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

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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