They always thought I was a little strange. I never liked hanging out with other kids, making friends, going on family outings to the zoo or to Grandma's. I was content to be by myself, although when I was 15 I did volunteer work at the local animal shelter. I love animals, which is more than I can say for my fellow humans. Sometimes I think that it is us that are the animals.
I started realising how different I was when I began to imagine what it would be like to rip my father's throat out with my teeth. I mean, how many people imagine that? How many people imagine the spurt of warm blood on their faces, the feel of the jugular under one's teeth. My father came up to me one day while I was immersed in this fantasy and said to me, "Come on, Big Dan, we'll go hunting." We went up into the woods behind our house. I don't think he knew that the whole time his only child was stalking him, and imagining what it would feel like to cut out his heart, and hold it, still beating, still warm within his hands.
Big Dan. That's what they called me. Kind of fitting, when you're six-two, I guess.
I started having that fantasy about my dad when I was 16. By the time I was 17, I had a new one. I can't remember all of it, but it was one where my father and I would go into the woods, hunting. Only this time, I wouldn't just stalk him. In my fantasy, I cut out his heart and showed it to him before the light faded from his eyes. I would then bury him and his heart, and use my knife, still wet with my fathers blood, to slash my face and my arms. I would then go home and tell my mother that my father had gone crazy and tried to kill me, so I defended myself with my knife. My mother turns away to telephone the police. Big mistake. I thrust my Bowie knife through her while her back is turned. I turn her around so she can look upon the person who did this, so she can look upon this monster she brought into the world.
As far as things go, it didn't quite work out that way. Grandma came to live with us because she was 'unable to look after herself'. At least, that's what she told her doctor. The truth was that she wanted servants to run around after her 24 hours a day. She had been with us about 3 weeks, and I'd had enough. I had to use one of my mother's kitchen knives because my hunting knife was blunt. Never mind, Granny won't be ordering anyone around again, not unless they can do a tongue transplant. Oh well, the dog was grateful for the treat.
My mother and father were out at the time, her at the pharmacy, getting Grandma's dope, and he was at work. I decided then that I would kill them.
My mother walked in around half past three. I don't think she knew what hit her. I waited until she was half way into the kitchen before I slammed the axe into her skull and watched it explode. I took my forever to get her upstairs so I could show my grandmother. Then, I waited for my father.
He got in at six and saw the blood over the kitchen floor. I heard him call to my mother, my grandma, me. When he saw me come out of the living room, covered in blood, he went as white as a sheet. Stupid idiot thought I'd hurt myself. I remember him asking, "What happened, Big Dan? Where's your mom?" I told him that she was upstairs. He'd find out what happened, soon enough.
I followed him up to grandma's room and when he saw them, my father tried to scream. He assumed that someone had tried to burgle the place and things had turned nasty, so he went downstairs to phone the police. "Dad," I said to him when we were at the bottom and he turned to look at me. I don't think he realised, even when the knife sheared through his throat, what I was.
I took a shower and changed my clothes. Then I set out for the one place that I really felt was home. Silent Hill. We had been there once when I was 12, and I didn't want to leave. I had felt that there had been a place for people like me in that town and now I was finally going back.
Silent Hill. I can rest at the bottom of the lake, free from pain, free from fear, free from guilt. Maybe I'll even see my folks again, because you know, I really miss them.