MARCY’S DIARY

Dust particles danced like ghost-orbs in the shaft of late afternoon light that crept through the tiny window in the gable. The long-dead corpse of a housefly, drained of its juices, dangled from the time-ravaged remains of a spider’s web that clung from the top corner of the frame near a semi-circular crack in the pane. A creak cried out from a dusty floorboard and then the rusty metal hinges of a cobweb-enshrined trunk groaned as the lid lifted up, releasing a pungent perfume of mustiness, and revealing its hidden treasures that had, for years, reposed in a shroud of darkness.

“Oh my god!” cried Janice Lemort with excitement. Her hazel-green eyes, which were ghoulishly made-up with thick, black eyeliner and dark purple eyeshadow, grew wide with astonishment. “There’s an old diary inside this trunk! I bet it’s her diary!”

Janice’s younger sister, Marlayna, peered into the trunk with equal parts curiosity and trepidation. She then let out a bit of a gasp. “Do you really think it’s Marcy’s diary?” she questioned with a slight tremble in her voice. “The girl who used to live in this house?”

“Yes,” Janice replied with glee. Some of her long, raven-black hair with startling streaks of bright red fell in front of her blanched face as she bent down to retrieve the diary. She brushed the strands away with her hand as she returned her torso to an upright position, taking care not to accidentally hook one of her fingertips on the stainless-steel ring that dangled from her pierced septum. “Marcy, the psychopathic girl who hacked her entire family to pieces with an axe while they slept, and then hanged herself from a beam right here in this very attic. It’s amazing that this diary’s been hidden away up here all these years!”

“Oh Janice, I wish you’d put that book back in the trunk and lock it,” Marlayna pleaded. Her voice sounded distressed. “I don’t like it one bit. It’s giving off such an evil energy and really making my skin crawl.”

Janice slowly ran her fingertips across the faux-leather cover of the diary, which was almost as black as the nail polish that darkened her long fingernails.

“Most of the people in this town keep pretty tight-lipped about the axe murders, even though they happened over twenty years ago,” she said. “But there’s this one girl in my math class, her name is Carla Bennett, and she told me the gory truth about what occurred in this house. Her uncle was one of the detectives on this case. He told her that all the walls and ceilings were completely red with splattered blood, and there were bits and pieces of human body parts lying all over the place! Chopped-off hands and feet... eyeballs... intestines...”

“Oh, shit!” exclaimed Marlayna, wrinkling up her face in repulsion. “That’s totally disgusting! I think I’m going to throw up.” She paused for a few moments. “Do you suppose our parents know what happened here?”

“Most likely,” replied Janice as she opened the diary and began browsing through its yellowed pages. “I mean, I’m pretty sure it’s a law that people have to disclose that kind of stuff when they sell you a house in this state. ‘Stigmatized properties’ I believe they’re called. It’s no wonder our parents got this place for so cheap.”

“Well, I wish they had bought a different house in a different town,” lamented Marlayna as a faint look of disquiet flickered in her eyes. “Cheap or not, I don’t like this place at all. Something about it doesn’t feel right. Do you know what I mean? Sometimes, at night when I’m alone in my room, I feel like something’s watching me.”

“Oh, stop being such a paranoid little mouse,” Janice scolded her sister. “I think it’s pretty awesome if you ask me. I mean, seriously, not every girl can honestly boast that she lives in a bonafide crime scene. Plus, the rumor going around school is that our house is haunted. And not haunted by just any old run-of-the-mill ghost, but by the evil spirit of the deranged axe murderess herself! I found that out from Carla Bennett too. What do you think of that?”

“I think you and your Goth friends are a weird bunch,” Marlayna blurted out, shaking her head from side to side. “I’m going back downstairs. I’ve had enough of this attic and all this talk about Marcy.”

Janice snickered, “You candy-ass!” She then made a monster face at her sister and added, in a put-on creepy voice, “You’re just afraid that Marcy’s ghost is lurking in the shadows.”

“No, I’m not!” snapped Marlayna with a tone of indignation in her voice. “It’s too hot and stuffy up here, that’s all. And besides, I don’t even believe in ghosts.”

