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

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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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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

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