’s blog a lot, trying to get to know her. I see how she saw all of us. She loved James. She thought of him as so loyal but the truth is: he was just waiting for the next best thing and it finally came. I always thought they were meant to be. I’ve heard their love story so many times and I thought it was fate that led them together. But maybe I was wrong.

The small comfort I have is that James always realized (too late) that he was also wrong: nothing would be better than her.

It does make me wonder. She saw the world in such a specific way. What other people in her life were not who she thought they were?

I feel like I need to find a new sign off. Any suggestions?

In the meantime, dear readers,

Stay Safe

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Your Midweek Update for 07/20/22

My mom is dead.

There’s no sense in beating around the bush.

On June 24^th, she was in a car accident and died of a brain hemorrhage on the way to the hospital. The other driver was killed on impact. I think she would have liked that.

It was such an ordinary death, though – that’s the part she would have really hated.

I always thought my mom was immortal. All the stories she and James told, all the things I’ve seen her do.

You know, I once watched her approach this insanely tall man at a hotel conference centre. She used a chair to jump onto his back and then stabbed him in the eye with one of those fancy two-pronged forks. The man screamed and flailed but she held on and at one point, he ran into a wall and she used the momentum to throw his head against it. I could hear the crack of his skull from across the room. And as his lifeless body crumpled to the ground, she hopped off and landed on both feet like it was nothing.

She was the coolest person I’ve ever met.

I knew that she would die one day (hopefully in a senior’s centre where she smothers the patients and cuts their IVs and no one really notices because they’re so old). But for a woman like her, it should have been an extraordinary death. Chasing a victim who fights back and manages to stab her in the leg and as she’s bleeding out from her femoral artery, she throws the knife previously imbedded in her thigh and it hits them in the back of the neck, severing their spinal cord. And as she collapses to the ground, she uses her body weight to smother her victim because she may be dying, but she will never let them live.

That’s the kind of death that my mother deserved. Instead, it was just some random accident. I asked the investigator and he showed me all the evidence they have that it was faulty wiring in the traffic light that made the intersection show two green lights. There’s no one to blame, no revenge to get. I don’t know what to do with myself.

The police called James to inform him that his wife had died and now I’m living with him back at our old place. It’s so weird to call him James but I know she used fake names for everyone so I’m going to stick with it. My name’s not really Casey. I wonder why she chose it.

I thought James might be living with someone else but the house is exactly as we left it. All of her stuff was in the drawers and on the walls and no trace of anyone else. There was even a carton of her favourite creamer in the fridge – the kind I know only she drank – like he was always waiting for her to come back.

Like he thought they would get a second chance.

I told Ben before I left. He came by the motel looking for her and when I told him, he looked so sad. I think he really liked her. Don’t tell him, but I was going to kill him if they lasted longer than six months. She couldn’t see it, but Mom and James were supposed to be together forever and that couldn’t happen with somebody like Ben around. He was nice and he gave me a book on ancient weapons that he stole from the library but he wasn’t what this family needed.

Now it’s just me and James and we’ll never know if our family could get back together.

We’ll never know.

Never.

She’s really gone.

That woman walked through fire for me. She was the best mother I ever had. The only one I never wanted to kill.

I loved her. So much.  

I was cleaning out her laptop in case the feds ever raided and I found this hidden program and this blog. I asked James and he said that this place was her constant companion. He never read it but she told this little corner of the world all her secrets. I’ve only looked through a few years’ worth but there’s already so much that I didn’t know.

I never knew Jason killed Andrew – that was a shocker – or how much she cared for Charlotte before it all went to hell. And the thing with the motorcycle gang? Oh my god. It’s like my mom had a whole other life before me.

I mean, I knew that logically but to actually see it? I thought I knew everything about her but I only knew a slice of the amazing person she was. Honestly, I think you all knew her better than anyone.

It might be dangerous to keep you around now that she’s gone but I don’t want to let you go. If I have any technical trouble, I can always call Aunt Meg – if I can find her emergency number.

I don’t think she knows yet. Someone has to tell her.

In the meantime, I’m going to keep updating this blog. I don’t know if it’ll be as good as hers but I feel like I need a project and a way to feel close to her so why not kill two birds with one stone: my specialty.

I think she would have liked that joke.

My condolences, dear readers.

