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

Author Nathan C. Gooden Reveals The Comics That Shaped His Childhood

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The Night Queen Author Denise Daye Talks Favourite Movies

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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