The Diary of a Serial Killer's Daughter

by L. A. Detwiler

  The Diary of a

  Serial Killer’s Daughter

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Other books by L.A. Detwiler | The Widow Next Door | The One Who Got Away

  The Diary of a Serial Killer’s Daughter | L.A. Detwiler

  To my husband

  “Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality.” – Edgar Allan Poe

  Prologue

  Part I | 2009 | 7 years old

  Part II | 2010 | 8 years old

  Part III | 2012 | 10 years old

  Part IV | 2013 | 11 years old

  Part V | 2014 | 12 years old

  Part VI | 2017 | 15 years old

  Part VII | 2018 | 16 years old

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other books by L.A. Detwiler

  The Widow Next Door

  The One Who Got Away

  The Diary of a Serial Killer’s Daughter

  L.A. Detwiler

  Copyright © 2020 by L.A. Detwiler

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2020

  Cover by Cover Quill Designs.

  For ordering questions, please direct your emails to authorladetwiler@gmail.com or visit www.ladetwiler.com

  To my husband

  “Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality.” – Edgar Allan Poe

  Prologue

  There is something severely wrong with the child.

  There is something severely wrong with me, in truth.

  The way I see it now, I have two options.

  I leave with her and never come back.

  I kill us both.

  Either way, I think it’s safe to say this.

  Things will never be the same.

  Part I

  2009

  7 years old

  September 1, 2009

  6:47 p.m.

  Dear Diary,

  Last night was a weird night. I saw Daddy doing some strange things in the garage.

  I will tell you about it, Diary. Daddy gave you to me so I could get my feelings out. He said it will be just for me and I can write anything I want in here. The doctor we see told him I need to let things out that are bottled up. Daddy told me over and over this is safe. No one will see.

  I like having you to talk to. My teacher always says Ruby, you are a good writer. She told Daddy I’m advanced at writing, beyond my years. That makes me proud. I even wrote a poem for Grandma, and she put it on the fridge when I was staying with her. Writing is the only time I feel good about myself. Talking isn’t so easy. The words always come out jumbled-y. So you will be my friend. I will tell you my secret. Just please don’t tell. I don’t want Daddy being mad.

  Here’s what happened.

  Daddy tucked me in after reading Goodnight Moon like we always do. He kissed my cheek and said Goodnight, Ruby. I love you. I nodded like I always do. He pulled on the lamp to turn out the light. I heard him close my door.

  Later I woke up. It was dark. I hit the button on my watch. Daddy gave it to me when I turned five. I love telling time, so he bought it for me. I’m lucky to have such a nice Daddy, I know. It helps me keep track of time because I’m not so good at it. Like when my teacher says finish in one minute. It’s hard for me. But mostly I just like looking at the numbers, saying them out loud. I never take it off. Sometimes I like to watch each number change over and over, right in a row, like magic. Perfect. It never stops. It just keeps changing, one right after the other. I like that. I especially like when there’s a seven on the watch. I don’t know why. I guess seven is my lucky number.

  It was 1:04 in the morning. I sat up and looked out the window. I heard a noise outside. That’s when I saw it. The garage light was on. Why was Daddy in the garage? It was late. Really late. Daddy always told me never go in the garage. It’s dangerous, Ruby. Don’t go in there. Ever. I was worried. What was Daddy doing?

  I knew he would be mad if he found out I snuck there. He would be angry if I was around the garage. The dangerous garage. But I put on my favorite yellow rain boots and tiptoed real quiet down the stairs.

  Daddy’s truck was in the driveway. I heard noises from the garage. Was he building something? Daddy builds for his job. Maybe he was working hard on a surprise.

  I didn’t want to ruin it. I crept so quietly like the cat I once saw in the woods, the one with the ear with a weird edge. Its ear was all chewed up, like a big bite was taken out of it. I crept quiet, quiet, low, low. Careful Ruby.

  I snuck to the back of the garage. When I was playing out there once I saw a hole in the wall of the garage near the ground. Daddy didn’t know it was there or he would have fixed it. I liked the hole, though. It gave me a peek.

  Real quiet, I got down and looked in. I didn’t want Daddy to see me. I was curious. Curious was on our word list this week at school. C-u-r-i-o-u-s. I can spell it.

  Curiosity killed the cat. My grandma said that once. I think that’s stupid. That’s not what kills cats. Grandma is weird sometimes. She makes me brush my hair and says Daddy isn’t doing a good enough job. I get mad at her a lot.

  Real quiet I got down and looked through the hole. Daddy had a saw. There was lots of red, splattered about. All around. So much red.

  I saw a big spot of red on the floor. It oozed out, quickly joining with other red splotches. It was like watercolors that you put too much water in and they were leaking out over the edge, making a mess.

  I stared and stared and watched and watched as Daddy did something with the girl he had in there. I saw her long black hair. It looked pretty. Silky. I scratched my own neck, my hair up in its ponytail. I hate hair on my neck. That woman had a lot of hair. Did it bother her? Who was she?

