Candy's the first reason why. I love candy so much. It's so sweet, and sour too, and it can even be-
Oh, right. I'm going off topic. Sorry.
Anyways, after candy, the next reason why I love Halloween is the costumes.
I mean, name another holiday where you can dress in whatever you want that can have fake blood splattered ALL OVER IT.
And fake blood means that I can kill easily.
You didn't know I was a murderer? So you believed I was mental on my own?
I'm offended.
So, every Halloween, something goes funny.
Not bad. Funny.
I'm a very sensitive person. I could laugh very easily, but also cry very easily. Every year, something happens that makes me laugh so hard, tears spill out of my soulless, dead eyes.
So technically, I do both.
This year was no different than the rest and here's how it all started:
I hastily throw my outfit on just like I do every year and when I finish, I smile at my reflection through the red tinted glass that is my vanity mirror.
See, I killed someone in my home, and I ran out of tissues, so I had to use-
Anyways, I swipe away the knife on my bed and run my calloused fingers over the blade. I clean it every year, so I can kill someone without having the knife be already super dirty.
What can I say? I'm a neat freak.
I walk to my window and peer out at the unsuspecting people, all in clown or reaper costumes.
I laugh giddily and do a celebratory dance, moving my hand up and down by my thigh in a gesture my sister calls disturbing but I call awesome.
She's super good at being a killer like me, but I refuse any help she offers me. I could really use it, but if we're being honest...
I just don't say yes because I don't want her to make fun of the way I kill.
That's a very odd thing to make fun of for regular, non mental people, but we've been murderers for as long as we can remember. My first victim was my pet hamster when I squeezed its insides and-
TMI? Yeah, I know. I'm just very open about my life.
It's a normal thing, you know?
I walk down the oak wood staircase, trying to make sure that the steps don't creak under my foot.
I sneak up behind my sister, who's standing in the living room, and I'm about to scare her when she grabs my arm and freaking judo flips me over the ottoman.
"Not today, not last year, not ever," snarls my sister, who's causally smoothing out a piece of her Demogorgon costume.
What? Even killers have obsessions. I'm addicted to Harry Potter.
My back throbbing with pain, I stand up and roll my eyes. She's better than me at karate.
Actually, she's better than me at everything.
"What are you planning to do today, besides kill?" my sister Theresa asks, picking up a magazine from our lamp table and skimming through it, then placing it back down.
"In the words of Napoleon Dynamite, 'Whatever I feel like, gosh.'"
She chuckles and ruffles my hair, causing me to swat her hand away. I hate when she does that. Makes me feel like a little kid again.
I'm not that mental, see?
"Ok, I vill leave you to it," I say, impersonating a Russian, though I don't have the slightest idea why or even what a Russian sounds like.
I open the door and step out, breathing in the fresh air of Halloween and soon to be murder.
Yay.
I scan the crowd of teens closest to me and decide to approach them. In reality, I'm 25. But I can pass off for a 17 year old, right?
You better think about how you want to answer that. I can hunt you down.
Next Halloween, of course.
Duh. I'm not wasting the rest of my year for you.
I walk up to them, and try my best to impersonate a teenager who's cool. While I walk, I thrust my hip out forwards, not quite understanding what that's supposed to be or do.
"What's up, dawgs?" I say a bit too loudly to the teens, causing almost everyone on the freaking block to look at me.
One of the teens, a brunette, walks up to me, smiles, and ruffles my hair.
Giiiirrrrl, I almost stabbed her.
"Hey, Hanna! Nice costume. You look totally different," she says, beaming that sappy smile.
I look around, not aware as to who the heck she's talking to.
"Is this Pretty Little Liars or something? I'm not Hanna. Heck, I'm not even blonde!" I say, letting my mouth do whatever the fuck it wants.
The whole group erupts into extra ear piercing laughter, making the whole block look at us again and making me want to hide and run away from these bozos due to embarrassment.
I'm thinking there's a reason why this 'Hanna' girl didn't show up.
Cause she smart.
"Well, let's go to the party," says one of the boys, who seems to be looking at me way too much.
My voice catches in my throat. Does he suspect me? How can he already suspect me? I'm wearing a fucking masquerade mask!
The teens walk ahead of me down the endless seeming sidewalks. I stay far in the behind so they don't see me acting cautious of the boy who keeps looking at me.
The boy looks me up and down and realization builds in the pits of my stomach.
Or brain. Whatever.
Anyways, I found out he thought I was attractive and that's why he was looking at me.
What can I say? Killing people is an exercise, am I right?
I suddenly form a plan and have to cover my mouth to hide my smirk.
I can lure him away to go 'do something' and then stab him while he's eating my neck.
Ew, sorry. I don't like the idea of him on me, either. I have to kill him, though. He's a victim falling right into my hands!
I walk next to him and he looks me up and down again then swallows nervously, and I have to cover my mouth to stop from bursting out laughing.
This guy doesn't look like the nervous type. He has sterling blue eyes, blonde hair, and a built body. Totally a cool kid.
I lean in to whisper in his ear, "You look good."
He nervously laughs then looks at me. "You do too," he says at a failed attempt to be seductive, although I wasn't about to tell him that.
Rule one of being a killer: keep the victim happy.
Until you kill them.
Then it really doesn't matter how they're feeling.
For such a cute guy, though, he's a terrible flirter.
"How about we get out of here? Go do something a little more fun?" I say, nudging his shoulder with mine.
I catch him relaxing and I almost raise my eyebrow. He leans in even closer and says, "Sure."
I grab his cold hand and resist the urge to let go as I drag him to a secluded barn. This is my number one killing spot, because the cow manure blocks the smell of the blood and flesh.
Or maybe I should just say because it's secluded.
I walk inside the stable, and here comes the gross part.
I have to kiss him. I hold the vomit back and kiss him eagerly, hoping I don't just barf into his mouth.
Right away, he starts kissing my neck and I slowly pull the knife out of my bag that I grabbed out of the way out.
His eyes widen, and he's about to say something when I shove the knife into his stomach.
"Sorry. Guess you should've known I wasn't here to do what you wanted. But next year, yeah?" I joke, watching his eyes roll back into his head.
Suddenly, I hear a chomping noise and my head cracks to the side and and I see a guy with black hair and a mustache (no more than 18 though), eating Lays Potato chips and looking at me.
"Hi," I say, realizing I have blood all over me, I'm holding a bloody knife, and there's a dead body under me.
He puts another chip in his mouth, whistles, and leaves causally.
Looks like someone knows the importance of killing.
That's why he left, right?
Wait, nope. The police are outside.
(Ta Da!! I hope you enjoyed, although the actual killing scene in itself was rushed because I got tired and wanted to finish it so I could have enough energy to work on my OWN series. Sorry for the horrible entry though but I hope you liked this comedic twist on this contest.)
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