I'm sorry guys. It's been really hectic with reality. Working extra hours and everything else in life. I finally got to adding this chapter within a matter of hours. Pretty fast I think but it should be good. It's just a little side-step from what will be happening in the next chapter. All hell is going to break loose and that's all I will say about Chapter 8. I maybe working on it tonight when I get off from work. Hopefully at that time I'll be on the ball with the story. I also got sidetracked with some one-shot's that came to my mind. Check them out "Senses" and "Serenade with the Devil". I know that HeyItsKATE has been messaging me asking me to continue on with the next chapter. Here ya go, HeyitsKATE, I thought of you and got it done, lol. This is where we start to see the falling out of Freddy and Loretta. Enjoy!
Without further due...
October 1967.
I'm getting really tired of having to deal with Loretta breathing down my neck all the fucking time. What is her deal? All she does is ask questions of "Are you alright?" and "Where are you going, Fred?" It's like deal with a fucking puppy I want to strangle by it's small neck. She's finally letting Katherine crawl around the house after I had to yell at her to stop being so protective over my daughter. She thought it was a hurtful thing to say, but I really don't care anymore. She's been holding Katherine everywhere she goes, not putting her down to even eat. That's really stupid. Such a worrisome thing, Loretta is. If she isn't holding Kathering, worrying about her swallowing something that even is too big to put around her mouth, she's yelling at me. It's over the same bullshit that she argues about every day, like she's never talked about it before.
She wonders why I keep going out all the time. Why after my shift that I just want to go for a drive or work overtime. I keep telling her it's about the money I'm worried about; I want Katherine to have pretty things like new dolls and clothes.
That's what you tell them.
Shut up! Anyways…that's what I tell her. I don't want her to know the real reasons as to why I go out a night. Two things come to my mind when I do what I do; One: I'm tired of sitting at home, with Loretta crying about how she has to clean everything up in the house, how she has to do everything when I'm not there. Bitch, bitch, bitch. That's all I ever hear.
I'm getting a headache just listening to you bitch about her bitching.
Well, I'm sorry. It seems that no one else fucking listens to me when I have things on my mind. I've about had it with all her shit. I've already hit her once for raising her voice at me. She was bitching about the stove, because it had caked-on macaroni and cheese. I'm sorry I am not as good in the kitchen; I'm not perfect. She basically came into the living room and stood there waiting for me to notice her face, all puffy and red.
"Yes, honey?"
"What is this?" she asked me. She holds up on a rag a couple noodles burned with dried cheese.
"Dinner?" I asked.
"No! This is from 3 days ago, Fred. I've asked you repeatedly to clean up after yourself when you come home late. I don't understand why I have to keep bothering you with it. You just sit here night after night, staring into the television, not even recognizing the effort I put into this house to keep it safe and clean. I can't have Katherine growing up in a house that's messy. It can get her sick."
"So what you are telling me, Loretta is that I'm lazy?" I said looking at her. She just blatantly said that I'm lazy and that I really don't care for my own daughter. What got into her fucked-up mind to ask such a question to me?
She knew then I was serious when I asked her. "No, that's not what I mean. What I mean is-"
"So you don't think I care for the safety and health of my own child? Who are you to come in here, raise your voice at me for some caked-on macaroni that was on the stove? Listen, Loretta, every time I come home, I have you hear you bitch at me for something so small that turns into a life threatening issue to the safety of my own fucking daughter."
"Please, Fred. Don't use that language." And then I was pissed.
"HEY! You don't tell me what to do in my own home. I pay the bills here I work my fucking ass off to make things so comfortable to you and Katherine. Get off your high horse and don't tell me how I should talk in my own fucking home. For you to know, don't come in here with this prideful look on your face and say that I don't care for my own daughter. Don't you ever come in here and boast to me of how I should clean my house."
"It's our house, Fred, not just yours. I'm just concerned for the well-being of Katherine, is all."
Let her have it, Fred. She doesn't care about you or what you do for the family. She wants to close off Katherine from you. The cursing, the food left on the stove; I've had enough and so have you.
I got up and stood in front of her. I took my hand and just swiped it across her face. The contact was a high powered clap, reverberating off the walls. She stumbled over and held her face, red and swollen. She looked up at me and thought the world came crumbling down. I bent down to her.