“You do so,” Janice calmly contradicted, her eyes not looking up from the pages of the journal. “Hey! Check this out, Marlayna! The last entry in Marcy’s diary is dated August 2^nd, 1997 and says: ‘I must bid you farewell, dear diary, as this will be my final entry. You’ve been my only friend and confidante for the past seven months, and I will miss you more than these mere words could ever express. I feel like I have finally woken up from a long dream that had my mind trapped like a helpless insect in the web of a huge spider. Tonight was the night I’ve waited sixteen years for. The deed is done and I’m free at last. There’s no turning back from it now. The innocent lambs have been slaughtered, and all the King’s horses and all the King’s men can never put them back together again. Their deaths are my rebirth, and soon, dear diary, my soul will be gloriously united with the demon of shadows in the flames of the unholy for all of eternity. Ave Satanas.’”

Janice suddenly generated a wild-eyed look. “Oh my god, Marlayna!” she exclaimed, excitedly. “There’s even a bloody smudge mark at the bottom of the page! Take a look!”

A sudden gust of wind conjured forth a ghostly wail as it rattled the windowpanes like some frightful invisible entity desperate to find its way inside the attic. The shadows in the corners seemed to grow a bit darker, and an icy tingle slithered along Marlayna’s spine.

“I’m out of here,” she abruptly declared, as Janice cracked an amused smile. Goosebumps were beginning to spring up on the young girl’s forearms and it felt as though some of the honey-blonde hairs at the back of her neck were standing on end.

Wasting no time, Marlayna dashed to the door, and then scurried down the creaky wooden stairs that lead from the dark and musty confines of the attic to the sun-lit second floor. Within a matter of seconds, she was gone from sight.

Unable to contain her laughter any longer, Janice’s black-painted lips parted slightly and she let out an impish giggle. She placed the diary back into the trunk and shut the lid.

That night, Marlayna restlessly tossed and turned in her bed. She opened her eyes and glanced over at the eerie green glow of the digital clock that sat upon her nightstand, along with a dancing ballerina music box. Three o’clock. She shut her eyes once more and began counting backwards from one thousand in her head. She had read somewhere that it was an effective technique for inducing sleep.

She had reached 969 when a sharp, shrill cry came from Janice’s bedroom, which was directly across the hall from hers. Without hesitation, Marlayna sprung up out of her bed and rushed to her sister’s room to check on her.

Janice was sitting up in her bed. Her face was clearly marked by a look of fright. “She was here! Oh, my God! She was in my bedroom!”

“Marcy,” Janice replied. “She was standing right over there at the foot of my bed. She had an axe in one hand and she was covered in blood!”

“There’s nobody in this room but you and me,” Marlayna stated, looking around the bedroom. “And there’s no blood on the floor or anywhere. You were just having a bad dream because of that diary up in the attic.”

“No!” Janice protested. “It wasn’t a dream, Marlayna. It was real. I don’t care if you believe me or not, but Marcy was really here. And she even spoke to me.”

“Oh, my God,” Janice whimpered, burying her face in her hands. “I don’t even want to repeat the words. It’s too horrible.”

Janice went silent for a minute before replying to her sister. “She told me... that it’s my destiny to kill everyone in this house, the same way she did. She said it has to be carried out because the demon wills it!”

The palms of Marlayna’s hands started to perspire and her mouth went dry. “Janice,” she began, her voice fraught with worry. “You’re frightening me with that kind of talk. Marcy’s dead. She committed suicide over twenty years ago. It was just a nightmare. It wasn’t real.”

There suddenly came the sound of something moving in the hallway, and then, to the horror of both sisters, the knob on the bedroom door began to turn. As the door slowly creaked open, Marlayna gasped and Janice shouted out, “Go away! Leave me alone!”

The door swung completely open and a feeling of relief instantly washed away Marlayna’s mounting terror when she saw her parents enter the room.

“What’s all this racket about?” asked Mr. Lemort. His voice vibrated with anger. “Do you girls realize that it’s after three in the morning?”

“We’re fine, Mom,” Marlayna replied. “Janice just had a really bad nightmare, that’s all. I came in to see if she was okay.”

“I’m sorry,” Janice apologized. “I didn’t mean to wake everyone up.”

“You look like you just saw a ghost,” said a worried-looking Mrs. Lemort to Janice. She walked over to the bed and placed the back of her right hand upon her daughter’s forehead to check for a fever. “Look at your face, honey. It’s so pale. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes,” Janice answered, sounding a bit annoyed. “I’m okay now. Really. I am. Everybody, just go back to bed.”

As her parents exited the bedroom, her father ordered, “Get to sleep, you two. You both have school in the morning.”