And, please,

Stay Safe

Your Midweek Update for 06/22/22

Things with Ben are definitely what I’d called “honeymoon”. When we’re not fucking, we’re killing – and I’d definitely call it a rampage. Every night these past few weeks, we’ve been going out dancing, or hunting, or scoping out a potential victim. Most nights, I’m not walking in the door until after midnight. I’m exhausted in the best way. His stamina is incredible. Even in my 30s, I couldn’t butcher two men in one night. The strength it takes. Especially since he says he’s not prone to violent murders. He prefers poisons and strangulation – and when I tell I’ve been fantasizing about those forearms ever since… - things that are cleaner and not automatically attributed to large men like him. But for me, he wrapped those short, meaty, fingers around a cleaver and disposed to two business men right in front of me. There is little I haven’t done already when it comes to murder but it felt so good to have an arm wrapped around my waist while I pierced a woman’s eyeball with her own stiletto heel. I can’t even say I’ve missed it because I’ve never had it in the first place. It’s been just over a week since I found out about Ben and already, I know I’m becoming addicted to his touch. How could I not? All any of us have ever wanted is a partner; someone who understands and supports every aspect of our lives. And to meet someone so intimately familiar with my desires and needs (and are able to meet them) is so rare. And I’ve been lonely. I’m not sure if you noticed that from my weeks of pining and wailing but this year has sucked. I’ve had to relearn so many things. I’ve had to start over but this time, I’ve had to do it alone. It’s nice to talk to someone who understands. Casey is still learning. And she’s my daughter, we will never be equals. But Ben? He is a whole god damn person who makes me feel seen. I am so glad I didn’t kill him. I know this is the honeymoon phase and something will inevitably throw a wrench in my plans for a happy life, but can I just enjoy it while it lasts? For however long it lasts? Don’t I deserve to be happy?

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Midweek Update for 15/06/22

I’ve been looking for a partner in all things for so long that I don’t think I ever wondered what would happen if I found someone who fit the bill.

You all remember Ben. The boy toy who gives good head? Well the funniest thing happened last Friday. I was on my way home from work and feeling horny so I decided to stop by Benny Boy’s work at the library – because yes, I am fucking a sexy librarian – but his coworkers said he had just started his break. I went around to the staff parking lot, hoping to catch a quicky before he was back on the clock and I saw him walking around the corner so, naturally, I followed him.

And I kept following him and I kept following him. Suddenly we were on the other side of the train tracks in a poorly monitored area of the city – something I clocked very early on in my stay here. My first thought is that he had some sort of drug problem which is technically none of my business but it might cause some tension.

But I was proven wrong when he walked up to a man on his smoke break, spoke to him for about 30 seconds, shook his hand, and then walked away. The man suddenly began to have trouble breathing, he then collapsed to the ground as though he had no control of his limbs and shortly after, he died. I’m amazed I didn’t clock it sooner because it’s a method I used to use all the time – although it’s definitely become less popular in the post-pandemic world.

There’s a vein in your left palm that people used to say connects your ring finger to your heart. Science says that’s not true but there are some lovely veins that do travel through your wrist and make their way back to your heart with few detours (Casey says it’s the cephalic vein which made me laugh for 20 minutes). With a little prick, you can send poison almost directly to their heart.

I had to keep following him after that. I just had to know. But obviously I wasn’t as sneaky as I thought because I suddenly found myself dragged into a mall entrance and shoved against a wall.

I have never seen Ben looking so feral. So dangerous. So. Fucking. Hot.

I asked him where he got his hands on botulism and that seemed to stun him to his senses. We went for coffee, sat in the park, and we talked. For hours. He told me about how he started poisoning residents in his grandmother’s nursing him when he was a teenager. To him, what he was doing was a mercy and the more he looked at the world, the more he realized more than just the elderly were in need of “mercy”. He’s been killing people ever since. Not as many and not as often but he enjoys it. I could see it in his eyes as he talked about the woman last year who bled from her eyes. He was so passionate as he talked about his victims. I told him about my own career, or at least the highlights. Something to let him know that he can trust me because we’re the same. After a while we walked back to the library – and yes, he just skipped the last half of his shift but he hasn’t been reprimanded yet so I think his coworkers think he was just getting laid for 4 hours.

He did but much later (and not for 4 hours, jesus christ).

On the way to our vehicles, I demonstrated my own passion for the craft by stabbing a barista in the femoral artery. The way he looked at me… only James has ever looked at me with such desire. And admiration. I have never felt so seen.

