On September 23rd 2008, 25 million people visited YouTube to watch a realistic video of a girl being brutally murdered by a woman with an axe and other deadly weapons. This video was titled Little Miss Dies' and reached the news headlines in a matter of weeks. Many of you thought it was real, but you were assured that it was acting and that Little Miss gave her full consent to the making of the video and was not harmed in the making of the video.Little Miss died two days after the video was uploaded to YouTube after poisoning from the fake blood that was used in the video. She was the one who uploaded the video using her own account.

These are all lies.

This is my confession. A glimpse 'behind the scenes', if you will.

It cost about twenty pounds to make this video, only counting the materials used. I can't remember where most of the materials came from; probably B&Q and Focus or something. I got the fake blood from a costume party shop on the outskirts of town. I can tell you now I looked pretty strange walking home with an axe sticking out of a carrier bag and fake blood in tubes bulging out from my pocket. I remember walking past a police officer who was talking to some kids who probably got caught smoking weed and I almost laughed as he stared at me. The three inch long nails were rattling around in the bag and obviously drew attention to me. It was a good day.

I am – or was – an art student, studying a one year course in the college down the road. For five weeks you go around and try out different things and I took quite an interest in photography. We were allowed to use any theme we wanted for a project we were working on. My friend used trees and buildings as her project and at the end of the week she had taken thousands of photographs of this one tree and put them together in this collage to make one big photograph of a tree. It looked good.

I chose murder. Blood. Gore. Horror. Violence. Death. For this theme, I spent hours awake on Sunday night before my photography week and racked my brains trying to think of a final project. I was ordered to think of something simple as I wouldn't be able to finish a huge project in one week, but that took all the fun away. I couldn't stage a fake death in one week – it would take a very good actress to pull such a thing off and a lot of materials to make it look real. Blood, for example. I'm not good at maths but I estimated that it would take about £30's worth of fake blood to get the effect I wanted. Blood would have to go on the walls, on the actress, on my hands. It was too much.

And I only had one week to do it.

You'd be surprised at the amount of prostitutes hanging around on your street corner at night. I live in a nice place, in fact I think my street is full of old people, but if you go through some roads, turn the corner and go straight on until you reach the lights, turn right, go down the road – if you pass the corner shop you've gone too far. You want to look right down an alley on your left. That's where I found Sophie Stain. Her whore name was something else. I can't remember what it was.

She ignored me at first and I wasn't surprised. She wasn't a lesbian but I wasn't one for hookers so it wasn't as if this was very satisfying. I didn't let her know that though. She charged me double for the night, and I paid her triple so that she couldn't say no or back out. I took her back to my friend's flat where she had gone on holiday and I had her key, and warmed her up and in the morning I paid her and she left.

I must have paid her pretty well because when I went back three days later for another go, her mates were giving me attention, something that they didn't do on my first trip. Again, I took Sophie back to my mate's flat and she did her job well and I paid her triple again and sent her back the next morning.

When I went back the next night she pounced on me as soon as she saw me. I let her do what she wanted because I needed her for a favour. It wasn't something that she normally did, but for the price I was paying her, she could make an exception.

Could you do me a favour? I asked.

She smiled. I thought that she was a little too attractive to be a whore but maybe that's why she did it; because she got paid well. She said, as she grabbed my ass, that her and her friends would do favours for me all night long. I pretended as if I gave this some serious thought before deciding that I'd come back another night for the others.

Now, here was the tricky part and I had to play it cool and do it just right or else one of her mates might figure it out. I took a twenty pound note, brand new, full of lipstick kisses and placed it in her red lace bra – oh, did I not mention? Sophie caught my attention because she didn't wear a top, just a bra – very carefully as I drew a kiss from her. I took another twenty, also covered in lipstick kisses and put it in her other cup and made sure they were secure before telling her how much this favour would mean to me.

Only you can do it, I said. Nobody else would be right for the part.

The – she moaned softly as I let my fingers run over her soft, baby skin – part?

I took yet another twenty out of my pocket. This one was clean and so I took my painted lips and kissed it as she watched me closely with her large, brown eyes. I then placed it elegantly between my first and middle finger and placed it inside her lace knickers, making sure it was pressed against her delicate skin. She moaned dramatically and moved her leg so it drew me closer to her. Her friends were watching eagerly, often shouting kinky remarks and encouraging us.