In her classes at school, that day, Marlayna found it difficult to concentrate on her studies. The teachers’ words were but mere mumblings from some far-off galaxy that possessed neither meaning nor importance. All she could think about was Marcy and the axe murders. The dreaded image of the young murderess’ diary haunted her brain, as did her sister’s macabre dream that shattered the stillness of the early morning hours.

Could it have been more than just a nightmare? Marlayna pondered, while gazing out the window at nothing in particular. Was it possible for Marcy’s restless spirit to roam the earth, and did she have her sights set on possessing Janice? Could she actually manipulate Janice against her will to do her evil bidding?

Marlayna’s questions left her hungering for answers. The more she thought about Marcy and the diary, the stronger her uneasiness grew. She felt overcome by a feeling of helplessness and debated with herself whether or not she should inform her parents.

“Are we having a pleasant daydream, Miss Lemort?” thundered a sarcastic voice that startled her back to reality.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Krueger,” Marlayna apologized, her cheeks turning red from embarrassment as giggles and whispering voices spread through the classroom.

“Not as sorry as you will be when report card time comes around,” replied the teacher with an air of haughtiness. “If you fail this class, you’ll never make the cut for college. I suggest you look sharp, young lady.”

“Yes, Mr. Krueger,” Marlayna answered meekly, while lowering her head as if in shame.

The teacher sneered at the girl and shook his head in disgust before making his way back to the front of the classroom and resuming his lecture. Every so often, he would shift his glance back to Marlayna and flash her a look of disapproval.

That afternoon, while walking home from school, Marlayna’s ears detected an unfamiliar female voice softly calling out her name. She stopped and quickly turned around to look but found no one there. She was all by herself. A feeling of panic rose up inside of her and she began to run. It wasn't until she reached the long flagstone path leading to the front door of her house that she paused to catch her breath. She looked to make sure no one was behind her and then, feeling relieved, continued on her way.

However, no sooner had she resumed her walking, a strong gust of wind blew a yellowed and slightly crumpled page from a newspaper in front of her. Filled with curiosity, she crouched down and picked it up. It was dated the third of August 1997. As she un-crumpled the sheet of paper to read it, the bold words of an unnerving headline came into view: FAMILY OF 3 BRUTALLY AXED TO DEATH: KILLER COMMITS SUICIDE. Below it was a black and white photo of the same house that now stood before her.

Marlayna gasped. She suddenly felt light-headed and let go of the newspaper. As soon as it landed on the ground, another gust of wind picked it up and carried it off. Marlayna's eyes were then drawn to a figure moving behind one of the upstairs windows of the house. Gazing up, she could make out the face of a teenage girl. Pale. Expressionless. It stared down at her from Janice's bedroom with dark and cadaverous eyes.

Marlayna rushed into the house and found her mother in the kitchen preparing supper. She asked if Janice had a friend over and was told that her sister had not yet returned home from school. Marlayna then bolted up the stairs and, with adrenaline pumping in her veins, opened the door to Janice's bedroom and timidly stepped inside, panting. There was no sign of the girl she had seen at the window. And then the sound of a wire hanger falling on the floor emanated from the bedroom closet. Marlayna's heart was now racing with fear. She cautiously approached the closet, placed her hand upon the knob, and slowly turned it. She then yanked the door open and looked inside, only to find her sister's mostly black clothes hanging from a wooden rod. As she shut the door, she happened to look down. The sight of a wire hanger on the floor of the closet sent a shiver running down her spine.

During supper, Mrs. Lemort complained more than once that Marlayna had barely touched her food. She also made it no secret that she found her daughter's strange behavior to be rather worrisome. Janice, on the other hand, was oddly ravenous.

It was shortly after midnight when Marlayna awoke with a start. She popped open her eyes and gasped in horror at the sight of a raised axe blade illuminated by the light of the full moon that poured in from her bedroom window. For a moment, she thought she was dreaming, but soon realized that she was awake. She opened her mouth to scream.

Marlayna quickly sat up. “What are you doing in my room?” she asked. “And where did you get that axe?”

“It was hidden under one of the floorboards up in the attic,” Janice answered. Her voice was oddly monotonal and devoid of any emotion. “Marcy came to me again tonight and lead me to it. She told me it was the same axe that she used to chop up her parents and younger brother with. If you look closely at the blade, you can see traces of dried blood on it.”