  I didn’t know, but I watched. I watched Daddy work and work. I watched him for a long time. Sometimes, Daddy would move and I got a glimpse of his face from the side. Daddy looked happy. Usually, Daddy’s face is serious. I didn’t know why he was happy. I was glad.

  I worry that Daddy is lonely. It’s just me and Daddy. Sometimes Grandma when she stops by. She’s Daddy’s mom. He says she is lonely since Grandpa died. She worries about us, too, since Mama died. But I think she comes around too much. Hovers. That was a word I learned this week too.

  Daddy says he is happy with me. He always says he only needs me, just him and Ruby against the world. Sometimes I still think he is lonely. I heard Grandma say that once.

  But Diary, he looked happy with all of the red.

  I watched some more, amazed as a tool cut, cut, cut. It was so pretty, the way it chopped down.

  My legs started to hurt. I looked at my watch. 3:05 a.m. Had I really been out there so long? Didn’t Daddy need to sleep?

  I yawned. I needed to go to bed. Daddy would be in at 7:07 to wake me up. I love sevens. Times that end in sevens are the best, so I make Daddy get me up at exactly that time. He made sure his clock is set exactly to my watch so they match.

  I knew I needed to sleep last night even though I was so curious about Daddy’s work in th
e garage. I crept back quiet, quiet, quiet to the house, careful not to open the door too loud. I went to bed, though, tucking myself back in. I thought about all that red, red, red.

  Daddy made me cinnamon and sugar toast this morning before school. He looked tired but happy. I wanted to ask him about the garage, about the lady. I didn’t. I know Daddy is careful of the garage. He doesn’t like me asking questions about it. I can ask him about lots of things. But not the garage. And not Mama, either. Those are no-question zones. I still ask them—I can’t help it. But he just gets all weird about it.

  I wonder if Daddy needs some space from me. I am difficult. I worry about how difficult I am. The teachers say it when they think I’m not listening. The kids say I’m weird. I don’t know. It makes me so sad. I wish I had friends, but people are hard. I feel bad, bad, bad because I am so difficult. There are too many confusing things about people.

  Just Daddy. Just Ruby and Daddy against the world. That’s all I need.

  School passed by quickly because all I could think about was the red, red, red. So pretty. Red. Red everywhere. I kept picturing that one perfect splotch running in the middle of the concrete floor. I wonder if Daddy will go back to the garage tonight.

  Well, Diary, that’s all for now. I will see you tomorrow at the same time, 6:47 p.m. Daddy sits down to get ready for his favorite show that starts at 7, so it’s a perfect time to write.

  I will have to let you know tomorrow if Daddy goes back to the garage.

  Ruby

  September 2, 2009

  6:47 p.m.

  Dear Diary,

  I wrote a lot yesterday. I like writing though. My teachers always say how much I write. How I’m good at writing. I like it. It’s easy. I wish I could write instead of talking forever. I hate it when teachers and Grandma try to make me talk.

  Daddy read me Goodnight Moon again last night, but he was tired. He was not excited with the voices like the night before. He tucked me in and kissed me and said I love you. And then I sat up and waited. I waited and watched. I was tired. I didn’t sleep though. My insides were buzzing. It was exciting.

  But there was no light in the garage. There was nothing. I think I fell asleep because then Daddy was waking me up and it was time for school.

  I wanted to see more of the garage.

  It made me think. Does Daddy go to the garage a lot? Is that lady still in there?

  I remember a few times when I was younger, maybe five, when I would hear Daddy’s truck late, late, late. But I just ignored it. I was too young. But not now. I’m older. I can figure it out.

  I like that Daddy has a game. A secret game. I hope I can learn the rules soon.

  This will have to be our secret, Diary. I don’t want Daddy knowing I saw some of his game. He might be embarrassed. And I won’t tell Grandma. No way. She came over today and brought us raisin cookies and salads to eat because she said Daddy doesn’t feed me right. I hate raisins and I hate salads. Sometimes I hate Grandma. So I won’t tell her. I won’t tell anyone.

  Ruby, we all need privacy. You have your Diary for privacy. That is what he says.

  So I think, Diary, that I should give Daddy privacy. His garage is like his diary, I guess. I won’t tell a soul. I love him. He takes such good care of me. I owe him this.

  Sometimes at school the kids talk about their moms. About the snacks they make and about how they wait to hug them when they get off the bus.

  I wonder what my mom was like. There is only one picture of her out in the house. Well, only one picture Daddy knows about. It’s on the fireplace downstairs now. She has red hair, just like me. Daddy doesn’t like to talk about her. It makes him sad, I think. She died when I was really young. I don’t remember her.

  But when the kids talk about hugs and things like that, I’m sort of glad I don’t have a mom. I hate hugs. I don’t like being touched. It’s an icky feeling. I hate it hate it hate it. Daddy never hugs me. He knows I don’t like it. And he’s okay with that. We love each other but we don’t need to hug.

  I’m glad I don’t have a mom to hug me. Daddy does just fine without hugs.

  Stay Safe,

  Ruby

  September 7, 2009

  6:57 p.m.

  Dear Diary,

  Today was Monday, so I had school. Back to being around people.

