Okay everyone, so this is my first Dark Knight fanfic. I'm currently obsessed with this film (especially the character of The Joker) so I'd like to write some fanfics for the Dark Knight. However instead of going straight in with a long story I decided to a short story instead, just so I know whether I should continue writing about The Joker. I want to know whether I have the character of the Joker right, so any criticism would be welcomed. Any reviews at all would be welcomed in fact, so please R&R. Thanks.

Hotel Mayhem

"Why so serious?" he muttered to himself, as he paced up and down the lobby of the hotel.

If the hotel staff had been alive at the time then perhaps they would have given him a strange look, but he had made sure to kill them all when first entering. Instead they now looked at him with huge bloody smiles on their faces.

At first they had been shocked and scared when he had smashed through the door of the hotel, but he was glad to see that they now smiled, even in death.

He stopped for a moment, chuckling darkly at this thought, before he continued pacing up and down.

The reason for him stopping at this hotel was still unclear for him. He'd been walking down the street when he'd seen the fancy hotel. It had stood out to him, with its large lit up sign and its fancy looking exterior. So, for no reason at all he'd taken out the gun that was constantly in his jacket pocket and had ran into the hotel, killing everyone that got in his way. He'd made sure to finish off their look with the knife.

It had been hysterical, watching as they all ran away, scared out of there wits by the man whom they all feared.

He'd silently thanked Batman and Police Commissioner Gordon for the added fear that they'd installed into the hearts of the public of Gotham City. They didn't realise it, but the fact that his face had been constantly plastered across the walls of the City meant that everybody knew who he was. Perhaps they thought that it would help him to be caught? If they did think like this then surely they were stupid. The Joker could not be caught, and if he did? Well, who would care? If he was caught then he already had several ways in which he could escape. Putting him into prison would only add to the fear that already hung around the city like a heavy fog, choking people and causing them to stay indoors.

Once again he laughed aloud to himself, only stopping when a quiet gasp sounded near to him.

He didn't turn around, pretending that he had not heard it.

He'd forgotten about the fact that there would be people staying in the hotel. How stupid of him? Then he thought about it and realised, how clever it was of him. With people came more fear, and with fear came more chaos.

Deciding to put the person out of their misery, he turned around and looked into the eyes of a young woman of around twenty five years old. She stared back at him, her dark green eyes wide and fearful, tears threatening to spill over her eyelids. At the moment she was crouching behind the desk where the receptionist was still smiling up at him.

He could only see her face but she wasn't particularly extraordinary in the way that she looked, although she wasn't ugly either. Her hair was black and pulled up in a bun. Her cheeks were sallow, and she looked sickly and malnourished. She was also far too pale for his liking. He smiled at how ironic that was. After all, he was the clown who wore white grease paint on his face.

She looked sick and hungry causing him to wonder how she could afford to stay in a hotel as grand as this one.

"Hellooo beautiful," he said huskily as he placed the gun back in his pocket and used his hand to slick back his hair.

When she didn't say anything he walked towards her, watching as her whole body started to shake in fear. He laughed at her fear, making sure to keep it quiet so as not to scare her too much. After all, he wanted to have some fun with her before she ran off frightened. That's if he'd let her run off at all.

Once he was standing in front of her, he reached out a hand and cocked his head to the side in invitation. The command was simple to understand. Take his hand.

However she simply stared at him, tears rolling down her face.

He sighed and reached into his pocket for his trusty knife. Almost absentmindedly he twirled the knife around his fingers, staring down at the girl on the floor.

"Get up," he said softly. Once again she ignored him, simply staring up into his eyes. However this time he would not take it.

In one quick movement he reached forward and pulled her up by the hair. Now that he could see all of her body he saw how she could afford to stay at the hotel. The answer was simple; she could not afford to stay here. Instead she worked here, as a cleaner.

"I hate people who don't do as I say. Got it?" he asked her eventually as he traced the knife along the curve of her bottom lips.

She nodded nervously, wincing in pain.

"Good. Now, I don't think me and you got off to the best of starts. What's your name?"

At first he thought that she wasn't going to speak, but after a while she ran her tongue across her top lip and spoke. "Isabella."

"Ooh Isabella. What a pretty name. I like that name. I'm assuming you know who I am."

For a second time she nodded.

"For a woman you don't speak much. I'm not sure whether I like that or not. I mean, some woman can just talk for ages and ages and I have no choice but to kill them, but you," he ran the knife across her cheek, "I don't know what to think about you."

"P-please don't hurt me," she whispered suddenly.