An icy chill of fear gripped Marlayna, causing her to shiver. “If this is some kind of practical joke,” she contended, “it really isn’t very funny.”

“I wish it were a joke,” Janice stated, her eyes fixed upon her sister’s, glazed and unblinking like the lifeless eyes of a cadaver. “But I’m afraid this is totally serious. Marcy explained it all to me, and now I know what I’m required to do. Don’t you understand? I have no choice but to do it... for Marcy... and the demon of shadows.”

“Janice! Cut it out!” cried Marlayna. “I can’t tell if you’re playing with my mind or if you’ve gone stark, raving mad. All I know is that you’re really terrifying me right now! Put that axe down, for God’s sake!”

Janice turned and ran from the bedroom, disappearing into the darkness that infused the hallway. A deathly silence fell over the house and lasted for a dozen seconds that seemed like an agonizing eternity. And then the screaming began. It was blood-curdling and so loud that it nearly drowned out the sound of the axe blade plunging into meat, again and again. The blows were relentless and filled with an uncontrollable rage. The sound of a lamp crashing to the floor commingled with the screams and cries for help, followed by a fit of maniacal laughter that dripped with evil like foam from the mouth of a rabid beast.

Marlayna immediately threw the covers aside and jumped out of bed, her heart pounding with rampant fear. Barefooted, she ran down the hallway in her babydoll nightgown of pink chiffon, screaming out, “Mother! Daddy!” As she drew closer to the master bedroom where her mother and father slept, the screams and horrible chopping sounds grew louder. And as she opened the door, her nostrils were assailed by the sickening, metallic smell of blood, and her eyes were filled with the horrendous sight of her crazed, blood-splattered sister delivering one blow after the other to her parents with the bloodied axe.

Her parents’ king-size bedspread of white tufted chenille was soaked with so much blood that it appeared to be completely red. Splatters of gore clung to the light blue damask wallpaper and the ceiling like hideous pinwheels, and stomach-turning chunks of chopped flesh, like pieces of rare steak, lay about the room, oozing their juices.

“Oh, my fucking God!” Marlayna cried out, her eyes wide with disbelief, and her mouth gaping with unbridled horror. “Janice, what have you done?” Her body began to shake violently, and tears welled up and then streamed down her cheeks as the gory sight of her parent’s hacked-up remains burned into her eyes like a glimpse into Hell.

Janice’s insane laughter suddenly ceased, and she slowly turned her head in Marlayna’s direction and made eye contact. “There is no Janice anymore,” she growled in a gravelly, demonic-sounding voice. “There’s only Marcy.” She then raised the blood-smeared axe blade and, with frothy slime dripping from her lips, snarled, “It’s your turn to die, bitch!”

An ear-piercing scream ejected from Marlayna’s mouth and the horrified girl ran for her life, with her murderous sister in close pursuit. Halfway down the stairs, Marlayna lost her footing and tumbled the remainder of the way down until her battered body came to rest in a twisted heap on the hard parquet floor of the foyer. She could hear her sister’s footsteps drawing closer and knew if she didn’t act quickly she would be the next to die.

Ignoring the pain inflicted by the fall, Marlayna picked herself up from the floor and, at lightning speed, fled from her house of bloody horror into the crisp black night. She darted across the street to the old Queen Anne-style house where her teacher, Mr. Krueger, and his wife resided, and banged furiously upon their front door with her fists, all the while screaming, “Help me! Mr. Krueger! Help me!”

Moments later, the front porch light came on and Marlayna heard the sound of locks being unlocked. The door opened a crack and Mr. Krueger cautiously peered out, looking a bit groggy from just having been woken from his sleep.

“Marlayna?” he asked, sounding startled, as he was unaccustomed to finding one of his students at his front door in the middle of the night. “It’s half past midnight. What on earth are you doing here at this ungodly hour?”

Marlayna’s eyes were filled with tears and her body trembled uncontrollably. “Please!” she begged, her voice filled with desperation. “Let me in before she gets me too!”

“Before who gets you?” Mr. Krueger inquired, poking his head out the door and looking around. “There’s nobody out there. You need to calm down, young lady. Have you been taking drugs or something?”

“No! You must believe me, Mr. Krueger!” Marlayna pleaded. “My parents... they’re both dead! She killed them! She used the axe like Marcy! Oh, God! She’s going to kill me too! It’s all happening like in the diary!”

The baffled teacher opened the door wider and, with his hand, motioned for the terrified girl to come inside. He watched as she rushed into the house, and then he promptly shut the door and re-locked it.