  The weekend was nice. Daddy made me breakfast. Waffles on Saturday. Waffles are always Saturday. We had bacon and eggs Sunday. Bacon and eggs are always Sunday. Mostly, we played outside. Daddy helped me ride my bike. We’re working on riding faster and getting rid of the training wheels.

  When I was riding on the lane I came to a stop by the garage. The door was shut. I couldn’t help but think about that lady. I wanted to sneak around to the back and look through the hole. I got closer but Daddy yelled.

  “Ruby, no garage. It’s not safe. You know the rule.”

  “Sorry, Daddy,” I’d said. I do know the rule. Ever since I can remember, that was Daddy’s rule. No garage. I can use the shed that is on the other side of the house. That’s where bike lives. But no garage.

  Daddy doesn’t have many rules. Just ones to keep me safe.

  Don’t touch the stove.

  Don’t talk to strangers. That’s not a problem. I hate talking.

  Don’t wander away from him.

  Look both ways before crossing a street.

  Don’t go near the garage

  Those are the main rules. I make up some of the other rules for us. Like what times we eat and what time we do things. But I like time. Daddy knows that. He lets me be in charge of time.

  So I didn’t go near the garage. I didn’t want to make Daddy mad. Once, when I was little, I wandered in the door of the garage and Daddy got really angry at me. It’s one of the few times he’s yelled at me. It scared me so much, I cried.

  Now, Daddy is more careful about the lock on the door. It’s always locked. But he still warns me, just in case. I don’t think Daddy would be happy that I looked in there and saw that lady. It’s his secret. We all have secrets.

  Like what I write in you.

  But this past weekend, it was just me and Daddy. I wrote some poems for on the fridge. Daddy said they were really good. One was about a rabbit. One was just about red. I didn’t tell Daddy I was thinking of the red in the garage when I wrote it.

  So much red. So pretty. Red, red, red. Just like my hair. Just like apples.

  I like red. It might be my favorite now. Maybe Daddy will get me red rainboots for my birthday. It’s in December, Diary. Just like Christmas. I was a Christmas-time baby.

  Daddy is quiet sometimes. This weekend was a quiet weekend. But he was calm. Peaceful even. I like it when Daddy is quiet because I like quiet. It makes me happy.

  We sit on the porch a lot out front. The garage is out back. We sit and look into the forest around us, the trees, the lane. We don’t have neighbors. There are no children around to play with. Sometimes the kids at school talk about playing with their neighbors, the kids who live in town near the school. It doesn’t make me sad, though. I like it out here. In nature. In quiet. Town is too loud. School is too loud. And kids call me weird and annoy me. I only go to school because Daddy says I have to. Because he has work. And I need to go to school because it is my job.

  I try to do a good job. It is hard.

  The kids are loud and yell and I hate it. And the teachers try to make me talk and I don’t like talking, not in front of the group.

  Ruby, look at me when I talk to you, they say.

  Ruby, stop slapping your hands on the desk.

  Ruby, stop scratching your neck and pay attention.

  Ruby, stop lighting up your watch. It’s science time.

  Ruby, Ruby, Ruby.

  I’m the one who is always in trouble. The other kids are loud, but I’m in trouble.

  Last year, the school had a lady who would follow me everywhere. To help me, they said. Help me adjust. I hated that lady. She talked a lot and tried to make me talk.
She talked about me right in front of me like I was stupid.

  I’m not stupid. Just different, Daddy always says. Different is fine, Ruby. Different is good. But sometimes it doesn’t feel good. School doesn’t seem to think different is good. The other kids don’t think different is good.

  Daddy made them get rid of that lady. I was in the meeting when he said I didn’t need some aide. I was just fine without her. He wouldn’t have me treated like that. Ruby is smart and fine on her own. She’s just different. She doesn’t like to talk to people. But she’s smart, and she will learn at her own pace.

  But I know that’s not true. I’m not fine on my own. I had squeezed Daddy’s hand in that meeting.

  I’m fine with Daddy. He makes everything better. He knows what I need. He knows I’m different . . . and he’s okay with that. I love him. He’s the best.

  I hate school. Hate, hate, hate.

  So weekends are my favorite. Just Ruby and Daddy.

  That’s how it should be.

  Goodnight Diary. Stay Safe (Daddy always tells me to stay safe. I like that.)

  Ruby

  September 10, 2009

  6:57 p.m.

  Dear Diary,

  I was late to school today. It was Daddy’s fault. But I’m not mad. I’m never mad at him. He tries so hard.

  Last night, after Goodnight Moon, I stared at the ceiling. I wasn’t tired. My brain was doing that spinny, wild thing. I was thinking about all sorts of things that happened, my brain jumping, jumping, jumping all around. The air was too hot and the blanket too scratchy. And then I heard a cricket out my window that wouldn’t stop. I pounded my head, just a little, to make it stop. It never stops.

  So I lay there for a long while. I heard Daddy’s footsteps downstairs and the door creak. He was being quiet, but I could hear him. I heard the truck. I looked at my watch. It was 11:00 p.m. On a school night. He was leaving on a school night. Where was he going?

  I sighed. Maybe he needed more time in the garage.