He laughed manically at this, gripping onto his sides. He only laughed harder when she jumped in fright at his loud, sudden laugh. "Oh Isabella, you do make me laugh," he said to her, wiping fake tears of laughter from his eyes.

A small look of hope came across her face and he knew immediately that this would not do. He leant in close to her until his mouth was directly next to her ear. "What makes you think that I'd even think about not hurting you?" he whispered, watching as she shivered at his hot breath against her face. "I have no choice in the matter."

She sobbed and he saw that all hope was gone from her face. 'Good' he thought.

"Oh Isabella," he said softly, raising a gloved hand to wipe the tears from her eyes. "What makes you so scared of me?" He paused. "Is it the scars?" After a while he slapped her gently on the face. "Answer me. Is it my scars that make you so scared of me?"

"Yes," she whispered hoarsely.

"You wanna know how I got these scars?" he asked. She didn't answer so he continued anyway, pressing the knife up against her cheek as he spoke.

"I had a sister once," he whispered, grabbing her face and pulling her close to him. "I loved her very dearly. My father and mother weren't so nice you see. One day my sister's walking home from school when she gets taken. It's weeks till we find her. She's ah not alive when they find her, oh no, she's dead. Stone. Cold. say's to me, 'Are you unhappy? You must feel unhappy,' even though I tell them over and over that I'm fine. My drunken mother knows more then they do and asks me "Why so serious?" before beating me. Ha-ha. So one day I go home, and I grab the razor from the cupboard." He forced the knife inside her mouth so that it was only just cutting into her cheek and lip. "I placed the razor inside my mouth, just like this, and then I pull it up at both sides, and ever since then I always have a smile on my face." He laughed manically. The knife cut deeper into her cheek and tears were streaming down her face, as blood poured into her mouth and down her chin. "Would you like to know how it felt? Would you?" he asked, shaking her roughly.

"Please," she said thickly, trying to speak around the knife and blood that was in her mouth.

"Please what? Please don't hurt me?" he said mockingly. "I've already told you that I'm going to hurt you," he shouted angrily at her, watching her flinch away from him.

"Don't flinch away from me!" he roared at her, rage taking over.

"I'm sorry," she whispered desperately.

"Isabella," he said quietly, hearing the anger in his own voice. "Don't be sorry. It's not your fault. You're just a sad, scared little girl."

She sobbed louder, almost as if knowing what he was about to do.

"You need to smile more," he snarled, moving the knife up both sides of her face in one swift movement. "That's better," he muttered, dropping her to the floor.

He looked down at the blood that was on his clothes and growled angrily. A cleaner that made a mess, that was different. When he looked down at Isabella he could see that she was still alive, desperately trying to cling onto life. However it was hopeless. He watched her eyes turn lifeless and her body still. For a moment he closed his eyes, allowing the pain and death to wash over him. Then the moment passed and he opened his eyes again, giving one last glance to the dead girl.

"Just when you need a cleaner," he muttered, before walking away from her and going to the stairs.

From looking at the hotels wall he'd managed to find out that there were only two guests staying at the hotel at the moment, for which he was glad. It meant that he would not be searching around for any number of guests that could be staying. There were only two floors all together, so he knew that it would not take long for him to find them. He liked two. Two was a good number. Two was a simple number.

"Anyone home?" he shouted, his voice travelling back to him due to the echoing halls.

In no time at all he was on the first floor. There were six rooms which meant that his two new best friends could be in any of the six rooms.

He kicked open the door closest to him, pulling out his gun at the same time. "Honey, I'm home," he cackled, stepping into the room.

At a first glance nobody was there, but The Joker knew that if the people had heard the ruckus that had been happening downstairs then they would be hiding. He checked underneath the bed, in the wardrobe and in the bathroom before concluding that there was nobody in this room.

Therefore he went into the next room. He completed the same routine for the next three bedrooms, finding nobody in any of them. That left only two rooms.

A smile filled his face. "I wonder where they could be?" he said aloud, sarcasm filling his voice.

He kicked open the first door to find what he thought to be an empty room. However, before he could step into the room, something whacked into his head from behind, causing him to drop the gun. His head hurt but the blow had not been hard enough to cause him to topple over.

"Ouch," he said sarcastically as he grabbed onto the person who had tried to knock him down. He wasn't surprised to be looking down into the face of a burly looking man. It was always the men that fought back.

"That was stupid," he said, as he slammed the man against the wall and took out his knife.

"I've called the police," the man said, his voice growing higher with each word. "They're gonna get you and lock you up, you freak."