We have a date tonight. We’re going down to the river to find a late-night jogger and kill them. Together. I haven’t had that before. A partner. Someone who understands how it feels and why I love it so much.

I know how incredible it is that we’ve found each other. There are about 4000 active serial killers in the world and of the 7 billion people walking around, the odds of two killers finding each other is… astronomically low.

Feels a little bit like fate.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Midweek Update for 06/08/22

 Tell me why there is a Karen in every town who thinks of herself as an amateur detective but really they're just a nosy little bitch who doesn't understand the concept of boundaries. 

I caught a neighbour at the motel digging through the trash which in and of itself isn't suspicious but then she looked at me and her eyes lit up. Over the next few days, I kept seeing her everywhere - even away from the motel, The woman was the worst stalker ever. And I've encountered a lot of stalkers in my time. 

Why am I bragging about the amount of people that have caught on to my lifestyle? 

This latest woman clearly has too much time on her hands and not enough brain cells to realize that she's in danger. I turned and caught her eye across the street and she fucking waved. She doesn't realize - or maybe she doesn't care - how easy it would be to turn the tables. To lose her in a back alley and corner her like the prey she is. Gut her from her belly button to her goose neck. 

I'm not even particularly worried about her finding anything in my trash - honestly, does she think I'm that new? She just pisses me off. The audacity of this woman is just staggering. She has to die. 

And it's the same everywhere I go. Every town has someone who's watched too many crime dramas and thinks they can solve a crime all on their own. 

Fucking Nancy Drew building false expectations.

No one is that lucky and no one's care stays in that nice condition. And what the hell is strawberry blonde? Those are two different colours! 

Anyways, if Karen bothers me one more time, I will be fileting her alive. I have no more patience for people who consider my life entertaining. Aside from you, dear readers, because I'm offering this information to you willingly. You're not peering through my window at 7am trying to catch me in the act. Or if you are, you should know better. Fans don't live long. I sincerely hope it's not one of you. My Reader Views are low enough as it is since Jason left. Literally murdering my own fan base seems like overkill - and I would know. 

Too on the nose? I claim to be a prolific serial killer, not an epic writer. In any case, Karen will likely die later this week so if she is a reader... sorry?

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Midweek Update for 06/01/22

When you love so deeply and you can't imagine doing anything else for the rest of your life. The great love affair. The thing I am most passionate about. I want to share it with everyone. Talk about it constantly. Think about it even more. Live and breathe it, embody it because even at its worst it is still better than being without it. I can't even imagine being without it. I couldn't breathe. It's impossible to do anything else because all roads lead back home. And it is home. Comforting, familiar, safe and yet exciting because being with the thing I love the most is the most exciting thing in the world. I never wondered if another could take its place. The prospect of leaving completely brings me to my knees but stepping back isn't so terrifying. Allowing room in my heart for something else - not replacing just sharing - is something I could absolutely explore. With less absolutism than my wording implies. But I would be willing to change, I suppose, for the right thing. Nothing has ever come close to comparing so it's never been an issue. But I have this fear in my heart that one day I will have to decide if I can make room in my fearful heart for something else. And will it be by choice or by force? Will I be allowed to walk away, or take a step back at my own pace? Will that be easier or harder than being forced apart by fate? At least then I can look back and have someone to blame. It might ease the burden of regret to have someone to blame. Besides, a great love like this could not fathomably end by anything other than farce. Even if it causes me pain and sorrow, I would choose it every time. Love outweighs all others. So I suppose, for all my concessions, I couldn't give up even a fraction of heart to another. It is all or nothing. Until the day I die.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Midweek Update for 05/25/22

When I cut off all ties with my husband and left in the middle of the night, I did not expect to miss him so much. I’m typing this while another man sleeps in my bed – Ben, I know, but he gives good orgasms – and yet, all I can think about his James.

That’s not even what I was going to talk to you about this week. I was going to talk about the cashier who was found absolutely butchered in the back alley of a local convenience store. I mean someone had hacked away at his stomach until his ribcage was bare and his floating ribs were missing because someone accidentally nicked them with the knife and had to put them through the incinerator.

Next time, give me correct change and don’t argue with me when I politely ask you to double check your work.

But I’m not even in the mood to tell you about that because after I murdered the cashier, I called Ben, we had slightly exhausted sex, and as I lay awake after begrudgingly letting him sleep over, all I could think about was the dumpster in the alley.

