Crazy killer stories

listy3 I'm in love with the psychos ♡
Autoplay OFF   •   3 years ago
There's no such thing as being crazy? I'll prove you wrong…


by listy3

You know, I didn't hate you at first. No, not with those round, caramel eyes and smiling lips.

But when you asked me where I had gotten the scars on the back of my neck from, I couldn't stop my body from shaking.

Why were you so curious?

Perhaps I'll never know.

… And you know what I'm just now realizing?

That I never said thank you.

You showed me that the world did contain beautiful creatures.

So, I'm writing this- in the notebook I stole from my asylum's library- to tell the story of what really happened.

I met you at Kian's party on a Friday night.

You were standing by the fire with a grin on your face. I won't ever be able to forget the white dress you wore and how it made me feel when I saw you in it.

Of course, I knew nothing about the girl with short, brown hair… yet.

"Hi, my name's Angie," you told me after catching my stare with your own.

I regret not responding to this day.

The party was in the forest, giving everyone a reason to be especially loud. They threw their bodies against each other's to the beat.

I don't know why I came, really. Maybe I thought it could relax me. Truthfully, it was a bad idea.

After a few seconds of silence between the both of us, you finally asked me the question I had not known would hurt me so much.

"Where did you get those scars on your neck from?"

The way you worded it, the sound of your voice shouldn't have vexed me as much as it did. But it did.

Why couldn't I seem to speak?

Your eyes dug holes into my soul, making it almost impossible for me to breath.

I choked on my own lungs and rocked slightly in my place, hand gripping around the red cup I held.

Then, the thoughts drowned my brain.

They attacked like a terrible beast, clawing and ripping at any ray of light I had protected after all of these years.

I don't know why I did what I did next, but my memory serves every moment true.

You should have seen the look on your face when I tore you from the crowd, my fist balled around the hem of that pretty, white dress.

I led you through the forest and away from everyone else. You were horrified, screaming until your voice cracked.

We didn't stop, though. There was no stopping.

Now read this closely and believe me when I say that I am crazy.

A true lunatic.

Psychotic, even.

And I'm thinking now that what I did couldn't have been stopped.

It was inevitable.

When I was finally satisfied with our location, I released you. Immediately your hands flew to the nearest tree.

At that moment, I found it amusing. The fear in your eyes made me chuckle and the sound of your screams made me smile.

"Please!" You screamed.

"Someone help!" You shouted.

The thoughts that had consumed me fed on your voice and soon you were shivering at my feet in horror.

I don't remember hurting you.

I don't even remember the things everyone said I did.

I only remember the way it felt.

Once again, I find it hard simply thinking about what I put you through nevertheless writing about. What if I just don't want to face the facts?

… But I'll do it for you, Angie.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry I killed you.

When the blood was already coated on my hands, I knew that I had lost my mind.

My psych teachers had always known that I had potential to be dangerous. They just never noticed me eavesdropping on all of their whispered conversations.

You were on the ground, silent and still as the tree I had thrown you against.


and over,

and over,

until finally your tears ceased and your screams faltered to a bloody end.

The crazed thoughts clashing inside of my mind fought with that of my sane ones.

After squeezing my eyes shut and willing them both away, I was finally reminded of my situation.

Glancing feverishly down at my bloodied hands, the sounds of worried, stomping feet found my ears. The party was looking for you.

And there I stood over your body.

The whole ordeal was so unfortunate and completely bad that the crazed thoughts forced a laugh from my gaping mouth.

If only I had remained quiet, then maybe they wouldn't have found me.

Fifteen teenagers were soon staring at me in disbelief and disgust; all I did was laugh.

What's wrong with me, Angie?

Am I really helpless?

Do you hate me- wherever you are?

I hate me.

Because it was me who killed you without motive, me who laughed, and me who tried to run from the shadows cast by the crazed thoughts.

I'm crazy.

So, do you believe me now?

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