Assorted Tales from Hell

No Rest for the Wicked

     Francine Beaumont, a girl who supposedly died at the age of 11. One who left behind only a diary when she went missing. After discovering her parents' corpses in the poor girl's home, I found her diary. I thought maybe it would tell me where she was, or what might have happened to her. I wish I'd never done such a thing, for her last entry is as follows:

Dear Diary,

Wednesday is my favorite day of the week. Why, one might ask? For many reasons, but I'll only tell you one~

Last year, on my tenth birthday, it was a plain and rather dull Monday. I didn't mind at the time, but my feelings from back then are meaningless now; even if I loved Mondays, that love will never affect the present. Nothing from the past will ever control my present and future, never again! I swear to you, I shall leave those wretched memories behind me and push onward towards whatever comes my way, good or bad.

Anyway, why I like Wednesdays is mostly due to what happened on the Wednesday that followed my birthday. Prior to that day, I opened a single gift from my parents on a Monday. No friends of mine were present, since all the children at my school considered me to be weak and wimpy. "A dainty figure is nothing to sneeze at, you fat idiots" is what I constantly dreamt of saying to them. Of course, I was never much of an outspoken girl, so I kept things like that between myself and you, dearest diary. Those pathetic imbeciles chose to never attend my birthdays - not one of them, not once. So on my tenth, my parents scraped up what little money they could for a gift. 

As I carefully ripped the brown paper wrapping off of my present, I discovered a lovely whittling knife. I had been yearning for a gift like this, one that I could utilize to craft wooden sculptures with. I thanked those gracious parents of mine and instantly began my first work.

I went outside and grabbed the first hunk of wood I could find. I began carving a simple design into it, one with flowery curves and lines. The end product wasn't anything in particular, just some wood with scribble-like markings I had whittled into it. Regardless, I treasured that little knife and every awful wooden creation that I made. 

After whittling for hours on end, my curfew neared and I went to bed. I was cozily wrapped up in my favorite cream-colored blanket when I heard a loud tapping on my bedroom window. Some children from my school were there and claimed to have a most excellent birthday gift for me. Being the pure, naïve girl I once was, I followed them out my window and into the pitch black night.

Nearly an hour later, they stopped at a strange place. We were all in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by inky darkness. I felt a shove on my back and fell onto the train tracks that haunt me to this day. Next thing I know, I'm gazing upon an oncoming train. I heard gasps and screams, cries of remorse and fear. All I felt was pain, an immense pain that lingers throughout my body even now. Then I stood up and faced my killers, unsure of what had happened. I saw the train, then a light, next a gruesome face, heard a maniacal cackle, and finally was laying atop the tracks once more. 

My peers dashed away, leaving me alone and clueless as to how to get back home. I wandered about aimlessly for all of Tuesday, then found an adult who helped me get back to my family. I told my parents exactly what had occurred, and they immediately phoned the parents of my murderers. Those bastards were grounded, punished, lectured - yet not one of them experienced half the pain they had put me through. 

I slept tearily that wretched Tuesday night, questioning my existence and praying that I might be able to rest in peace some day. I longed for eternal slumber, that which would end my horrid misery. That day will never come, though; as I bawled and prayed for death, the face I had seen after being hit by the train appeared beside me. She was a grotesque, demonic thing, but she did grant me eternal life. That disturbing creature literally smirked from ear to ear, informing me of my new powers as an immortal. With them, I could take lives that would be stuck in limbo, never going to heaven nor hell. My first victim was the wretch who stole my mortality. Then I went and took the lives of all my bullies, especially the fools who attempted to kill me. I finally had to end my parents, who threatened to get in the way of my vengeance. Now I fear I must roam this world forever and merely wish that death could reach me. 

Well, now you know, dearest diary, why Wednesday is my favorite: it was the day I got my first taste of blood.