The Young Psychopath

THE PAINFUL TRUTH

Screams. Sirens. Chaos. Mrs. Evelyn woke abruptly to the sound of panic. She rushed to the window and saw flames consuming Mr. Tomas's house. "Oh my God!" she gasped. Without hesitation, she ran to wake Rose and Peter, then hurried to Tracy's room. To her shock, Tracy was already awake, silently watching the fire through her window, an eerie smile on her face. But Mrs. Evelyn brushed it off—her priority was getting the children to safety.

"Come on!" Mrs. Evelyn urged, her voice urgent as she herded the children outside, instructing them to stay near the car. She approached a neighbor, frantically asking if anyone had survived. The stranger, unfamiliar with the neighborhood, replied, "Who's Tomas? Is he the owner of that house?" Mrs. Evelyn's heart sank as she realized they didn't know.

Firefighters fought to control the blaze while the entire neighborhood stood in shock. As the flames died down, Mrs. Evelyn breathed a small sigh of relief and instructed the kids to head back inside.

Wanting answers, Mrs. Evelyn approached the ambulance crew. "Did anyone survive?" she asked a paramedic. His face was grim. "It was bad. No one could have survived that. Three bodies were found downstairs." Her heart ached, but as she turned to leave, something caught her eye—a fireman holding Tracy's doll.

Confused, she rushed over. "Where did you find that doll?" she asked. The fireman paused, then replied, "Near the entrance of the house." Mrs. Evelyn's mind raced. What was Tracy's doll doing at Mr. Tomas's house? She had grounded Tracy for the entire weekend.

Lost in thought, she barely noticed the tall man approaching her. "Ma'am, can I help you?" he asked. Mrs. Evelyn stammered, "I was just... looking at the doll."

The man smiled. "If you like dolls, I can get you one, but this is evidence," he said, extending a hand. "I'm Detective Roland Black. And you are?"

"Evelyn," she replied. "I live next door to the Tomas family."

Detective Black offered his condolences before noticing that Mrs. Evelyn was still holding the doll. "Ma'am, you seem to be holding one of my pieces of evidence." Startled, she quickly handed it back, embarrassed.

Later, back home, Mrs. Evelyn tried to settle her thoughts. She made coffee and thought about breakfast for the kids. Rose, Peter, and Tracy were all back in their rooms, but Mrs. Evelyn couldn't shake the unease creeping over her.

Hours later, there was a knock at the door. It was Detective Black again. "Mrs. Evelyn, I need to ask you a few questions," he said, stepping inside after she invited him. The detective was all business, asking about her relationship with the Tomas family and if they had any enemies. Mrs. Evelyn answered quickly, offering him a cup of coffee.

Then, his tone shifted. "Why were you looking in the evidence bag?" he asked. Mrs. Evelyn tensed, holding her coffee tightly. "I saw my daughter's doll and wanted to make sure it was hers," she replied.

Detective Black raised an eyebrow. "What was your daughter's doll doing at the Tomas house?"

"I... don't know," Mrs. Evelyn answered, her mind racing.

"How old is your daughter?" the detective asked. "She's 12, almost 13," Mrs. Evelyn replied.

Satisfied, the detective dismissed any thought of Tracy as a suspect due to her age. Standing up, he spoke about a string of murders over 25 years that shared similar patterns with the Tomas fire. "The killer back then was a man named Abram. He's dead now, but someone might be copying him." As he prepared to leave, he asked, "What about your husband?"

Mrs. Evelyn froze. "He died in a car accident three years ago," she said quietly. The detective apologized and left, but the unease settled deeper.

Alone again, Mrs. Evelyn began to replay events in her mind. Tracy had killed their cat years ago, but no one thought much of it. The social worker. The boy from school. The principal. Tracy had been nearby for all their deaths, but Mrs. Evelyn pushed the thoughts away. She's just 12. She can't be a killer.

At school, Tracy sat with Irene at lunch. After a while, she excused herself and followed a blonde girl into the restroom. The girl was reapplying her makeup when she heard crying from one of the stalls. "Are you okay?" she asked, her voice concerned. The sobbing continued. "Boy trouble?" she asked again, trying to connect.

But suddenly, there was a loud crash. Frightened, the blonde girl approached the stall. She knocked, calling out, but no answer came. When she pushed the door open, the stall was empty. Startled, she began to turn when Tracy struck her from behind, using a broken toilet piece to cut her behind the knees. The blonde collapsed, screaming in agony.

"You talk too much," Tracy whispered, her voice cold. Grabbing the girl's head, she shoved it into the toilet, drowning her.

From behind, Irene gasped. "Oh my God!" she cried, backing away in horror. Tracy turned, smiling sweetly. "I was just kidding. You're my friend," she said, stepping closer. Irene, trembling, nodded. "Can I go now?" she asked nervously. Tracy nodded again, but as Irene turned to leave, Tracy stabbed her in the back with the sharp porcelain shard.

"I'm sorry, friend," Tracy whispered as Irene collapsed. "But you wanted to go, and I'm just helping you."

She left the restroom, taking the blonde girl's phone and texting her next victim to meet her at the back of the school. Moments later, screams echoed through the halls as students discovered the bodies.

Tracy moved through the chaos unnoticed, waiting outside as alarms blared and police cars swarmed the school.