I'm a student at the college I told her, working my practised magic on her. With enough money you could be a wizard in a minute. I examined every part of her with my fingers and lips, putting on a good show for her mates. And I'm working on a new project. Have you ever seen The Cannibal Holocaust?

She moaned a yes. She tried to shut me up by kissing me but I pulled away, trying to continue what I was trying to tell her.

Well, I said, licking her neck teasingly. It's going to be like that. Basically, I'm going to murder you and make it look realistic so everyone thinks it's real. After the first few weeks or so, we'll tell people it's a fake and they'll be all like 'oh my God, but it looks so real! What a good video!'

Ohh, a video… she whispered into my ear in her tantalising sex voice. That sounds… dirty.

I know right, I agreed. You like BDSM and that shit, don't you?

I'll like whatever you want me to like, baby.

Oh good.

I took her hands in mine and kissed them both before leading her out of the alleyway, taking her back to my mate's flat. I didn't give her much attention on the way there so instead she gave me the attention she craved. I did this because it made her want me even more. We got to the flat and I ordered her to sit on the sofa while I made her a drink. I handed her a glass of white wine and locked the door, just like I always did.

We got down to business and I pretended that we were filming us having sex – the foreplay part for the film, you know. Make her believe that it's a sex tape and not just a torture one. We role-played a bit and we pretended that I had kidnapped her and was forcing her to do all these dirty things. This was, of course, all on record but I'd cut out all this sex shit and get down to the real dirty stuff.

Once I was satisfied, I worked on her but I pulled away before her climax and told her at the end of our torture death scene I would give her what she wanted. She tried to object but I hushed her as I brought out yet another twenty pound note and placed it in her vagina with my middle finger and, being careful not to make her burst, teased her with it. She shut up.

I used two pairs of handcuffs to tie her to the bottom of the radiator and went to get changed in my 'costume'. I looked like Arnie from the Terminator with all the leather I had wrapped around me. Before I put the tape back on record, I gave her a little warning speech.

This isn't acting, by the way, I told her, in all seriousness.

She nodded. Okay.

I will murder you and you will die.

She nodded again. I understand.

She thinks that I'm putting her in the mood – telling her in a different way how to act and setting the scene or some shit. I was telling the truth.

You're a dumb fuck whore and you'll die like one, I told her. When I put the recorder on, I want you to cry, 'what do you want with me? I'm sorry for anything I did wrong.' Or something similar. Beg me. Improvise.

Her eyes narrowed but she nodded again. With a shrug, I pressed record and got to work.

Oh shit, I said. Hang on.

I quickly pressed stop on the recorder and dug out a tube of fake blood. I had thrown the others away as I didn't need them but with this one, I smothered it over her naked body and placed the tube on the coffee table that sat in the corner, just at the side of the screen – the obvious sign that this is a fake video and the director was just too stupid to take out one of the props. Silly me.

Okay, let's go again.

I pressed record again and stepped forward, motioning her from behind the camera to start.

Her legs wriggled as she forced out the words I had told her to say.

Oh please madam, she whimpered. Very good. What do you want with me? I'm terribly sorry for anything I did wrong.

I stepped forward again so that my sleeve was on show and said, you will be.

I knelt down carefully and stared at her. Her eyes were twinkling mischievously and I could see a smile form on her pretty little face. Her smile vanished as I slapped her across the face.

She whimpered a little 'ow' and turned her face away from me.

You think that hurt? I hissed. You don't know pain. Now beg me.

She seemed a little confused. Perhaps she knew that I wasn't acting and that this was real or maybe she was just stunned. But she didn't show any signs of giving the game up. She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes slightly and so I repeated myself.

I said I want you to beg me.

She leaned her head towards mine and whispered, for what? as if she had forgotten her lines.

For your life, I called; making sure the video caught my words.

I slapped her across the face again and I could see her wriggling in discomfort. She glanced at the camera that was flashing a little red light – this was way beyond her expectations. With my fingerless gloved hands, I grabbed her face and forced her to face me. I then gave a short laugh, which she returned with an uneasy smile, and let her go.

