Fan Fiction ❯ For Martha ❯ Chapter One ( Chapter 1 )

Author's Note: Okay…I'm a bit nervous. I don't know how this story will do. No matter, please read and review!! *smiles* I would really like reviews…they give me encouragement and hope! Thanks again. Okay, enough babbling - on with the show!!

 

NOTE: This story contains gore, blood, and horror. It you don't like this sort of stuff, then please find something else to read. Thank you.

 

 

For Martha

By: Cursed Butterfly

****Two Years Ago****

“Melanie! Your father and I are going out today, okay? I've already phoned Chloe - she should be here any minute now.” I looked at my well-dressed mother, who was glowing with excitement and giving off the foul odour of the sickening perfume that she always wore. Gucci Envy. I grimaced at the scent, but smiled all the same. My eyes followed her moving form as she nervously tried to find her pearl studs, looking in her all her drawers and muttering curses under her breath.

“Mama, why does Chloe have to be here?” She didn't answer immediately, too caught up with her little `hunt'. Her stockings gave off this `swish-swish' sound every time she walked, and I cringed. To me, that sound was no better than nails on a chalkboard.

“Oh, you know, Melanie!” my mother groaned, more in despair for not finding her earrings than complaining. “You're only ten-“

“I'll be eleven next month!” I protested. I stared at my mother's back as she gave up on the drawers and began looking in her purse instead. She carelessly flicked her hand towards me, as if dismissing the topic. I slowly narrowed my eyes and glared at her. She knew nothing of me…she didn't care.

“Yes, dear, I know. You'll be turning eleven. But, you're still too young to be home alone. That's why Chloe is here - to watch over you.” This time she turned around, and then she smiled, showing perfect snow-white teeth. Her ruby-red lips only made the teeth look so white that it was blinding. I didn't smile back. I didn't say anything.

Her deep-green eyes turned into half-moons of joy as she laughed, the sound escaping from her soft lips sounding like soft tinkling bells, playing in the wind. “Oh you! You're so full of questions!” She bent over and tweaked my nose; I forced a grin. I hated it when she did that.

“Of course, you do like Chloe, don't you?” I couldn't look at my mother then. No, I hated Chloe. I didn't like anyone - not even myself. I wanted Martha. Martha. I bit my tongue so that I wouldn't say anything vulgar towards my mother, but all the same, the words were just on the tip of my tongue, dying to come out.

I wanted to tell my mother everything, about how Chloe and Martha fought the other night before, about how the metal vase flew out of Chloe's hands and made contact with Martha's head. I wanted to scream at my stupid and ignorant mother about how slow Martha sunk to the ground, her body floating in a small pool of blood around her cracked skull. My mother should've heard the inhuman laugh that had slipped between Chloe's lips after she's seen what she has done. I wanted her to see the images of how Chloe had to bury Martha's limp and cold body out in our huge backyard; under the old oak tree. My mother should have seen me cry helplessly as I was ordered by Chloe to mop up the blood that was spilled on the wooden floors. I wanted to say everything, but not a sound escaped my lips.

“You won't dare tell anyone, understood? If you do, I'll come back and slaughter you like I did to Martha.” The night that everything happened, Chloe's threat to me was as real as the events that followed Martha's death.

“Found them! I knew that they were hiding somewhere! See, Melanie? Isn't your mother just marvellous?!” My mother beamed at me, and I nodded to give her the answer that she had expected. She quickly placed the earrings in her ears and patted my head.

I followed her down the spiralling staircase as she smiled at my father, who was wearing his black Armani suit and looking very formal and elegant. He smiled and whistled at her, and then she blushed and giggled like a schoolgirl. I felt sick to my stomach.

“You'll be alright then, Princess?” my father asked me as I reached the bottom of the stairs. I was annoyed at the stupid nickname that he had given me.

“Yes, father. I'll be alright,” I answered meekly. He gave me a huge hug and nodded in approval.

“Look, Diane! Our little girl has finally grown up.” My mother agreed, looking at me lovingly.

You have no idea how much I've grown, father, I thought darkly with a smile.

“I'm going to sleep now. Goodnight father, mother.” I looked at them both and made my way up the stairs again, hoping that they would just leave me alone. When I finally reached my room, I quickly climbed into my large queen-sized bed and took a book off my side table. Gone With the Wind, it was called. It was one of Martha's all-time favourite classics.

I stared at the book's cover, studying it with an amateur eye. I remembered how Martha would always read a few pages out of this precious book every night that she was here. Nothing in the world would've have soothed me to sleep better than to hear her soft voice whispering the words into my ears, creating moving pictures with her voice alone. Her calm, steady breathing always made me feel content, and I loved every minute that I got to spend with her. Unfortunately, our time spent together was terminable.

Suddenly, I heard the doorbell ringing, and the horrible truth struck me. Chloe is here. I quickly turned off my lights and pretended to sleep, breathing deeply and calmly. My heartbeat was drumming thunderously in my ears, and I swore that anyone could hear it from a mile away.

I realized that my parents were gone when I heard the loud, revving engine fade away as my parents drove farther and farther, not knowing what peril that they had put their little girl in.

