Happy Birthday
Samantha Fugate
Summary:
There are some crazy people in this world. And I am among them. I will admit to you my dark side, and a side that I hadn't discovered until I met Nancy. Too bad she only had one side, and a thick mask that revealed who she really was once you peeled it back layer by layer.
Prologue:
Let's start with introducing myself. My name is Logan Hazelwood. I'm 28 years old. I never graduated high school. I don't know where my parents are. They left me to the birds when I was 14. I am just going to say it how it is. I am a killer. So far, I have killed 17 girls, including Nancy, but we will get to that later. My parents moved away on my 14th birthday, which is why I have this anger raging inside of me. Ever since that day, I stalk girls and kill them on their birthdays. If I didn't get to enjoy mine, why should they get to enjoy theirs?
Chapter 1: Reputation
I've always wondered if I was meant to turn out the way I am. Maybe it's just me, my mind playing tricks on me. It does that a lot. I'm aware that I have problems. I'm aware that I am sick, with an evil sickness that takes over my thoughts. I can't think straight; I can't do anything without the sickness telling me if it is right or wrong. I don't like it.
When I was five, my parents noticed that I wasn't like the other kids. That was when they actually cared about me. At school, we had an hour of free-time. We could draw, play, or talk to our friends. I would draw every time. The other kids drew flowers and butterflies, but not me. I drew dead people.
I didn't have many friends. The ones that I did have didn't last long. Once they got to know me, they decided that I was too weird. After a while, I got used to it. Then it progressed to where I didn't even care. Pretty soon, I was just a face in the hall. I didn't live, I merely existed. Which, at times was hard, but others easy.
There were bullies at my school, but you'll find those everywhere in this world. Pretty much everyone bullied me, even the teachers. I remember one of them, Mr. Eastwood. He was my least favorite. There was this test that I had failed in his class. He yelled at me in front of everyone. In the middle of his loud, humiliating lecture, he told me that I served no purpose on this planet. That hurt me, a lot.
When I started to become a teenager, about age twelve, that's when I began to take an interest in girls. It didn't last long, though. I had developed a crush on this girl named Kelsi Hobbs. She was beautiful, smart, funny; everything that a guy wanted in a girl. Then I had gathered enough courage to ask her out one day. She informed me that she, neither any other girl in the seventh grade, didn't like me and never would. My heart was instantly shattered, and would never be put back together.
When I turned thirteen, my parents had started to realize that I was hopeless. I was just a hopeless cause, an incurable disaster. Once I got that stuck in my brain, I figured I might as well live up to what everyone thinks of me. So, I didn't care either. My grades were dropping, I was late to all my classes, and I skipped school on certain occasions. I bet it was a party when I was gone. Or maybe they never even noticed at all.
I could understand why parents didn't like me, but they didn't have to rub it in my face that I was a disgrace and an embarrassment to them. Some days, I wouldn't even bother going home after school. I just walked around the neighborhood. I looked around to see what I had missed all that time. I envied the kids who came home, welcomed by a hug or a, 'how was your day?'.