Falling for a Psycho

Chapter Ten

Ten: Marilyn’s P.O.V

Everyone hates me. I’m an insane psychopath. I’m evil to the core. People say I have no heart. I know it. I can’t help the way I am. I was born a psychopath. Even at a young age, I knew I was insane. I’m called a criminal mastermind. I’m not going to be egotistical, but I’m a genius. I passed the 5th grade when I was eight. I was born a medical prodigy. I know everything about the medical field. I could be a surgeon. I chose to give into my psychopathic wants, using my knowledge of the human body to help me kill.

Often times, the earliest signs of a psychopath or murderer include animal abuse. I did start out that way. I had a fascination with killing insects starting when I was three. I wouldn’t just squish them. I’d often times pick the wings off of flies and let them starve to death. I tore the legs off of ladybugs and spiders, and even tore the wings and antennae off of butterflies. When I was little, I would play out in the small garden we had out back. My “playing” was cutting snakes in half with garden shears, and throwing rocks at birds. I’d dissect them when they would fall from the sky. Often times, they weren’t completely dead yet. Then, I discovered rat poison in the cabinet under the sink when I was six. We had a tank of goldfish, and I poured the poison in the tank, watching it kill the fish. That’s when my parents noticed my behavior and consulted a therapist. They dismissed my behavior as “curiosity” and never thought anything of it. It didn’t stop me. I’d still go out in the desert behind our house and kill animals, torturing them. When I was eight, we got a dog, named Happy. I picked on Happy, intentionally kicking him around and feeding stuff I knew would make him stuff. Happy didn’t die, and that made me mad. There were lots of “unexplained” visits to the vet, though.

 The way I acted did scare off any kids that wanted to be my friend. I kept to myself. I was at a special school for very smart kids, and I sat in the back corner of the classroom. I talked to myself. I have schizophrenia, so I was talking to the voice, not exactly myself.

When I was ten, exactly three weeks after my birthday, I set fire to the house, burning it to the ground, trapping Happy inside. I finally killed the dog I wanted to kill, and I was satisfied. But, my act got me in a lot of trouble. My parents called the police, and I was arrested for the first time. I was taken to juvenile prison, and served time there until I was 12, when I was released on probation. While I was on probation, I did the thing that got me in the most trouble I’ve ever gotten into.

I killed my parents.

It was Thursday, June 23rd, 2005, sometime around 10:30 in the morning. I was 12, and had just been let out of juvie on probation. I had the GPS anklet, and my probation officer was in Florida with her family.

I was bored. So, I did what I did when boredom came around. I went out to my shed, which had become my hiding place. It was behind the new house my parents and little brother had moved into, and I spend most of the day in there. I had a large assortment of weapons like kitchen knives, hunting knives, and other things I had made. There was a long wooden table on the left side of the shed, across from the shelves adorned with weapons. The table was anchored to the wall with hinges, so I could put it down for more space if needed. At that moment, I had a coyote pinned down to the table, cut open in a y-incision, the internal organs visible. I had caught the coyote in a handmade trap then killed it, cutting it open while it was still alive. I did get bitten, on my left arm, but stabbing it in the eye killed it for good. I was a very cruel little girl. I’m a twisted psychopath.

One of my many anatomy books was open to the page about the human heart, a little bit of coyote blood on the page. I had been studying the coyote’s heart, comparing it to the diagram on the paper. I really didn’t know what a real human heart looked like, because I had never killed a human being before.

I am schizophrenic, and the voice in my head is often times my only friend.

“Oh Marilyn,” The voice, an almost demonic male voice, called.

“Yes?” I answered, out loud. I was thumbing through the anatomy book, searching for a page.

“You want to kill something, don’t you?” The voice echoed. I never ignored my voice. The voice didn’t direct me to kill my parents, like some doctors think. I decided that myself. The voice just drove me to it. It cheered me on.

“Yes, of course I do,” I responded, finding the page I wanted, and stepping up onto my blue stepping stool so I was able to see the dead coyote. I’m currently four foot eleven, but when I was twelve, I was only four feet tall. I am very tiny, with thin bones.

“Your parents could be great victims. You want to kill them, don’t you?” The voice said, in a soft tone.

“Yes, but now?” I replied. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail.

“Yes, Marilyn. It’s time,” The voice directed.

I didn’t kill them without making a plan first. I thought the whole plan through, writing it out on a clean piece of lined paper.

Come dinnertime that day, I had thought out every detail. My extensive knowledge of the human body gave me the ability to know exactly where to start. Stabbing was my best way to go, for it was what I had the most experience with. I could pinpoint where I wanted to stab. I knew exactly what would be fatal. Killing my parents during the night was also my plan. That way, fighting beforehand wouldn’t happen. I knew the positions my parents slept in, and already had drawn out where I was going to stab.

I had locked all the doors and windows, and cut the phone cord so no one could escape. I also locked my four year old brother Timmy in his room.

One thing that the authorities lied about was the fact that I was going to go after Timmy. They did it to make me sound even meaner. That is completely false. If I cared one bit for anyone in this world, it would be Timmy. I would never lay a finger on him. I locked him in his room for his safety. He was fast asleep at the time.

I went out to my shed and got a steak knife with a six and a half inch blade. I revised my plan for the last time, and then made my way back to the house.

The fact that I have an unlimited memory and remembered everything I had ever seen, heard or done allows me to remember the murder as if it just happened.

I walked down the dark upstairs hallway of our two story house. My parent’s bedroom was the last door on the left, next to my room. I pushed open their door at 12:38 P.M, ready to commit murder.