I had initially wanted to throw the cashier’s body in the dumpster. Even if his body was discovered before trash collection took him away, he wouldn’t have been discovered the next day and identification wouldn’t have been so simple. I tried to drag him in by myself but his organs were splashing all over the place and I was just making a mess so I left him sitting against the dumpster. I am a strong woman but dead bodies are heavy – especially when they’ve been opened in the middle. It’s like trying to carry a full casserole dish with wax paper.

A kill like that would have been a lot easier with a partner. Sure, I could have called Casey but I realize that she’s only got a few more months of school before she’s potentially off on her own. It would only been one more month of school but between the kidnapping and the separation, she has a few grades to make up before she can graduate.

I’m very cognizant of the fact that this is around the age where I lose my children. And if, for whatever reason, she does leave, I will be well and truly alone. My parents are gone, my sister is in the wind, my husband has broken my heart and I will be alone.

I don’t know specifically what it was about this particular kill – beyond having to admit that I can’t deadlift a bowl of unset Jell-O over my shoulder – but it the loneliness struck me in a way it hasn’t for a while.

I miss my partner. I miss having a partner. Someone who has my back when I’m out doing the one thing that brings me joy. James was my partner in everything and I don’t know when or if I’ll ever find that with someone else.

Maybe I’ll ask Ben how he feels about carrying overcooked spaghetti and meatballs in a dollar store paper plate.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Author Roma Cordon Reveals Her Top 5 Books

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Your Midweek Update for 05/18/22

When I was seventeen, I murdered a man – a boy, really. I took a football cleat and I thrust it into the back of his head. I did it because I wanted to and for no other reason. Someone was always going to be my first; why not him?

The next day at school, I feigned shock and sorrow when they gathered us outside to announce to the student population that one of our own had been taken. It was a murder too brutal for any of his peers to be considered a subject so the police turned their attention upwards.

A few weeks after the boy’s death, they arrested the gym teacher, Mr. S. Apparently, Mr. S. had been sleeping with one of his students and it was no large leap to assume that he’d committed murder to keep his secrets hidden. I allowed Mr. S. to go to prison for my crimes because he was already a bad man and I wanted to continue killing.

Years later, I ran into someone I went to school with – whom time remembers as friends but I doubt we had spoken a word to one another. I learned from them that shortly after his imprisonment, Mr. S. committed suicide upon learning that the girl he’d raped was pregnant. That girl later gave birth to a baby boy whom she gave up for adoption.

When I was thirty, I ran into a young boy who looked familiar in a way I couldn’t place. Or rather, he ran into me. Stained one of my favourite skirts and honestly, if he were ten years older, I likely would have killed him for that. But I didn’t because even I have my lines I will never cross. But he was sweet and he apologized so how could I resist letting him live? His parents, on the other hand, are a couple I deeply regret letting seeing the sunrise.

They were rude and spoke in harsh words but any attempt at logic was met with force. We were in too public a place, I couldn’t kill them, but I wanted to. I imagined slicing their sternum open and peeling their skin like a banana until all their organs fell out.

I followed them for a few days before I followed them all the way to the airport and I lost my chance.

Sometimes I would wonder what happened to that little boy.

I was thinking about those two stories this week. In all likelihood, they have nothing to do with each other but there’s just the slightest chance that fate keeps people together – keeps bringing them back into your circle even when you don’t realize it.

Casey was essentially a gift from my husband but she is one of the best things to ever happen to me. And on top of that, she brought me closer to my sister and some closure with my mother. I never knew how much I was missing her until I met her.

Casey has a brother. A half-brother, actually. They share a mother. He had left home before she murdered their parents and had fleeting contact with him before that. She saw him on the local news the other day. He was running a centre for at-risk youth and was promoting his facility. At her insistence, we went to find him so she could see if her big brother was really all right.

I should blame her for keeping family secrets but I understand. Some stories are too painful to mention.

He was over the moon to find out his sister was alive. He’d heard of the death of their parents but hadn’t bothered to attend the funeral for reasons he didn’t have to mention. The two of them reconnected and while Casey has been omitting a lot of the details, she seems lighter. Talking with her big brother, even if she can’t be completely honest, has brought back an airiness to her walk.

I can’t believe she’s seventeen, nearly eighteen, now. The same age I was when first started. Her brother – Jonah – is about ten years older than her.

It’s perfectly reasonable to assume that the three stories are a coincidence. The child born in the scandal of my first kill. The young boy deserving of a better life. The young man in front of me trying to change the world he grew up in. They’re three completely different people.

