by JD Jones
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The letter was signed in a most peculiar manner. Instead of a signature it went on with more rambling story and rhetoric. It said:
I was going to sign my name but I have decided that since all of you liked me as an anonymous shadow in your lives my whole life that I will remain that way in death. So, I am not telling you my name. I have never had my fingerprints taken with my right name attached, so that will do you no good. I have not had any dental work done. No one has taken my picture and kept it even. As in life I will not exist in death either. If anyone cares to grant me one last request, I would really like a suit to wear in my coffin. Nothing fancy, just something nice and respectable. I remember first daddy had a nice suit on when we buried him. I was only five or so but I remember everyone saying he looked so good in his coffin. They said the suit made him look so respectable.
Maybe it will not matter. Who is going to come and see me in my coffin anyway? It was just a thought. I've been having lots of those lately. Thoughts. In a way I feel guilty a little bit. Not about the killings. Those were necessary. But about the way I killed them all. They all died with great fear in their minds. I could see it in their eyes. Awakened in the dark and slashed with a knife, realizing that they were no longer going to exist. Some had only a few seconds. Others had long minutes to contemplate their lives. But all had fear. And I gave it to them. Their meanness had caused fear in those kids so I had caused fear in their lives. It seemed fair at the time, but now it seems as though maybe I went too far. The fear, I mean. Fear is a strong emotion. It can be used to control people and to destroy them. I had used it to control them while I killed them.
I wondered what death was like for them, too. If a person died in great fear did they exist in great fear on the other side? Was there even an other side? I expect maybe I will find out soon. It is okay. I am ready for it. I am tired and hurting. Like I said, I think I am dying. Others think so, too. We may be homeless. We might even be invisible. But we are not stupid. After all, I have lived a life of serial killings for over thirty years. I am homeless and no one caught me. Smart. Not stupid. Me.
Have a nice life whoever reads this. And remember. I am not alone in this world. There are others like me. I never met them. But it would be such a shame if I am one of a kind. Hey, those adult serial killers have more than one. Look at all the missing children in the world. There have to be more like me. There just have to be.