I know there are monsters under peoples' beds and clawing so viciously at the walls of my skull. I can hear them screaming and fighting to get out of me through my actions, but I can't release them.
The monsters want blood.
I don't want that.
But I do...
What do I want? Can one of you help me? None of the monsters help very much--they all tell me that killing is for the best and that if I don't continue it, they'll kill me. I know that you think I'm crazy, but I'm not.
They're real and among us. One in five people is a monster like me--or at least a monster-in-hiding. Psychopaths and sociopaths and schizophrenics and sadist lurk all around you. There could be one in your family, someone who leers over you in your sleep just wondering how your head would look on a stick, wanting to make a lamp or a couch or a suit out of your lovely, creamy skin.
I know I do. I like to watch you sleep. The monsters like it too.
I could just reach out and stroke that soft, flawless skin of yours or pet your hair or lick your ear or insert my knife into your throat and cut off that button-cute little nose that lets out those gentle little breaths. I wish I could, but then you'd wake up and I'd have to run before you called the police.
But it'd be worth it. You aren't the only one I watch. I watch lots more. Like you. And you. And you, with the freckles. And you with the short, blonde hair and the friend named George. I watch him too. He snores, did you know that?
He did snore.
That stopped last night.
At least, it should have. I don't know.
Can you snore without a larynx?
Please tell me. If you can, I have some work to do.
And you, you who thinks they're safe from my prying eyes. You aren't. The monsters tell me to ravage you, you know that? I'm speaking now to the girl with the brown hair. They tell me to ravage you and to make you scream for your life.
But I don't. The other monsters say it's not your birthday yet. We must wait for that present.
You know what I like most of all? Heavy sleepers. They don't wake to see the effervescent light reflecting in my eyes or my spindly fingers caressing their cheeks. And I've only had one wake up to me smelling their hands, three to the licking.
But I digress.
It's probably past your bedtime, is it not?
Hurry on, get to sleep...
I can't come out until you do. (: