Psychoville *CURRENTLY UNDER CONSTRUCTION*

Chapter One

Tonight was a bad night to be put on the nightshift. Detective Brian Keith crouched slightly as the cops on the other side of the yellow police tape lifted it for him, still trying to keep the neighbors both away and calm. A young officer greeted him as he made his way to the house looking grim about whatever was inside. Without a word, Brian was led into the house and saw the dead golden retriever at the bottom of the stairs. The dried blood on his coat and the floor was enough to know that someone had killed it on purpose.

"Seriously?" Keith said, upset that this was what he was losing sleep for. "I'm here because someone killed a freaking dog? That's what the call was? I'm going now. Call me for a real case."

"But sir!" The rookie called out. "You haven't seen upstairs!" That was enough to make him stop in his tracks. Sighing, he let the small blond man lead him upstairs.

The other two victims definitely weren't dogs. A couple, eyes wide in shock and their blood covering the front of the pristine white sheets. A kitchen knife was still in the woman's chest, only the handle visible. Whoever did this knew what they were doing.

"I have no idea who called us," Blondie said quietly. "The neighbors said that they never heard a thing. But the front door was unlocked and wide open."

Brian turned around to look at him, and was greeted with a red blinking light. "What's this?" He reached over to pick up a recording camera, still filming. He turned the video off and turned around to watch what had been recorded with the other officer.

"Wow." Blondie said. "We are never lucky enough to get the murder on tape."

"Yeah. Lucky." Keith grumbled. He started the tape over, and they watched it in silence.

The film started with a young blonde girl close to the lens, her eyes darting back and forth as she checked to see if the camera was on. With her white attire, blonde hair, and young features, she looked almost angelic. That is, until she backed up. All down her front was blood, most likely from the dog, seeing as the victims were still alive. She gave a cute smile and a small wave, before she picked up the home phone and dialed. Whoever was on the other line picked up almost immediately, so Detective Keith thought it must be an accomplice of some sort. But then she spoke. "There has been a stabbing. 22 sycamore road, number 9725." Even her voice was innocent and angel like. She stroked the male victim's face as she spoke, and he must have been a heavy sleeper because he didn't seem to notice. Suddenly, Detective Keith realized who she was calling. She was calling the police about a murder she hadn't even committed yet. It was sick. She hung up the phone and reached behind the camera to pick up a kitchen knife, the edge slick with the dead dog's blood. She walked over to the husband and plunged the knife all the way into his heart without any hesitation, and he jolted awake, silently twitching and convulsing as she twisted the knife ever so slightly. She kept the knife in his chest and moved to the other side of the bed gracefully as his eyes became full and lifeless. The commotion must have woken the wife, because she stirred and half opened her eyes, which went wide with fear when she saw the knife. The girl reached over her to yank the knife from the husband's body and, looking terrified, the wife turned to her killer. Brian couldn't help but look away as she stabbed the wife, who never even got the chance to scream. He then turned back just in time to see the girl walk out of the room, smiling like the maniac that she was. Sirens could be heard, and Blondie could be seen running into the room, assessing the situation just a few minutes. Keith turned the camera off and the two policemen walked outside in silence, only to be greeted by an old lady who had escaped from where the rest of the neighbors were being held back.

"What's going on?" she asked in a fragile voice. "Is everyone ok?" Blondie opened his mouth to calm her, to tell her some white lie, but Brian was tired and sick of everyone's BS today.

"No." He said, loud enough to silence the small crowd asking questions in exchange for vague answers. "Nothing is ok. The couple in that house was murdered last night."

Dead silence. And then the old woman spoke again. "It was Mary, wasn't it?"

This baffled Brian. "Who is Mary?" He asked her.

"Their daughter." She responded calmly. "She has always been a little wrong in the head. She bonds remarkably well with cats and birds of prey, but everything else is just wasted space. She is the kind of girl to pick the wings off of butterflies one by one to watch them struggle and die. In fact, I think I have seen her do that once."

Questions and answers came rushing to Detective Keith, like a puzzle in his head that put most of its pieces together at once. "What does this Mary look like?" he asked frantically.

She thought for a moment. "Long blonde hair. Fair skin. Bright blue eyes."

"Yeah," he said. "That's her."