Behind the sofa was the bag with my supplies in. She seemed to be getting back in character because I could hear her moaning and wriggling against the handcuffs, obviously doing what she did best for the camera – she didn't know any better. Inside the carrier bag was a hammer and several nails as well as the axe and there was also a little present for Sophie in here too. I'd been watching that Batman film and remembered a cool trick where this one guy sprays another guy with some toxin or some shit. I'd Wikipedia'd it and ended up getting some for my dearest little Sophie. If this went as I'd planned, then Sophie wouldn't tell the camera that 'I'm not an actress! I'm a hooker! You've got to save me! Anybody! This woman is crazy!' before she died.

It's amazing what television can teach you.

I took out the hammer and four of the nails from the carrier bag and placed them neatly beside Sophie. When I looked at her to see her reaction I could tell that she was thinking hard. I wasn't surprised; after all, I had no real equipment to make this look fake. There was no make-up, no person behind the camera to make sure they stopped it before we stepped out of character. If I hadn't told her this was a film, then she might have thought that these nails were really going through her.

Well… they were.

I stopped to think for a minute. Should I spray the gas at her first? That might be the best solution – she could figure out what I was up to after the first injury and I didn't want her to get all OOC on me. So I did it nicely. I took the spray tin out of the bag and after I'd kissed her softly, I told her that this would help her get into character more. This was true and so, because I'm not a very good liar, she believed me. I explained to her in good detail what the spray was and that it was rather harmless, because this would be edited out of the film. I told her that, too.

You're not really going to hurt me, are you? She asked timidly.

I laughed and stroked her face. I loved these fingerless gloves; they covered my hand perfectly and yet left my fingers to feel Sophie's soft skin.

Of course I am, darling, I told her in my sweetest voice. I've already told you; you're doing to die like the whore you are. Why do you ask?

The sweetness in my voice seemed to make her think that I was joking. You didn't need to slap me so hard, she mumbled.

I laughed again and kissed her lips one last time before I placed the vintage gas mask over my face. Oh baby, you just needed some sense slapping into you, that's all. Couldn't you tell from the moment you met me that I am a deranged psychopath?

She stared at me with her beautiful eyes and before she could open her luscious lips to reply I sprayed her face with the toxin. She seemed dazed at first, as if she was trying to comprehend what was happening. On that Batman film they use a scary mask and the victim goes all insane and shit, but I simply picked up the rusty nail and, using the hammer with my right hand, hammered it into her right upper arm. She was quiet for the first two seconds after I'd done it until she released a piercing, terrified scream at the top of her lungs. She thrashed on the floor, the handcuffs rattling against the metal of the radiator, until I slapped her across the face again, quieting her screams until she was sobbing and gasping for breath.

I hoped that the toxin intensified the pain of the nail but I wasn't too sure. Sophie seemed to be enjoying herself. None of this would be on the video. I would take this part and use it in my evaluation: behind the scenes, possible footage for the end video. The fact that this is a video and not a bunch of photographs, you may be wondering by now, is because I have a really good camera. I'll record this, put it on the computer, pause it, keep that shot as a photograph and print it out. Why am I not simply taking pictures, you ask? Because that would take all the fucking fun out of it, now, wouldn't it?

Now that she was in pain (and it was obvious that I wasn't fucking around anymore), I had originally planned to just kill her, but I was having too much fun. I had plenty of time so there was no rush, but I had bought a whole pack of nails to hammer into her and I didn't really need them. It wouldn't give me much satisfaction beating them into her and I'd only do it if she came to her senses and stopped crying.

I took the twenty pound note out of her vagina and wiped it on my vest top before folding it up and placing it in my pocket. The other three notes that I'd placed in her garments were kept safe in one of her shoes that lay beside the sofa. If I was really trying to convince a prostitute that I wanted her for a video, then I wouldn't have given her eighty quid for it.

I let my hand roam around her thighs, watching her face as I caressed her. She was still crying and begging me with strained moans. I hope you know, I told her as I neared her dripping sex with my hand, not quite going where she wanted me to go, that you will never climax. I won't let you. You can – I laugh as she forgets her pain and concentrates on trying to reach filthy nirvana – try, but I won't let you.

I wanted to kiss her lips again, taste her, love her with my mouth, but I didn't want to risk her biting me. I had stopped stroking her and she had gathered that and was already trying to kick me with her legs. I suppose now was as good as any other time to kill her.

