Psychoville *CURRENTLY UNDER CONSTRUCTION*

Prologue: Asleep with both eyes open

The walk upstairs to the master bedroom is quiet. I had practiced this a thousand times over, to burn the memory of where the wooden planks in our old house which creaked under pressure were, and avoided them ease. I'd envisioned tonight so often before, over and over until I could do it without fail for four months straight.

Though I am barefoot, I'm dressed and ready to run at any moment; a pair of boots and a backpack wait for me. A plan I know better than my name swims on my eyelids, and I see it every time I fall asleep.

The dog was a problem. While I was familiar, he was excitable. I watch the blood drip from a knife I had grabbed from the kitchen, our beloved family pet motionless at the bottom of the stairs.

Because my parents' bedroom door used to creak when opened, so I'd oiled it once a month for the last three years. I liked to sneak in while they slept, imagine their eyes open, glazed and milky white. I move my weapon of choice to my other hand as I twist the doorknob, soundless. As I step inside, I don't even bother to close the door behind me again. No one will disturb me.

The nearest police station is 2.4 miles away, more than long enough for me. The authorities will take at least eight minutes to arrive, more time than I need.

On mahogany dresser with the perfect view of the bed, sits the video camera I hid the night before, behind a small stack of books. The little light turns red and winks at me when I turn it on. Moonlight seeps into the room from the curtains and shows my face, but I the knife is out of sight, a surprise for the viewers.

I pick up the home phone from its place beside my father's head and dial.
A woman answers. "911, what's your emergency?" She asks, her voice flat and monotone.

"There's been a double homicide. 22 sycamore road, number 9725." Despite earlier precautions, it doesn't matter if I talk or not. Both parents are in a deep sleep, which may have to do with the benadryl I put in their food at dinner. Wednesday is my night to cook, and I make a damn fine spaghetti.

"Ok, stay calm-" I hang up before she can finish and walk back over to the where the camera stands. The knife is still ready, slick with blood.

The point presses into the skin above his heart as I raise my weapon high before the knife strikes its target. Father jolts. It's pleasant to watch, face full of terror as hands grasp for life; his mouth opens and closes, silent screams fill the air. Then he's motionless, asleep with both eyes open.

Mother stirs before she jerks awake, a sob stuck in her throat at the sight of Dad's body.

"Don't worry, mom," I walk around the bed to pull her closer and bury the knife into her stomach. "I'm right here." I push her back and take the knife out in a single, fluid motion. Blood drips from her open mouth as she reaches for her dead husband, one final comfort before death comes, and her hand goes limp in his.

The knife falls next to her body. I'm an orphan now.

I check my clothes for blood. With one more smile for the camera, the right light turns off, and I'm left alone in the darkness. I scribble a quick note for the police.

As I step out of the room and make my way downstairs, I skip over the golden retriever which used to be mine. I turn off the security system and open the front entrance for the authorities before I make my way to the back of the house. Pulling on my socks and shoes, I grab my coat and bag and close the door.

I smile as I walk into the small forest behind my house. The sound of sirens grows louder, and I disappear into the darkness of the summer night.