Vicky Genocidal: In Depth

Chapter Seventeen: Hysterics

Marge watched in horror as Vicky's giggles turned to dry, scratchy laughter. Vicky could barely contain her laughter as it grew more hysterical and began to sound more and more like Styrofoam rubbing together. Without a second thought, she snatched the mirror from the disturbed doctor's hands, pressing her face against the glass.

"Oh, my fucking God!" She cackled, legs kicking under the hospital sheets, sending blankets flying to the floor. "That's absolutely hilarious!"

As she continued to laugh, Marge grabbed the doctor's arm, drawing his attention.

"What's happened to her?!" She asked frantically, eyes wide with panic. "Why is she behaving this way?!"

"I..." The doctor began, eyeing the laughing girl. He seemed to be at a loss for words. "I don't know... Maybe it's the painkillers...?"

Vicky's body fell back on the bed as she held the mirror over her face, eyeing her reflection still. Her cackles had now died down to short, muted giggles. Her eyes soon drifted back to her aunt's terrified face, a small grin present on her pale lips.

"Isn't it just hilarious, Auntie Marge?"

For the rest of her stay in the hospital, Vicky's behavior grew more and more erratic. She never put the mirror down, giggling away at seemingly nothing as she continued to stroke the cut over her cheek, tracing her finger in a mock pattern over the other side of her face. Sometimes, she would mumble the words "How ironic..." in between her little giggles. Whenever someone tried to take the mirror from her, she would yell at them, and smack their hands away. The only time she would put the mirror down was when she ate, but even then, she would make the nurse serving her food hold the mirror up for her, so that she could gaze at herself as she ate.

When Vicky was finally released from the hospital, Marge was more than happy to bring her niece back home. She brought a comfortable, purple sweater and loose-fitting jeans for her niece to wear, so that her sensitive skin wouldn't be too irritated by any form-fitting clothes.

When they got home, Vicky grabbed her aunt's arm. "Auntie Marge? Can we go get some dinner?"

Marge was hesitant, sighing. "No, Victoria. I'm tired, and it's late. You can get some food, if you'd like, then just go to sleep, alright?"

"Go... To sleep...?" Vicky asked, tilting her head. Those words sounded familiar to her.

"Yes." Marge continued, walking back to her bedroom. "Just go to sleep, Vicky."

As Vicky allowed those words to seep into her conscious, memories of a certain killer's face flashed in her mind. A smirk played over her lips as an idea came to her. Kyle started the joke, and so, Vicky would finish it for him.