But I can’t help but wonder.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Excerpt of Dublin Ink by Sienna Blake

I am thrilled to be hosting a spot on the DUBLIN INK by Sienna Blake Blog Tour hosted by Rockstar Book Tours. Check out my post and make sure to enter the giveaway!

 

Author Natasha Alterici Picks Favourites

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Your Midweek Update for 04/27/22

Is time blindness a symptom of COVID? I woke up yesterday and was absolutely certain that it was Saturday. I realized in time for work but then I was absolutely certain, again, that it was Thursday. If you would have told me it was Tuesday, I would have fought you on it.

I don’t understand how the mind works and why it occasionally decides to stop working. It’s not as though anything unusual has happene

…

I realized as I was typing just how wrong that statement was going to be. Again, I know something is wrong because I forgot that stress can affect sleep and lack of sleep causes memory loss.

See, I know science things. Usually only science things that pertain to murder but also non-murder science things.

I know why I’ve been tired and erratic lately – and you all do, too. I’m just a little tired of being…tired. What I wouldn’t give to be able to go back in time to the way it was before I knew the truth.

Not even to before the love of my life fell in love with someone else. I think if I could live in blissful ignorance forever, I would. It’s incredibly selfish of me to ask him to fide his feelings but I would make that request over and over again if it meant I could think about it without throwing someone off a ledge with tears in my eyes. I wouldn’t be forgetting the days if my life hadn’t been completely upended.

I know you’ve heard me bitch about all this before but you may be surprised to learn this heartbreak doesn’t go away over night. I was certainly shocked. Most of my break ups ended in murder. How was I to know?

Casey, for the most part, is enjoying this new town – this anonymity. She still so young and excited about murder. She’s building her own routines, making her own mistakes and cleaning them up herself. For the most part. I did have to flush a toe down a Starbucks toilet but all’s well that ends well. She’s coming into her own and I’m so proud of her. I just feel like I’m not at 100% so how can I enjoy it?

I want to be happy for her – I am happy for her – but I just don’t… feel it.

What am I supposed to do?

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Midweek Update for 04/20/22

I’m perpetually amazed at the lengths of my own patience. Or, rather, I’m amazed at how much bullshit I’ll put up with before I finally rid the world of another idiot.

You would think I had learned my lesson about killing people I’m even remotely connected to – especially in the workplace – but some people are too dumb to live, even if their office is two away from mine. I know committing murder when I’m still in my three-month probation period is not the best idea I’ve ever had but neither is calling Ben at 1am and having sex in the back of his truck. We’re making all sorts of bad decisions this week.

I still haven’t murdered Ben, in case any of you were wondering whether or not I’ve become emotionally attached to my new pet. It would have been so easy to kill him a thousand times. When I was riding his cock, I could have slit his throat; but then I got distracted thinking about whether continuing to fuck him while he was bleeding out would be considered necrophilia.

We’re not going to talk about the orgasm I had while thinking about necrophilia. I don’t think we’re quite there yet in our relationship.

Although congratulations, dear readers, you are officially the longest and healthiest relationship I’ve ever been in.

Back to the idiot at work I probably shouldn’t have killed.

The work I’m doing is very simple and barely requires the necessity to come into work but the company insists on it. It’s mostly calling people and coordinating donations and then filing those sponsors in the system. Not exactly a skill-heavy position – which was good for me because skill-less positions tend to not look as closing at people’s fake IDs – and yet some people still manage to screw it up.

This working for the company for years and yet she managed to lose thousands of dollars without any repercussions. She hasn’t been stealing it, mind you, a little thievery I can forgive, she genuinely screwed up so much data entry that she lost track of over $5600 that is just floating around the internet somewhere.

Being an inherently good person, I went to talk to her first, but it quickly became clear that she had no idea what I was talking about. And that is when I realized that skill-less jobs should still include the ability to count to ten without using your toes.

She had to go.

I reported her error to her supervisor and when he called her in for a meeting, I followed her home, suffocated her with a plastic bag, packed as many of her belongings as I could fit into her car, and drove both of them out of town. She is currently wanted for fraud and they will likely never find her body at the bottom of the river in the next town over.

It was a clean enough kill; I’m just having flashbacks of all the times I’ve killed a coworker and it’s gone horribly wrong. Especially since I had to involve myself further in order to make the cover story work. But I mean, who would report someone for fraud and THEN kill them? It makes no sense.