“Melanie?” I heard Chloe's deep voice call. I only pulled the thick quilt closer to my body, scared for my life. “Melanie?” I could hear her almost inaudible footsteps coming up the stairs. She wanted to see if I where I was. I prayed that she would go away. Go away…

I saw a thin strip of light invade the darkness of my room as Chloe quietly opened the door, and then I could hear her smile. It was a sickening sound, her smiling. I just closed my eyes shut and tried to breathe evenly. Then, I could hear the door of my bedroom closing. I was safe for a while longer.

I heard the silent fuzzing noise of the TV being turned on. The strange thing is, Chloe doesn't watch TV. She just watches the grey and blinding white static that are on channel two. There's no theme song or voices of actors performing. It's all just fizzing static electricity.

***************

I reluctantly opened my eyes, my vision blurry at first. My alarm clock read 11:49, and I realized that I was extremely thirsty. My mouth and tongue were so dry that it felt like sandpaper, and my mouth had the funniest taste. I was disgusted. My lips were so chapped and cracked that it began to bleed. I licked my lips continuously, relishing the taste of my own blood. I loved it.

I quickly slipped on my fuzzy blue slippers and considered going downstairs. Of course, going towards the kitchen meant that I would have to face Chloe - and I was horrified at the thought. Hatred ran through my veins, and my heart reeked for revenge.

But, my thirst wouldn't leave me alone until it was cured. So, I took my chances and decided the head down to the kitchen. The spiralling staircase was padded with soft carpet, and the gold-coloured railings kept me from falling. My head hurt and I was dizzy - nothing seemed clear to me. I was careful not to make a sound, not to disturb Chloe and her television 'program'.

When I entered my redecorated and fairly large kitchen, I immediately tiptoed to the fridge, and pulled out a clear pitcher of ice cold water. I found a yellow mug in our cupboard, and quietly poured the delicious water into the cup. I could feel the mug's handle becoming colder and colder from the water within.

I eagerly drank the water that was in my hands, and I've never appreciated the way that a liquid can cure one's thirst before as I have now. I smiled in spite of myself, still being able to feel the icy waterfall down my throat.

I walked slowly towards the sink, and rinsed my mug out. As I placed the yellow mug on the rack to dry, I noticed a large set of knives by the toaster. We've always had this set, but something about it tonight...it was so...tempting. My hand itched to grab the handle of one of those weapons; my hands wanted to be able to DO things with those killers.

It seemed as if the knives were calling to me, luring me into its sweet temptations.

You know you want to... the knives seemed to whisper to me. I was fascinated and appalled at the same time. Come...find the indescribable pleasure in using us.... I found that my feet had a mind of their own as they led me slowly towards the knives. Before I knew it, my right hand went out and firmly grabbed the handle of the butcher knife in the set - and I felt a jolt of electricity shoot through me; a jolt of happiness and pleasure.

And at that point, I knew without doubt, that I was just a pawn in the Devil's games...that I was being manipulated to do his dirty work - and I could have cared less. This was my night...my time.

****Present Time****

I am now twelve years old, and lots of things have happened. Most of them are horrifying, but some of them are pleasant.

My new home is now a high security mental asylum - and I now see a therapist and specialist every Thursday, and they all say that I have something wrong with my mind. I think that I'm perfectly normal. I don't know what they think is wrong and I hate them all for thinking me stupid and deformed.

 

They treated me like a helpless little child. My parents and all the other adults that I have known in my short - but eventful - life…except for Martha. Martha treated me without that disgusting loving…she treated me like a person. I was not some porcelain doll that needed to be cooed and fussed over every two seconds. I was alive, for God's sake! Why wouldn't they see that?

Still, after two years, I haven't peeped a word about how Martha met her end. I haven't told anyone where she was placed for her final resting-place. Unfortunately, now, I have another delicious secret added to my slowly growing pile…

After my parents came home from their little `date', what awaited them almost scared them to death. Pity though…death would have served them well. They saw Chloe, now dead, sitting on a bloody couch; blue eyes and mouth wide open in horror with what had ended her fate. Then, they saw me, sitting right in front of the TV, staring blankly into the screen at the static electricity; and in my hands was a long butcher knife, dripping with Chloe's red, thick blood.

“MELANIE!” my father screamed, mortified. “What happened?”

“Martha.” That was my answer, as simple as that. Right then and there, my mother shrieked and fainted, and my father yelled when I turned my head and looked at him with an evil smile adorning my lips. He yelled because my face was covered in dark red blood. He yelled because I kept on licking my lips, tasting the blood there. He yelled because I wasn't the daughter that he had known earlier this night.

 

*****The Kill*****

 

After I had slowly crept up behind Chloe, I stabbed her over and over and over again…giggling with pleasure as the red blood exploded with every blow that my knife inflicted upon her. “Who has the power now, Chloe?” I screamed at the top of my lungs as I climbed over the couch and straddled her wide hips.

 

“M-Melanie!” Chloe pleaded pathetically. “Please don't do this…PLEASE!” I gave her a small, adorable smile and relished the look of terror that flashed in her blue eyes. I was going to enjoy every minute of this.

