Please, Make Me Stop.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
He can't stop, he's going mad.

*This is not a real story!*

Submitted: July 15, 2011

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Submitted: July 15, 2011

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I can't stop. A body and another one. I stand in my basement, looking at my surroundings. There are bodies everywhere, bloody, frightened faces and no sign of breathing at all. But me. I am fighting the urge to go outside and find another one. You probably guessed it by now, yes. I am a serial killer. This is my life as a teen serial killer.

It all started 3 years ago, I was 15 years old.

"But, I can't do it!" I said, sobbing and crying, holding the knife in hand.

"Yes you can, son. Don't make me hit you again." he growled at me. He pointed towards the woman tied up in the chair. "Kill her."

I walked towards the almost unconcious woman in the chair. "I'm sorry," I whispered softly before plunging the knife into her heart.


My dad had died a year after that. The reason I could keep bodies in my basement is because my mother was a drunk that never cared about me. She cared more about her bottle and her needles than me. But ironicaly, the only reason I didn't kill her is because she's the one who loved me the most, even though she wanted nothing to do with me. Yes my life has been pathetic. And I hated my childhood too. My dad, the killer, passed on his, I will call it the disease, to me. I call it the disease because even if I want to stop, I can't and my dad would never approve of me calling the police for help. So I kept on killing and I hated it. The last time I had killed was a week before. My hunger for killing had returned. I had to go out again.

I walked upstairs and walked to the door. I noticed my mother laying on the couch with bottles and some drugs around her. She won't be awake until tommorow, I told myself.I walked out into the midnight air and started my car.

I drove to a place where hookers roamed. I usually didn't pick up prostitutes, but it was the easiest way. I parked where a girl stood, she was around my age and wore the skimpiest clothes I had ever seen. I rolled down my window and asked, "How much?" I wouldn't pay her for sex, it was just to get her in the car.

"50 bucks." she said.

"Get in" I ordered her. She got in immidiately. She started giggling uncontrolably, she was obviously drunk or high. I drove a little while till we got to a part of town that was like a wooded area.

'What are we doing?" she asked.

"Get out of the car." I said, taking out a gun from under my seat and pointing it to her.

"Please, don't." she said, frightened and on the verge of crying.

"Get out!" I screamed. She got out and I followed her, keeping the gun pointed to her head. I guided her into the woods where I decided to stop. I made her turn around and saw tears run down her face. Inside, I knew it was wrong, but the disease took over me.

"I'm sorry." I said and pulled the trigger.

********************

Once again, I stood in my basement as my hunger for killing took over. I tried to restrain myself, but it only worked for so long. It had been 3 weeks since I had killed that prostitute, but I still had that gnawing feeling inside of me urging myself to go kill someone else. I walked upstairs but found no trace of my mother anywhere. Probably out fucking some other guy again. I got in my car and just drove around. I saw a woman in the alley as I passed it, I stopped my car and got out. I had my gun and my knife in my pockets. I only saw her back but I walked towards her anyways. She didn't seem to acknoledge my presence. I took out my knife and stabbed her.

"Why?" I heard her cry out in pain. That voice sounded familiar for some reason. She dropped to the ground and I saw her face. A face I had known all my life.

"Mom?" I said, tears rolling down my face. I picked her up quickly and put her in the backseat my car. I drove home and brang her downstairs. By then I was bawling my eyes out and I didn't know what to do. I picked up my phone and dialed a number. 911.

"Hello, what is your emergencie?"

"I need help." I said, barely recongnizing my own voice.

"With what sir?" she asked.

"Just send police and ambulances here!" I screamed at her.

"Sir, I need you to calm down. Tell me the adress." she said. I told her the adress and hung up.

I sat down in the middle of the room and waited. I heard people coming in and someone opening the basement door. It was a man in his 20's and he looked shocked when he saw what I did.

"Please, make me stop." I said, hugging my knees and crying.

"He's down here!" He screamed to the people upstairs. He walked up to me. "I'm the FBI. Did you do all of this?" he asked.

"Yes," I said, almost whispering. "I didn't want to but I couldn't help it. Help me." By then, I could barely hear myself. And people had started coming downstairs.

"Shh, it's okay. We'll make it stop." He said, putting his hands on my shoulders.

"How can you!" I screamed.

"We can make it all go away, just follow me." He said, helping me up. I followed him and we ended up in a police station. He sat me in a chair and started asking me questions.

"When did this start to happen?" he asked.

"Three years ago." I said.

"Do you know why?" he asked.

"My dad made me kill her." I said, staring at the floor.

"Who?" he asked.

"Some woman." I said. "Help me." I whispered.

He stood up and walked up to me. " I will do everything I can to help you." he said.

He was right. But I am spending the rest of my life where I didn't want to be. In prison. I had spent a few months in rehab to make me stop killing. It had worked and I talk to that FBI agent every month. Today was my 19th birthday and I had no parents and no chance at life.

I didn't mean to kill those people, everybody knew that. Being a teenage serial killer is not the way to go in life. But, like I said, I had no choice.


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