A Murderous Mission

One

"Last night, another murder took place as Caleb Swanson, age 21, was killed in his own home around 3 am. Neighbors say they didn't see or hear anything unusual going on in Caleb's house Sunday night or the morning of.

"Detectives are again not finding anything that relates to any of the previous murders; just the weapon of choice. A 12' blade with a dark wooden handle, each blade with the same engraving on the handle: the number 666. The people have decided on naming this mysterious murderer, calling him 'Devil's Killer'.

"The police have no other comments to report to the people of Big Rapids, besides stay safe and lock your doors and trust no one you don't know personally. Now I hand you over to Jake with the weather forecast for this week. I'm Claire Latin and this is Channel 13 news."

I quickly shut my bedroom TV off, closing my deep brown eyes, unable to help but drown myself in sadness as I thought of the previous victims and their families. The murders were getting too much, especially when they keep occurring closer to my own home and neighborhood.

At seventeen, I lived with my father in Big Rapids, attending a public high school around here like everyone else. Unfortunately, my mother was no longer around as she had died when I was just three years old, succumbing to brain cancer. My mother was diagnosed stage four when I had just turned two, and from there, it all went downhill.

After her death, my Dad was lost, depressed and lonely without his wife. He used alcohol to try and forget about it or to simply numb the pain that was constantly trying to consume. He more often than not came home drunk every to every other night, he wasn't an abusive drunk thankfully, just a broken one.

Taking a deep breath, I stood from the side of my bed, walking over to my mirror on top of my white wooden dresser and stared at my complexion. 

First, I looked at my facial complexion, unpleased with what I saw; my deep brown hair framed my heart-shaped face and the length of it fell to my lower back. My large brown eyes stared back at me, trying to mask the fear I hid beneath them, trying to hide the emotions I always hid away from her friends and father.

I had circles under my eyes from the lack of sleep, and I haven't been sleeping well for the past month since the murders had started, especially when they kept creeping closer to my neighborhood.

Sighing, I looked away from my mirror, now focusing on what I should wear to school. I ended up in deciding to wear my white blouse that hung off one shoulder, my dark blue jeggings, and white ankle converse. Frowning, I looked at my size, eyeing my small frame. I was the skinny one of my graduate class; I didn't participate in sports as I couldn't afford it, nor was I any good.

Ding.

I was suddenly interrupted from my thoughts by a text message from Susan, my best friend since the fifth grade, I smiled as I read the text.

Here hoe.

I chuckled and rolled my eyes.

Coming thot.

I quickly replied.

Grabbing my bag off my queen sized bed, I trotted downstairs and passed my Dad who happened to be asleep on the couch. Again.

Frowning, I quickly turned off the TV, plucked the beer bottle out of his hands and threw it away, grabbed my house key and walked out the door after making sure it was locked.

I shut the front door behind me and walked towards Susan in her white Impala. Opening the passenger side door, I plopped myself on the gray leather seat, setting my backpack by my feet before shutting the car door.

"Hey, hoe," I smirked, glancing at Susan.

Susan rolled her eyes, unable to hide her smile and the slight chuckle.

"Hey. Oh, did you hear about the mur-" She started.

I cut her off, "Can we not talk about that please?"

Confusion danced around in Susan's blue eyes but she just nodded, understanding. Putting her car in reverse, she backed out my driveway and towards the high school.

*•.¸♡ ᴀɴɴɪᴇ ᴀᴅᴇʟʟᴇ ♡¸.•*

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