Red-Handed
They can’t keep me here forever. I’m much too crafty for that. They tell me that I am the only survivor of the “Jack Ripper” serial killings. I laughed every time I hear them refer to my art with such a title. I can’t blame them for their ignorance. After all, how could an eight-year-old child commit such grotesque slaughters?
I’m looking into the huge mirror opposite of me. Do they think that I can’t see them? I can see myself quite clearly; a small girl with long golden locks skillfully placed into pigtails. Can’t those ignorant people behind the glass see murder in my large blue eyes?
I must admit that I was rather bitter when I awoke in this innocent vessel, but I have learned that the best gifts do indeed come in small packages. Those foolish children were supposed to be watching the little one. Instead they decided to play with forces bigger then they. They called out for “Jack the Ripper”. I imagine that they meant me; for that was the name the press had given me. I heard their disappointment when nothing seemed to have happened. I waited for hours until they had fallen asleep. When the whole house was sleeping I slipped out of the colorful room and into the dark hallway. The house was very different from what I remembered. I had been asleep for longer than expected.
Thankfully knives were the same, no, they were better. I realized that luck was on my side when I found them sleeping in the same room. How short their trousers were. How revealing. They were obviously whores. So I did what I had to. This new body was so small and light that it was easy to work. The blood spilled beautifully as usual. It made an even more beautiful stain on the colorful carpeting. Not a scream was made.
After my work was finished I looked around, my mind quickly absorbing all of the new technological advances that been made in my absence. I found the lavatory and studied my new form. The pale pink nightdress was stained crimson. Her pale cheeks and hands were also red. Large blue eyes stared hard back at me. This creature was darling. I made a mental list of all of the advantages of this new form; of which there were many.
I patiently waited until someone came. A blond woman and her lover came through the door, flicking those wonderfully clever lights on. I almost smiled as I saw the shock and horror work it’s way into their features. In the past I could rarely stay to watch the effects of my work on the public, although I heard plenty of stories. I sat on one of the girls’ stomachs, which had been viciously torn open, her intestines and uterus missing. I had placed them behind the sofa because I couldn’t reach the kitchen counter. Everything was a blur after this. I remember countless questions, crying, and constantly being crushed into someone’s chest.
Murder had never been so easy. Very soon after I started killing off others. As the blond woman placed me in a park to play I saw a woman jog passed. Her clothes were so obscene that I just couldn’t help tripping her, knocking her unconscious, and burying her heart in the sand. The other children were too preoccupied in their play to notice the hand sticking out from under the bushy foliage.
Another kill was late at night when the blond woman went to sleep. I slipped out, taking only a teddy bear for effect. A sweet young doe found me crying on the side of the street. I had cut my leg using one of the many pieces of sharp glass. I told her that I lived just beyond the alley behind her. She took my small hand, never guessing that her fate was to be controlled by it. Since she was sweet I simply slit her throat and drew my signature on the brick wall behind her.
I was to find out that there were a lot of potential victims in this new age. I was overcome with giddiness ever time I saw one. Sometimes I would suppress the urge that made my fingers clench, aching for a knife. Other times I killed so violently that even I had to look away. I suppose that I am mentally unwell, but I had to make up for lost time.
Seventeen kills later I decided to rid myself of the bothersome blonde. In my eyes she was the biggest whore I had faced. There was a new man in her bed almost every night. I could hear their moans from behind her locked door. It disgusted me and made it all the more easier to do what I did. And anyways, she was beginning to restrict me from my wanderings because of how unsafe the neighborhood had become. After her partner had left I slipped into the moonlit room, feigning a nightmare. She took me into her arms. I took out the knife from behind the rag doll I had carried into the room and stabbed her in the eye. I stuffed the doll into her mouth as a substitute gag and began carving into her body skillfully. The blood poured onto the cotton sheets. I could hear her whimpering in pain. I smoothed the rumpled hair from her face and hushed her. After I slashed my name across her I took out her heart, gallbladder, and intestines and artfully placed them around her body. I bound her hands with the silk sheet she had covered herself with. In the early morning I watched as the life slipped out of her eyes. She was nothing more than my lifeless doll. I played with her until the police came. And here is where they took me.
Looking back a realize that my trying to evade the arms of the police were thought of as a little girl’s attempt to cling to her mother’s motionless corpse. It made working with the sweet, plump-faced social worker all the more easier. For now I will pretend to be happy with the little dresses they insist on draping me in. I will play with the fake tea sets and dollhouses. As they discuss my work I will listen quietly. I will listen to their comments on the quiet little Jane Doe who always seems ready and eager for a playmate. Until I escape this world of brightly painted walls and fake cheerful workers who speak to me as if I’m horrible impaired I will learn all I need to.
What’s this? I heard that a kind childless couple has agreed to take me in. How sweet of them. I will have to express my gratitude to them in the only way I can think of…
Bella_Morte_Rouge Community Member 
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