“Who’s at the door, Marshall?” a sleepy-eyed Mrs. Krueger called down from the top of the stairs. She craned her neck to get a look. “What’s all the commotion down there?”

Mr. Krueger shouted up to his wife, “It’s Marlayna Lemort from across the street. I’m not exactly sure of what’s going on. The girl’s hysterical. She said something about her parents being murdered. You’d better phone the police, Lorraine!”

“Oh, dear!” gasped Mrs. Krueger, and she scurried back to the master bedroom to make the call.

At that moment, the sharp and heavy blade of the axe split the wood of the Krueger’s front door and Marlayna let out a terror-filled scream. She watched as her sister chopped her way through the door and then turned the axe on Mr. Krueger. The first blow struck his chest with a thud and blood spurted into the air like a geyser of bright red. A second blow sliced across his abdomen and his intestines spilled out onto the floor. The axe then hacked off his head and limbs and transformed the front parlor into a grisly scene of blood-soaked carnage and nightmarish gore.

In an effort to escape from the murderous rampage, Marlayna inadvertently stepped on one of Mr. Krueger’s dislodged eyeballs and lost her balance. She fell forward and her forehead banged against the shelf of an antique whatnot that displayed Mrs. Krueger’s extensive collection of vintage ceramic cats from around the world. Upon impact, she saw “stars” and then promptly blacked out.

The glaring light from an overhead incandescent bulb assaulted Marlayna’s eyes as she slowly raised her eyelids. Her mind reeled with confusion upon finding herself sitting at a wooden table in the center of a tiny room. Her wrists were restrained by a pair of stainless steel handcuffs, and in front of her, on top of the table, sat a tape recorder. Sitting directly across from her was a strange man, who had a five-o’-clock shadow and appeared to be in his mid-to-late fifties. Draped over one side of his wrinkled pinstripe dress shirt was a brown leather shoulder holster, which contained a gun.

“Where am I?” asked Marlayna, looking around at her unfamiliar surroundings. “Why am I in handcuffs? Who are you?”

“I’m the detective and I ask the questions here,” replied the man. His voice was harsh and carried a trace of a Boston accent. “Perhaps, now that you’ve had your little nap, you’d care to explain to me your motive for doing it. What possessed you to murder all those people?”

“What are you talking about?” Marlayna cried. “I didn’t murder anybody! My sister, Janice, is the one who killed them! She’s possessed!”

“Possessed?” asked the detective as he stared intently into the eyes of the agitated girl. “As in possessed by the Devil or a demon?”

“She was possessed by the spirit of a girl named Marcy,” Marlayna explained, aware that her story probably sounded incredible to her interrogator, but hopeful, nevertheless, that he would believe her.

“Marcy,” the detective echoed flatly. The tone of his voice was a clear indication to Marlayna that he was incredulous. He continued to stare at her without blinking.

“Over twenty years ago, Marcy and her family lived in the same house that my family and I recently moved into,” Marlayna explained. “She went berserk one night and killed her entire family there with an axe. Janice discovered Marcy’s diary in an old trunk up in the attic and it talks all about the murders and why she did it.”

“Is this the diary you’re referring to?” the detective inquired, tossing a small book with a black cover onto the table. He watched as the girl took it in her hands and then, after a moment, flung it back onto the table as though it were on fire and scorched her fingers.

“Yes,” Marlayna answered, sobbing. “That’s Marcy’s diary. It’s giving off an evil energy that’s even stronger now than it was before. Can’t you feel it?”

“Miss Lemort,” began the detective, sounding annoyed, “I’ve lived in this town for almost sixty years, and I can assure you that, prior to the events of last night, no murders ever took place in the house that your family moved into. I’ve known all the families that have lived there and none of them had a daughter named Marcy. So how’s about you stop with the bullshit and start telling me the truth?”

“But, I am telling you the truth!” Marlayna insisted, her voice growing excited. “A girl named Marcy did live there! And she did murder her family in that house! A girl in one of Janice’s classes even told her about it, and her uncle was one of the detectives on the case. Plus, Marcy’s confession, in her own handwriting, is inside that diary. There’s the proof. Read it for yourself!”

