Perfect Sacrifice 1902 June 24th Tuesday

Ring, ring, ring. The phone has been ringing since yesterday. I haven't shown up for work since last week. I don't care. Let them wait. I roll over in my own mess and rest my arm over my face. I can feel the dampness of the sleeve touching my face. I breathe in the bittersweet scent. If it could speak to me, this foul paint of the dead, what could it tell me? I'm sure it knows all the things that I am looking for. It's hiding it somewhere, dancing like a faerie on the dust of the moonlight. I can't see it with my own eyes, but I know it's mocking me. I inhale the smell once more and hold it suspended in my lungs. I'm pleading. And the phone rings, rings rings. I turn and rip it from the table.

1902 June 25th Wednesday

The sun's rays have taken on a deep crimson color. They stretch through the cracks and onto my floor, extending in long tapered streaks through the darkness. Stationary, I don't budge. My head rests softly in her chair. I'm holding it, caressing it along the sides as if she were there. The velvet cushion feels softly against my cheek, and it makes me imagine the feel of her dress. I smile when I think about her being here with me. Her delicate, sweet smile that looked at me with such a delightful acceptance. Her eyes shined as they bore into my soul. She read every piece that made up my being – all the strokes that equated to my masterpiece, and she had approved. The memory makes me beam with pride. She had chosen me, and she extended her hand and told me about her own soul. She didn't need to speak the words aloud, for I knew what was written there. I knew the words for they echoed in my own. I only needed her promise that she would come again. I only needed her to be there, to be a part of my soul, to smash our two existences together. I kiss the chair in which she usually sits. Just as suddenly as my smile came, it falls. What will she say to me? What will she do? Tomorrow is Thursday. I haven't found it.

The light bends and extends further than before. The movement causes me to take notice. A long, thin streak punctures the front door. My throat closes up as if I've swallowed a stone. I nod, and slowly get to my feet. I know it. She wants me to go. She's calling for me. Had she always been watching? I nod slowly. I have to go. I stagger as I grab another syringe and head to the door.

1902 June 26th Thursday

On my hands and knees I wail like the marred sacrificial lambs before the last slice. My cries echo against the empty walls and fire backwards onto me. I bash my fists like a child against the wet floor and specks of red splatter around me. I let my tears and spit fall below me as I let the words flow from my soul into the air around us. And when I no longer have the energy to continuing hitting the hard ground, I pull my limbs inwards. I let my forehead rest in the mess that I had made as I weep. No words left to say, I remain like this for a moment until…

Pathetic.

I raise my head instantly to look towards her. The redness drip slowly down my face as I stare. I hear the words, unspoken, booming all around me.

Wretched.

Pitiful.

Worthless.

And the words flow, resonating in the air around me. I hear them repeat and grow in volume, overlapping and rising. Frantically, I scan the room with my eyes. Darting round and round, I see the bones of the dead looking at me. I see their half torn faces, their eyes frozen in their sockets, their tongues out on the ground. They glower at me as they shout these words. Their hearts hysterically crash against their ribs, like they would break through and grab me. They want to hold me down, tear me, and break me. Their eyes are bearing holes into my flesh, and my breath sticks in my chest. My own heart echoes their pace – it jumps and leaps and panics inside of me.

The voices multiply, shouting at me, yelling at me until they raise in such a volume that I cannot hear anything else. I scream against it, but my voice is drowned. I close my eyes and press my head back into the floor so that I can sob to myself. But the voices don't stop. They get closer, and closer until I can feel their spit fling from their tongues onto my back. I squeal sadly as I close my hands over my head in attempt to shut them out. I can feel their shadows descend upon me, and I can't take their words. My body shakes. My heart urges for a response.

I have to flee.

I raise my head and smash it against the concrete hysterically. I bang my head against it in a heated frenzy, hoping to bash the voices into silence. I feel the pain, but it seems terribly far away as I hammer my head into the ground. I can feel the blood pouring over my face, and the feel of my nose is no longer the same. I bite my lips, cracking them. And the voices howl around me, reaching a feverish height. I keep going, oblivious to the surrounding, until there isn't anything left.

1902 June 28th Saturday

GHASTLY
MURDERS SOLVED
Murderer in Custody

Police were notified by an anonymous tip to the home of Richard David White, whereupon the bodies of some 12 women and children were discovered. Disturbed planks in the floorboards signal the possibility of more victims. White himself was found in the centre of the home and had severe self-inflicted wounds over the face. He was taken into custody, his wounds treated, and is awaiting trial. When questioned, White had said, "she made me do it" and then proceeded to point to a chair in which only a doll sat…

Epilogue 1902 July 1st Tuesday

EVIDENCE TAKEN

Police are searching for the culprit who removed a doll taken from the home of Richard David White earlier in the week. The doll is evidence connected to a string of gruesome murders. If anyone has any knowledge of the whereabouts of this doll, please contact your local official.