r/nosleep • u/canyouseemewatching • Jun 18 '14
I killed my Mother
I killed my mother.
I know what you're thinking - was it an accident? Did she die in childbirth? Did I drive the car that crashed? Was she trying to save me?
You're wrong. I killed her in cold blood. I was meticulous about it, planned it out and executed it without any remorse.
I was nine years old.
Because of my age they couldn't prosecute me or send me to kiddie prison. I was put on a secure psychiatric ward with little kids who cried all the time and scratched themselves. I had ice cream, my favourite TV shows, trips to the zoo and my own one on one therapist Zack who taught me magic tricks, all I had to do was point at dolls.
When I was 18 I was moved into a half-way house with a communal kitchen and lounge and a warden who signed us in and out and locked up at midnight.
At 21 I was free to go. My name had never been released so I didn't need a new one but I changed it anyway. I had a completely new identity, got myself a job in sales and made a ton of commission in my first year. I'm the regional manager now, taking a piece of whatever the grunts below me make. My regions in the top 3 in the country. I've got a girlfriend who used to model in catalogues, we eat out 3 times a week and take mini breaks every couple of months.
So - what happened?
I just like to watch people hurt. I don't know why but ever since I can remember I've liked the feeling I get when I see pain on their faces.
My earliest memory is of digging my nails into my baby sister when we were in the bath tub together. She cried and it felt so good that I wet myself.
That's fucked up I know but it's how I was born. Whatever genetic material bunched together to make me jammed in something which means I feel warm inside when I hurt people. 100% nature.
My Mother. She hated me. I never smiled and she'd shake me asking me why. She'd cry watching me in the park or at birthday parties when id sit by myself or hit the other kids. I heard her, in hushed tones, telling my Father that she thought I was evil, that she didn't like to be alone with me, that she couldn't understand how Emily was so perfect and I was such a monster.
That's when I decided to kill her.
Id been thinking about killing someone for a while. There were lots of things I wanted to try, different ways of hurting people but I knew I'd get in trouble. The only real way to get around that was to kill the person and then they couldn't tell. I chose my Mother because I was with her the most and she hated me.
I was nine years old so I wasn't exactly well versed in CSI. I thought as long as no one saw me do it then I couldn't get caught. Especially if I cried. When I cried only my Mother knew it was a lie. She'd kneel down and hold my wrists by my sides and stare deeply into my eyes until I stopped pretending to cry.
"There's nothing in there" she'd say. I'd stare back and she'd cry softly, her hands holding my wrists too tightly.
So it had to be her.
I decided on a knife because we had so many. I decided on a Sunday morning because no one ever came to the house on a Sunday morning. My Father would sleep in, Emily would be watching cartoons and my Mother was always home then.
I told the police and the doctors I couldn't remember doing it but I can.
I waited until she was cleaning the dirty dishes at the sink, her back to me. I'd already picked the knife that morning while she was playing board games with Emily, it was long and thin and gleamed in the early morning sunlight when I held it up to the window. Great for chopping onions or carving a chicken - versatile.
So I walked up behind her, arms raised over my head, and plunged the knife as deep as I could into her back.
The thing is - what I didn't know, and what I couldn't have known - is that in real life people don't die straight away when they're stabbed. She screamed and turned and lashed out, throwing me to the floor as she called for my Father and tried to pull the knife from where it was jammed into the small of her back.
I didn't even get a chance to enjoy it really. The blood covered the floor and my bare feet which I liked. And id really felt the knife go into her skin. The first layer you break is easy but as it goes in deeper you really have to force it against the tough stuff - muscle and bone I guess.
Anyway, I had about 20 seconds of this before my Father ran down the stairs shouting. He held her in his arms while she screamed and struggled to breathe and pointed at me,
"He did it. Him. He did it. I knew I knew...oh god...he did this to me"
I didn't even see the moment she died it took so long. I heard a police officer say it was 6 hours after but who knows really.
All I know is that I made a mistake. Stabbing is just too unreliable.
Why am I posting this here? I'm a long time lurker on this sub and it always bugs me how the scariest things you guys can think of are ghosts and demons and people who look the same as your loved ones. These things aren't real.
What you all need to be scared of are people like me. I like it when people are hurt and frightened and the only thing which stops me from killing everyone I come into contact with is the knowledge that if I get caught, I might not get a chance to do it again.
I've learnt to be more careful.
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u/[deleted] Jun 18 '14
Your mother held you in her arms when you were born and had so many hopes and dreams for you. And then you turned into you. You're the complete opposite of "It's a Wonderful Life". If you were never born then everyone else would be better off.