I reached over into the plastic carrier bag and carefully pulled the heavy axe out. I weighed it in my hands before lifting myself to my feet. I double checked that the camera was recording and stood at Sophie's feet. Her head was moving uncontrollably with pain and exhaustion but she seemed to have grasped what I was doing.

I lifted the axe above my head just as she screamed.

I let it fall down on her ankle.

It hadn't cut through it completely, just half of it. So I pried it out of the broken bone and muscle and brought it up again. Sophie was screaming at the top of her lungs when I brought it down on the same place again. This time, I heard the head of the axe hit the carpet and I kicked her dead foot away just to make sure it had really come off.

Enough being nice, I had to finish her off. That's what everybody wanted to see, right? Little Miss Whore dies. Sophie was still screaming – or at least, trying to. Her voice was breaking up and I could see the pain taking over her. I had to do it now or never.

I brought the axe up over my head again and brought it down, aiming at any random place on her body. It happened to fall on her stomach and a spurt of blood drenched my jeans. I ignored it and brought the axe up again over my head, throwing it back down on the whore. This time I hit her in the side of her neck – not quite where I wanted to hit but at least I could be sure of her death.

I threw the axe down on her several times. Her arm, chest, face and the side of her head, as well as her stomach, neck and ankle, had been butchered by my own hands. These hands that had loved her so tenderly only minutes before. Sophie Stain, the beautiful little whore from the alleyway with an amazing tongue, was now hacked to pieces in my mate's apartment. I stood staring at her, the axe making my posture hunch with its heavy weight, until I realised that the camera was still rolling.

Part of me wished that the camera had messed up and hadn't recorded any of it. Then I'd have to do it with another girl. But I rewound the camera and found that it had caught everything. Every speck of blood was captured with brilliant detail on the screen, every shriek of Sophie's was intensified, every bit of pain that Sophie felt, that pain was shot through the camera and to the audience.

I cleared up the flat and hired a maid to clean up the 'pig's blood' from the walls. I edited the video to make it a lot shorter and better, and captured the few shots that I needed for my project. After a couple of days of writing evaluations and notes for my project, I cremated Sophie's body and as far as she was concerned, I left it at that. Nobody would care about her.

I then logged into a YouTube account I had made a few months ago, before I had met Sophie: B00tybabe666. I uploaded the video and named it Little Miss Dies – you weren't allowed the word whore in there, unfortunately. I didn't check it for a good week or so while I handed in my project and when I next viewed it I saw that it had a decent one million views. After a month or so, one million went up to two point five million. By the end of the year it had already been on three different news channels.

I - or somebody who you know as Opal Smith – was interviewed about the videotape. The news team were sitting in their studio and I was sitting a hundred miles away in an empty, dead café. I confirmed that Little Miss – or Sophie – had given her full consent, and may I please show you the important document she signed giving this consent, to the making of the video. She regretfully failed to inform me, the director that she was allergic to wheat. The fake blood that was used during the filming contained flour and of course, she had to put some in her mouth to make the death look as realistic as possible. Fake blood doesn't taste bad at all, and so Sophie didn't object to accidentally swallowing it; thus causing her death.

Sophie wrote an unofficial will declaring that she wanted her death, whenever it happened, to be kept as private as possible. She stated that she wanted to be cremated and her remains scattered over the local boat lake where she had often spent most of her time while she was alive. May I please show you the unofficial will? Here is her signature, just here. If you have any questions or queries, which undoubtedly you will have, please do not hesitate to contact me.

Of course, nobody contacted me because there was no Opal Smith. Nobody came to the conclusion that this was a real murder, somebody had really died, and Sophie Stain had not signed any documents. In fact, I doubt Sophie Stain was her real name. But nobody was able to follow this up. It was as if we had both just vanished in thin air.

And there is my confession and I am still here. Nobody has had enough sense to figure out what I did and if they did, they didn't have the guts to step up. And even though this is a confession, it doesn't mean that you will find me. I will be here for decades, uploading more videos on YouTube, possibly even better than my first. And nobody will be able to stop me.

Thank you for your comments, your views on my video and your ratings.

Forever yours.

Oh and by the way. I got a distinction on my project.