“I have read it,” replied the detective. “It contains only one entry, which our handwriting analysis expert confirmed was written by your sister, Janice.” He picked up the diary, opened it, and read the entry out loud. “Dear Diary, I’m sorry to start you off on such a negative note, but I don’t know who else to talk to about this. I know diaries are for writing down your thoughts and feelings, so here goes. I’m really worried about Marlayna. She’s been acting weirder and weirder with each day that goes by, and seems to be totally obsessed with Marcy, even though I admitted to her that I made her up for a joke, along with the ridiculous axe murder story. She told me she’s been having nightmares about Marcy and claimed that Marcy appeared in her room last night and demanded that she get an axe and slaughter everyone in the house while they sleep! I could hardly believe my ears when she told me that! Talk about creepy! I tried warning Mom and Dad that Marlayna was going off the deep end and maybe needs to get professional help. But, as usual, they never take anything I say very seriously. They just laughed it off, saying she has an overactive imagination and I shouldn’t worry. But how can I not worry? She’s my little sister and I feel extremely guilty for whatever it is that’s happening to her mind. I wish now that I never invented the stupid story about Marcy. But you and I both know that wishes can’t undo the damage that’s been done.”

“No!” shrieked Marlayna. “That’s impossible! Those are all lies! Horrible lies! Janice read to me the entry that Marcy made in the diary. And then Marcy’s ghost appeared in Janice’s room that night and instructed her to kill everyone in the house with an axe, just like Marcy did over twenty years ago. Why don’t you believe me? I’m telling you the truth! Where’s Janice? She’s the one who did it. You need to be questioning her, not me!”

For the first time since the interrogation session began, the detective cracked a slight grin. “Stop playing games with me, Miss Lemort. I think we both know that that isn’t possible, now don’t we?”

“Isn’t possible?” Marlayna questioned, echoing the detective’s words. Her confusion increased. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that you brutally axed your sister to death, along with your parents and the Kruegers. We found your sister’s decapitated head inside your bedroom closet when we searched the house. It was hanging from a coat hook by its nose ring.”

With tears streaming down her cheeks, Marlayna let out a scream and jumped up from her chair. “That can’t be! Janice was the one who committed the murders with Marcy’s axe! I saw her do it! I’m not a murderess! I’m innocent!”

The detective stood up and pounded his right fist on the tabletop, angrily. “We have audio of Lorraine Krueger’s 911 call to report that you broke into her house and were attacking her husband with an axe. We also found your fingerprints all over the murder weapon, Miss Lemort!” he shouted. “In fact, they were the only fingerprints on it! How do you explain all that?”

Marlayna let out a loud gasp of horror as the detective’s words sent a chill down her spine and rattled her to the core. A cold sweat beaded up on her forehead and her breathing rapidly increased until she was hyperventilating. The room suddenly felt as though it was spinning and Marlayna grabbed onto the table with both of her hands in an effort to steady herself. Everything around her grew blurry, and then she fainted.

Hours later, while making her rounds, a tattooed female corrections officer was aghast to discover Marlayna Lemort’s lifeless body hanging in her jail cell above a sickening puddle of bodily fluids. A clear plastic bag covered her head and wrapped tightly around her neck was an improvised noose fashioned from a bed-sheet. The dead girl’s face was hideously bloated and bluish-gray in color, and her tongue, like a swollen purple serpent, protruded from her bloodstained, gaping mouth.

On the last page of Marcy’s diary, which sat in a cardboard box in an evidence room at the police station next door, a new entry mysteriously appeared. It was scribbled in Marlayna’s handwriting, and read:

“Dear Diary, You’ve been my trusted friend and confidante for some time; however, this will be my final entry. The nightmare that has spun its web around me has only one means of escape, and that is death. I have come to realize that, and I accept it wholeheartedly. I’m even looking forward to it. Before I go, I wish I could tell you why I felt compelled to murder all those people, but I honestly don’t know. It’s as much a mystery to me as to everyone else. I used to fear an imaginary monster under my bed when I was little, but the fear I feel now for the all-too-real monster that I’ve become is far greater. It must be stopped, or it will go on killing. Besides, how could I ever live with myself, knowing that I deliberately and brutally snuffed out the lives of the people I loved the most? Their screams continue to ring in my head. The look in their eyes just before I swung the axe blade at them continues to haunt me. Oh diary, I wish I could tell them all how sorry I am for what I did and how much I love them! But I know it’s too late for that. Please forgive me for the horrors I’ve committed and for what I’m about to do. With a heavy heart, I bid you good-bye. Forever yours, Marcy”