 

I lifted the murderous weapon above my head and said, “Say hello to Martha for me.” With that, the knife flew down and plunged deep into her heart. Blood spattered everywhere - mostly on my face. I sighed in content as the red liquid dripped off my chin and onto my white night-gown. I personally thought it looked better with the red splatters.

 

To my disappoint, Melanie went limp as her soul flew from her physical body. I slowly lifted the knife out and looked at it. Blood. A sudden urge to lip the blood slowly off the blade overwhelmed me. My long, pink tongue darted out of my mouth and licked the warm blade. The blade warmed by the red blood.

 

I quickly licked the blade clean…and stabbed the dead body again for more blood. The metallic taste was beginning to get addicting - like a drug that I couldn't get out of my body. I couldn't get the taste and smell of it out of my mind.

 

After my small feast, my eyes drifted to the empty shell that was once Chloe Murphy. I sighed, sad that the fun was already over. “What am I suppose to do with the body?” A million ideas flew into my head, but none satisfied my needs…none would satisfy my pleasure.

 

The dull sound of the electric static of the television distracted my thinking, and I slowly turned and stared at the screen. What did Chloe find so intriguing about this? Hoping to find the answer by staring at it myself, I quietly bounced off the couch with my bloody knife and sat right in front of the TV, so close to the screen that the tip of my nose touched the glass.

 

Suddenly, it came to me. Chloe wasn't crazy, as I had thought. This screen suddenly began producing little images of white and grey into my mind. The images of my deepest and darkest fantasies. I now wonder what it would have shown Chloe, for mine definitely wasn't the same as her's. Mine was full of dark, fearful rooms full of Chloe-clones…and I was the one doing them pleasure by killing them off.

 

Then, the sound the front door being opened awaked me from my daydream. I turned my head and faced my parents.

 

**************

Of course, after that, my mother went insane with hallucinations of me going after her, and my father lost all his wealth and fame. All his friends and family turned their backs on my beloved father because of his 'monstrous daughter'. I must say that I didn't pity my parents at all. Justice was served.

My therapist and doctors tells my father that I am completely 'gone', that there is not way to bring me 'back'. The funniest thing about this is that they say that they have never seen a case like mine before. Oh, really? So, they don't have little ten year old girls coming in with blood all over her?

“What has caused this perfectly well and normal child to go on a killing rampage is unknown. I'm sorry, Mr. Sutton, but we just don't know if regular treatment will be able to cure your daughter at all.”

The long stream of doctors and physiatrists keep on asking me why I did what I did - but everytime they don't listen, even when I tell them the answer. They're all impudent and ignorant. Neglectful might even be a better word. They don't pay any mind or attention to my needs. They don't realize that I'm a person, not some sort of puzzle that needs to be solved.

“I did it for Martha,” I would always reply. Their confused looks and murmurs would only cause me more frustration and make my blood boil. These adults pry too much for their own good. Why must they feel like that they need to know everything about me? All I know is that they wouldn't like what they would find if they dug too deep in the mud…

“Who is this `Martha'?” all the doctors would inquire. I would slowly lift my head and shake my long hair out of my lifeless eyes. I would stare down at them - hard. As they watch and observe my behaviour from behind a glass wall, they would continuously write down notes. Sometimes, I wonder what they would write down. Do they think me horrid? Insane? Do they think of me as a person?

 

“Why do you need to know?” I would cry, half out of anger and half out of pure curiosity. But they needn't answer, for I already knew what they were going to say. They were going to disturb my dear Martha…remove her from her grave. THEY CAN'T DO THIS!!

 

My mind would go blank…and I'd find myself pounding my tiny fists against the thick, glass wall, startling the doctors as they called for nurses. They'd tie my back on a table and put me in a white, dreadful straightjacket. They'd leave me isolated in a cushioned room…then drug me so powerfully that I'd slip into a dreamless sleep.

 

I would give anything for a small knife…just to slowly skin and gut those horrible people who ran this Hell. I'd curl up in a small, thin ball against a corner and slowly rock back and forth, back and forth. I couldn't take this anymore…NOT ANYMORE!!

 

“Martha…Martha…” Slowly, I could feel my spirit lift, feeling my body go limp. The last sounds I heard was the piercing sound of the alarm that sounded in my room - alerting everyone that I was in “danger”. Except, this wasn't danger to me. I was finally able to find peace, happiness, strength; all the wonderful things that Martha had once taught me.

 

Slowly, I could see her warm smile, her loving arms wide open to receive me in the light. I walked up to Martha shyly and grinned. Warmth enveloped my whole being and soul, and I was glad that I was released from the leash called life. I was free.

 

And why'd I do this? Simple. For Martha.

 

 

Author's Note: I know that the ending wasn't exactly as good as it could have been, and I'm sorry for that!! *bows for forgiveness* Anyway, please tell me what you thought of this story…it's my first shot at horror, and I would really appreciate some feedback. So, please, review! Thanks so much.

 

Until next time…

 

-Cursed Butterfly