The Joker was angry at the man's words. "Freak?" he roared. "Freak? Who're you calling a freak, hmm?"

The man opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. "Oh you can't speak now?" he mocked the man.

"Fuck you," the man snarled at him.

The Joker reached forward and grabbed the man's chin, prying his mouth open with his gloved hands. "Open wide," he snarled. Once the man's mouth was open wide enough, the Joker's knife darted into the man's mouth and sliced along the back of the man's tongue. The man screamed, over and over, trying to move away from him but he carried on cutting into the man's tongue until it eventually came out. Blood poured from the man's mouth, dripping down his chin as all of a sudden he stopped screaming, the shock obviously setting in. The tongue was still in the Jokers hand and he looked at it, a look of fascination upon his face, before he threw it to the ground.

The Joker was still holding onto the man. "I'm glad that you got rid of my gun," he said, pointing to the gun that now lay on the floor. "You know why? Because I find guns too quick. You can't savour all the… little… emotions. You see, in their last moments, people show you who they really are. So in a way, I know you better then anyone else did. I mean look at you," he said, looking at the snivelling mess of a man in front of him. "You're disgusting. You should welcome death," he whispered into his ear before slitting his throat.

"One more to go," he said brightly, as he skipped out of the room, leaving a bloody mess behind him.

It was only when he was about to go into the final room that he heard the scream coming from downstairs.

He stopped for a moment, feeling slightly shocked, before running down the corridor and down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

A young girl of around seventeen years old was kneeling on the floor in front of Isabella's body, screaming.

When she saw him standing at the bottom of the stairs she screamed even louder and attempted to run towards the door but unfortunately for her, he was faster then she was.

He tutted at her as he grabbed her around the waist and held her against him. "Two beautiful girls in one day. It must be my lucky day," he said, running his fingers through her long, blonde hair.

Her screams had stopped but she was now whimpering quietly to herself.

"It's alright sweetie. I won't hurt you."

"Yeah right. I bet you say that to everyone," she muttered. Her words were ignorant but her tone was one of fear. Despite her brave words she was still terrified of him.

He chuckled and she flinched from the harsh sound. "I like you," he whispered into her ear, "You're better then poor little Isabella over there. Maybe you won't turn out like her. I could ke-" He broke off with a gasp of pain, as she elbowed him in the stomach, causing him to let go of her. "Or maybe you will turn out like her," he counteracted angrily, running towards her and grabbing her by the hair.

"No!" she screamed at him, but he only pulled harder on her hair, causing her to scream even louder in pain.

"You may be the second beautiful girl I've seen today, but you're also the second person who's tried to hurt me. And I don't. Like. Being. Hurt." He slashed the knife against her cheek to emphasise his point.

In the distance he could hear the sound of sirens. "We don't have much time. How about I tell you a story to make you go to sleep? Eh?" He waited and answered as if she had given him an answer. "Ah, okay you twisted my arm. I'll tell you the story of how I got these scars."

"My father was a drinker," he started, "And a fiend. And one night he goes off crazier than usual. Mommy gets the kitchen knife to defend herself. He doesn't like that. Not. One. Bit." The girl shook in The Jokers hands but he continued with his story. "So, me watching, he takes the knife to her, laughing while he does it. Turns to me and he says "Why so serious?" Comes at me with the knife, "Why so serious?" He sticks the blade in my mouth. "Lets put a smile on that face!" And that's how I got these scars. What a great story that was."

The Joker slashed the knife against the girl's throat before throwing her to the ground. "Look, she's asleep," he cackled wildly.

The police sirens got closer and The Joker decided that it was time to finish up.

Walking over to Isabella's body he dipped his hand on the blood on the floor and hurriedly scrawled a message on the wall.

'To Batman. My present to you. Love The Joker'

Next to the message he drew a smiley face. "And we're done," he muttered, before walking towards the back door. However before he got there a plaque above the hotel desk caught his eye.

'This hotel belongs to Bruce Wayne's Enterprises.'

The Joker laughed gleefully at this. The hotel belonged to Bruce Wayne. Maybe it wasn't an accident that he had chosen this hotel after all. He hated Bruce Wayne with a passion. All of that money he owned had corrupted him and made him a man who was protected from chaos, or so he thought. Maybe he'd have to change that.

He took one last look at the bloodbath behind him before walking through the backdoor, laughing all the way. One day not only Bruce Wayne, but everyone else in Gotham City would burn and it would all be at the hands of the man good enough to complete the job. The Joker. The Clown Prince of Crime.