"The only thing you care about in MY house is the fact you want to still live the dream of a happy family. You want this, you want that. I need this, I need that. I've worked my hands to the bone so that you can buy your fucking nic-knacks and dollies. I don't give a shit what you think about the well-being of my daughter. All you do now days is hold Katherine in your hands. She's a year old for Christ sakes; she should be crawling around the house, getting into things. She's a God-damn child. She's not a trophy for you to hold up whenever someone comes through that fucking door. Let her roam around the house and be a parent, not a fucking burden. This is MY house Loretta; you are my FUCKING WIFE, NOT MY MOTHER! So don't come in here and place blame on me for the slightest thing that seems out of your petty world. Get out of your fucking world of gold and silver. Let that mark on your face be a warm welcome into the world of reality. Now leave me alone so I can enjoy the rest of my night without your bitching and complaining."
She got up from the floor and I remember her having tears in her eyes. I felt a little bit of sorrow for her but she had it coming. I can't keep being yelled at for being a human.
I told you. Underwood is in her, that little cunt. Don't forget Freddy, you aren't getting any from her since Katherine came into the world.
Don't blame that on Katherine. She's a child, she doesn't know any better.
Well then who can you blame?
They were right. Who else could I blame for not getting advancement from Loretta; none other than the devil herself. She would always fake of a headache or she didn't want to wake Katherine. Has she ever heard of shutting the fuck up? I've done it for so long, that it's like being the wind. It's there. It's happening and yet no sound is made. Why does she have to scream when she comes? I did like in the beginning, but now it's just annoying. It's not even unbridled, more forced than anything. After a while I just ignored her screaming and moans; they meant nothing to me now. I got what I want and felt better for myself. Is that wrong?
Anyone else would think it was. She eggs on the thought. She doesn't come when you ask. She doesn't tell you the real reasons as to why she doesn't just jump to the occasion. Why does it seem that way, Fred? You are keeping secrets from her; she may be keeping some from you.
Every time that thought comes through, my blood boils! Part of me wants to just hit her so hard until her face is nothing but pulp beneath my knuckles. Another part just doesn't care. I get what I want and I'm satisfied. I don't give a fuck that she feels sorry or hurt or whatever thought that comes to her mind. If only she knew the real pleasure that escaped through my lips when she wasn't there. I'm getting fed up with trying to get any from her. I mostly just spend my time in the shower, or in the cellar; looking over pictures of kids. Those kids give me the power and pleasure. When ever I do advance Loretta, it's just out of pity now. It's the same thing I've grown accustomed to and I know where everything is; where her spots are. There's no real adventure anymore. It's just sad, really.
At least you get some and she just lays there like a rotten corpse. HA! Now I know the idea of lying there like a rug! That's Loretta. A piece of shit rug that you just walk over and lay on.
He he. Hey got to admit, these voices have a sense of humor after all.
February 1968.
Big bad storm brewing inside. Can't keep hidden for long. I can't do this sporadically. Have to have more. The kids are calling me. I hear them speak my name when they walk pass. The loneliness I feel keeps growing. The power keeps growing. My cunningness of luring is growing. I feel obligated to do this. I have to submit to the demons in my head. They talk to me. They talk of fantasies that brew in their thoughts; I get so turned on at the fact. The urges are coming through full force. I'm almost at the breaking point. I don't want Loretta or Katherine to know. I can't do this to Katherine. Loretta I don't care for anymore. She's not pure. She's used, like a grocery bag. Easy to dispose of. I need to dispose of this. Where? When? How? These ideas still come through my head. I don't know if they are good enough to know. I'm up to 10 children now. Sometimes I feel that I can't control these urges. They smell so good. The taste so delectable. They are so beautiful when they are cut, gutted and displayed before me. It's art. So beautiful.
So beautiful…
The news reports are starting to fill up with missing cases of children. I try not to laugh and snicker when I see their faces posted on the TV. screen. Loretta sits there and sobs, ugh it's pathetic. Katherine just looks into the TV. She doesn't understand. Loretta doesn't understand, and I don't think she ever will. Dumb bitch.
But I do….he he.
March 1968.
