Give Me a Smile

Tom, the guy my mom was dating, was my first victim. He had grabbed my ass, sneering, “I like girls with scars. Why don’t you show me the rest of them?” I pushed his hand off and spun, hand on my knife. I discovered just how easy it is to kill that day, when I slit Tom’s throat and knelt over his body, laughing hysterically. I felt strong, powerful.
I’d done something to protect myself and gotten rid of a slime ball. Gotten rid of a threat. I giggled while I dragged him to my mother’s room. Let her pay for her neglect of me. Mom came home drunk, passed out on our front steps.
I carried her upstairs and wrapped her hand around the knife, then wiped my prints away. I left her sprawled beside him like trash.
Then I ran away. I found the places Joker had lived with me and slept there, one hand always on my knife. I ate from the trash or stole. I knew I had to hide. If the police didn’t believe my mother had killed Tom, they would be looking for me.
I was still happy. I was free, away from stupid, boring people. I was still looking for Joker, but I got nothing.
Nothing, that is, until a man showed up at my front door with a box. He handed it to me and left without saying a word. I was so excited I ripped the box to shreds trying to open it. Inside there was a horror novel titled, “It Came Through The Window”.
I giggled and held the book to my chest, then ran upstairs and threw the window wide open.