Chapter One: Meeting the Joneses
I don't know my father, but I know he killed my mother. I was born on October 12, 1997. They describe my birth to me as brutal. Not only did my mother have problems with her pregnancy, but she was also extremely ill. She's been that way for years. So, when she found out she'd be having me. No one was excited. After my mother's death, I was placed in foster care. Nothing shocking, just standard procedures. I wasn't the most liked child in the adoption center, I went through countless foster parents. None of them could handle me.
There's a knock on my door.
I turned my head slightly as our Den mother stood there giving me a blank expression.
"They're ready for you."
She says. She seems almost gleeful that I'm finally out of her hair. I grab my bags and walk through the door. There, the girls gather around. Giving me hateful looks. I've done some bad shit to them over the years. Things I'm not proud of. One girl spits at me as I walk by, mouthing the words "bitch". I flip her off giving a sly smirk. Outside I see my new family. They don't fit me at all. My new "mom" hugs me tight, while my "dad" gives me a firm handshake.
"Welcome to the family Jennifer."
I don't say anything and get in the car. I'm not much for words really. The ride was the most dreadful part. Mr. and Mrs. Jones talk a lot. They were telling me about their son, Tanner, and how excited he would be to see he has a new little sister. But I highly doubted that. No kid ever likes the orphan. I've experienced this many times, it never goes well for me. I don't even remember getting to the house. The house is huge, the biggest I've ever seen. I grab my bags, rushing in. There I was greeted by a vast living room, I almost forgot one little detail.
The Joneses were loaded. Mr. Jones worked at a firm as a lawyer. While Mrs. Jones designed handbags and shoes for retail stores. I couldn't help but hear this bit of information. No matter how much I tried to ignore them. Their house was massive. We walked inside as they showed me around the house. My room was huge. The room was filled with extravagant gifts. A Plasma TV mounted onto the wall, a new computer, and a few new game systems. Nothing too impressive, that is until I saw what hid in the next room connected to mine. It was an art studio. It ranged from Brushes to pens, and pencils. I only dreamed of ever getting it. How did they know I was into this stuff? Mrs. Jones gives me a sweet but calming smile.
"I hope you don't mind. We asked your Den mother what were the things you like the most. She said you were an Art fanatic, so we'd thought to give you your own little studio to work with."
Out of sheer joy, I hug them both. Composing myself I back away clearing my throat.
"Sorry, and um, thank you. I know I've been a bit dry with you both, but this. I couldn't ask for anything more." I say.
They both give me a warm smile I've never seen before. I slowly close the door and unpack my things. Most of my clothes are torn to shreds. I smile faintly, there's a note.
"We hope you like your new home ~Love, the Girls."
I expected as much. I didn't think they'd let me leave so easily. I take the tethered clothes to the trash. Mrs. Jones looks at me.
"What happened to your clothes sweetie?"
"Just a little prank the girls played before I left." I chuckled. Trying my best to give her a fake smile.
"Well then, it just gives us more reasons to go shopping. Honestly, those girls are just nasty. Calling this a joke."
She scoffs as she grabs my hand, and we rush to the car. Along with the fact that Mrs. Jones designs accessories, she owns a few stores that reside in the mall. We went to almost every store we could. My arms were tired, but the time we got home. Mr. Jones was waiting.
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Jeff the Killer: Daddy's little Psychopath [📝FINAL CHAPTER COMING SOON📝]
Fanfiction"I don't know my father, but I know he killed my mother. I was born on October 12, 1997. They describe my birth to me as, brutal. Not only did my mother have problems with her pregnancy, she was extremely ill. She's been that way for years. So, when...