I'm getting very paranoid now. I think I'm letting the parent's on. I keep seeing their eyes look me up and down trying to find out if I'm the one silencing the life that shines in their eyes. The narrowed eyes, the stares and whispers. It's getting too much to bear. I just want to scream at them LEAVE ME ALONE! I DIDN'T MESS WITH YOUR KID! At some points I just want to just admit. "Yeah, I'm the one who keeps taking your children. I'm the one that cuts them with my knives. I see their eyes die in front of me. I did it. I did it."
But I don't. I'll let them keep guessing.
It's better to have some mysterious-ness about you, Fred. Makes you who you are. With several children now missing, the parents wonder if they just ran away or someone really caught up with them. Shh….I won't tell will you, Fred?.
Of course, I'll never tell.
June 1968.
They are calling the murder of children in the area the Springwood Slasher. I kinda like the ring of that. Very cunning yet to the point.
Not a whole lot of creativity when into that. It's just right for you, Fred. You've earned it, kid!
I feel proud to have that name. When Loretta reads me the articles about the missing children or the ones found that I didn't have the chance to run to the boiler. She gasps and does her "Oh, God above." Speech when the details are in the articles. I just continue to read the sports section and just ignore her. She wonders about me, well from what she says when she does talk to me. She's worried about the long hours I have and yet she doesn't see it when I deposit my check.
Uh oh. We forgot about that. Think of something good. Something to throw her off.
I would tell her it's from going to the bar once in a while to have a drink. With my sweet voice I tell her that sometimes at work we get a lot to do and it's just when you had enough you need a release.
A release. Nice one, Fred.
She goes on to believe it, I hope. That had to been one of the worse excuses I've given her since I decided to stay out. She doesn't know it thought but I'm always home. She never hears the screams, the wails that are heard in the cellar. She does hear me banging on metal as I still improve my blades. She never hears the truck start or ever leaving the driveway (that's because I put in neutral and then decide to kick it when I'm down the road a little).
I came up with that idea. Don't make it to be that you had the idea.
I'm not. I'm just saying. She never knows about the clothes I wear that I scrub the tissue, burnt flesh and blood from my shirt and pants. She never worries about why there is a load in the dryer when she did the last load the night before. She never worries about the scratches I get on my hands and arms. She thinks it's from work.
Well, she is right. It's from work.
I got onto her the other night about going into the cellar. Luckily there was nothing down there but the empty plates of food and glasses half full with milk. I caught her coming up from the outside doors.
"What are you doing here, Loretta?" The burning feeling in my stomach engulfed me. I walked up to her and demanded an answer. She just looked at the ground with the dishes in her hands.
"I asked you a question, Loretta. When someone asks you a question, you are to answer it, my dear."
"I-I-went down to the cellar here to ask you if you had any dishes I needed to wash. You didn't answer so I just went down-"
"So you just went down into the cellar, even though I didn't answer? Did it occur to you that I may had been in the house and wasn't in the cellar?" I asked her cautiously.
"I'm sorry, Fred. I won't go down there again. When I call you from the outside and there is no answer, I'll know you aren't down there. I'm sorry, Fred." She said, with the fear in her words. I could hear her breath quickening.
I grabbed her forearm and squeezed tightly. She almost lost her dishes in her arms from the shock of my grasp.
"You do not go down there again. Do you hear me?" I asked her, looking dead into her eyes.
"I won't, Fred. I won't ever go down there." She looked up at me, fear radiating from her eyeballs.
"Good. Now be a good wife, and please wash those. I meant to bring them up before but you know how work can be. So sporadic."
"Of course, Fred." My demeanor changed and I kissed her cheek so lightly. Yuck, her skin takes so oily. She smiled softly and I loosened my grip. She walked back into the house, quickly to the kitchen, placing the dishes in the sink.
You've got her where you want her Fred.
I know…..my little puppy knows not to go down there again. If she does, I'll kill her with my own bare hands.
I know, I know. You want more. So I'll be working on chapter 8 tonight. I will let everyone know that Chapter 8 is going to be a LONG one...based on word count, maybe within the 4000s. Hope you enjoyed. Please as always rate and review. It's not going to go by the full history of the past but it will focus on the majority. Thanks guys!