At least I’m hoping that’s what the detective thinks – especially since her case is being treated as a person of interest rather than a homicide.

Like I said, not a lot of amazing decisions being made this week but we’re persevering.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Midweek Update for 04/13/22

I didn’t go to my mother's funeral. Instead, I went to work like I always do, and I decapitated a cyclist on my way home. Well actually, his head didn’t come all the way off. A lot of the surrounding muscle and tissue tore but it didn’t quite sever the spine. So he was flopping about kind of like a bobblehead doll until their heart stopped beating. It all took way too long. This is what I get for using cheap garroting wire. I forgot my own when I took off with Casey so I’ve adapted one out of piano wire but it just doesn’t work as well. It’s not that I’ve gotten weaker, it’s that I have insufficient tools.

If one of you makes a comment about “a shoddy craftsman”, I will find where you live and I will use my insufficient tool very slowly.

Is that scary or dirty?

Regardless, the day the world said goodbye to my mother, I tried to keep it as normal as possible and only briefly stumbled. Of course it couldn’t be perfect, that would be asking too much. But it was fine. It was normal. Frankly, I don’t have the energy for more than “normal” lately. If anything remotely exciting happens, I may snap.

I’m just tired, dear readers. I don’t think I realized how tired I am until I sat down to write. I feel like I’m slowly unravelling, leaking out at the edges but not enough to be noticed until its too late. I suppose that’s exactly what’s happening.

Everything is coming apart and I don’t know what to do about it.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Author Jo Denning Picks Top 5 Scenes from Dead Blood City

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Matthew Erman Discusses the Inspiration for Witchblood

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Your Midweek Update for 04/06/22

The things I have done to avoid writing this Update, dear readers. I worked overtime, I stayed out late and went on a killing spree – I’m now wanted in three counties even if they don’t know it’s me – I took Casey out for a girls’ weekend, spent way more money than I meant to, drank about as much as I meant to.

It was like I knew the end was coming and I was trying to fill as much of my time as possible with the things I love. I garroted a man on a subway platform, stole his coffee and walked onto the approaching train like nothing had happened. I’ve never felt sexier or more powerful in my entire life. And I could do that because I’d done my research and cased the platform over the last few weeks, found the blind spots, found the regulars who would be noticed if they went missing. I picked a business man who clearly wasn’t used to taking the train to work. His shoes were definitely not made for public transportation. He was so quite when he died. I almost wasn’t sure he’d completely succumbed but there’s no mistaking the weight of a dead man in your arms.

Normally, I wouldn’t have put so much work into the premeditation unless it was a special project but without James to have my back, I need to be careful. I’ve grown so complacent that in his absence, I’ve had to rebuild the muscle – the instinct – to protect only myself. And Casey. But she’s more self-sufficient that James and the kids so I rarely worry about her these days. Maybe I should worry about her more.

Or maybe I shouldn’t be a mother. I never wanted to give birth and I am so grateful that is no longer something I need to worry about. But the children who came into my care were no less my children. I’ve said as much a thousand times. The closest people in your life don’t have to be related by blood – in my case, hardly any of them are. At this point, I think it’s just my sister whom I haven’t heard from in months, I don’t even know if she’s alive or if she’s safe. I probably would have heard on the news if she’d been arrested again but other than that, I don’t know how or where she is. I don’t know how I’m going to get word to her.

Mother is dead.

James called because even if I didn’t tell him where I went, he always finds me. Apparently he was the closest thing to a relative that they could get a hold of so they told him. The doctors said something vague about heart failure – which I find hilarious because it’s well documented that my mother never had a heart – and assured him that she barely suffered. And now I have a choice: I can go to the funeral on Friday, undoing all of the work I’ve done to leave my life behind, or I can stay here and I can leave my mother to rot in peace knowing she got the last word.

She named James as the executor of her will. Not her daughter, her son-in-law. There’s knowing my mother didn’t care about or trust me and there’s finding out that the husband you’ve been separated from for two months is responsible for carrying out your mother’s final wishes.

She barely liked James, always said that his profession was beneath me, and yet he gets this distinguished honor? I don’t even know why I want it.

I think I wanted to know that somewhere, deep down, she loved her daughters – despite everything she did to us over the years. But now I know the truth. And I don’t know what to do. I guess I have two days to decide how I’m going to bid my mother farewell.

It’s over.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe 

Anthony Soehner Lists The Top 5 Scenes From The Prince

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