Chinese Okra - An Anthology

IV. My Mom Is A Serial Killer

In which a daughter discovers that her chirpy mother, who works as an insurance agent by day, is living a double life as she is the rumored "Stratford Strangler" by night.

*****

Wednesday, February 22, 2017
Midnight, 1 A.M.

Dear Diary,

I fucking knew it! My instincts were right this whole time!

That fishy creepy hinging sound from the basement door downstairs isn't caused by this stupid "ancient house," like mom told me! I mean, yes, somehow I'm not allowed to go down there, and it does get seriously really creepy at night in the house, so I'm pretty sure it'll be much scarier in the basement (not that I'm not glad that I'm free from laundry chores and rat-shit cleaning, though I still loathe it for having mandatory curfews), but when I heard it again, like, some minutes ago, I knew I just had to investigate it. I mean, I know curiosity kills the cat, but, you know, I'm a human, not a cat! And while it indeed could've been the serial killer squatting in some secret hideout somewhere in our own basement, I was glad that it was just my mom. She was wearing a black outfit, though, and I don't know why. I mean, she was really glad when dad died (and I am too, not gonna lie about that). But, you know, if she's in mourning or something, I don't think being creepy in the basement is the right time or place to be grieving. Unless she's secretly a member of a satanic cult, and she was doing some weird ritual. Or unless she's secretly an agent who kidnaps assholes and tortures them inside our home, unbeknownst to me. Oh well, I mean, at least she's not some serial killer, right?

But really, though, doesn't it, like, sound kinda cool if it turns out my mom is a serial killer? I mean, if it is a TV show, it does sound cool and maybe I'd definitely watch that. Oh, wait, Santa Clarita Diet just did that this February. Maybe I ought to give the show a try, diary?

Oh, well. I'm gonna skip school today and lie to mom so I can investigate the basement FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER SINCE DAD DIED! I just hope mom is secretly a dark wizard, though, and it turns out I've been, like, the daughter of a witch this entire time, and dad's death would be a sacrifice.

God, I'm such a heartless bastard. I made it sound like mom killed dad on purpose. I'm sure she wouldn't do that. She has a great past and great friends and is too cheery to be a killer either way.

Also, bye, diary. It's already night, and I'm too ready to hit the hay. I love you, diary.

XOXO

*****

Thursday, February 23, 2017
Midnight, 2 A.M.

Dear Diary,

I'm too scared of living here. I'm too scared to even write this. And I've been waiting until the voices downstairs have stopped and mom has returned to her room. I don't know who else to tell or turn to, so I'm sorry, diary, if I ruin you, but right now, you're gonna be my vent.

I should've listened to her. I should've never gone down into the basement like she told me. I should've known better ignorance is true bliss. And now I can't help but wish to get the hell out of here as soon as I can. Because, frankly, I don't know if it's safe to write in you anymore.

I know mom respects my privacy and that she never even reads my diary, but if she finds out that I disrespect hers, I'm scared mom would kill me. I'm thinking of going to Nana's in Wheeling, but I swear to God, I think after finding out mutilated bodies and the face of the woman who has been missing since five days ago not on the news, but severed and inside a small black plastic bag, I don't think I can trust mom's families either. And the stench... God, and to think that I thought it was a dead pile of mice?! There were flies or some bug I don't know the name of. But they were swarming, and not just on the plastic bag filled with her head, but on some others... Some others were propped against the unpainted wall that seemed like unused Christmas decorations but could actually be a part of her limb. Why did she not just pile her body parts in one place?! Why did she have to put it up everywhere?! Why did she not bury her in the backyard last night?! And God... The way her mouth gaped and her eyes staring weakly at nothing... It made me want to dig my fingers inside my brain and dig the bits out little by little until I touched a nerve that retains that memory so I don't have to be reminded of that... that terrifying face... Why the hell did I decide to peek inside when knowing it's gotta be something awful?! The swarming flying bugs should've been a dead giveaway either way!