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~Spidey

~~THIS IS A HORROR THEMED STORY, INVOLVING THEMES NOT SUITABLE FOR SOME. PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE EASILY SCARED OR DISTURBED. SERIOUSLY. DON'T.~~

I used to live a normal life. Normal neighborhood, normal family, normal girl. I used to like singing, the outdoors, and playing with dolls, which, my mom used to say I was, "too old for". I never had many friends. Or at first, at least. I know it sounds lame, but, I used to have friends by my side, made of procelin and sheep-wool hair.  My dolls. Pretty stupid, I know, but, I guess I got really lonely. Before then, things didn't used to be that way. That was when dad was still around.

My father, was shot in a hit and run accident. The assailants probably didn’t know who he was, but we probably didn't know them either. Not much evidence to find them. In the meantime of the investigation, family members gathered in the old church. And I sang at his funeral. Apparently I sounded like an angel, but that didn’t matter to me anymore. Nothing did. Dad was dead, and he wasn't coming back.

I was numb, unreachable, and very distant. The distinct feeling of apathy was always present around me, or at least that’s what I overheard from gossipy family members, who somehow thought it was of utter importance to whisper like they're screaming to each other. Look at Gracie. Poor girl. Give her time, she'll get back to normal. Oh how wrong they would be. From then on, my life was a down-hill slope.

My mother, already struggling to meet ends, took on a separate... "street" job... as I liked to call it. Just the word 'prostitute' wants to make me vomit. We were hanging on by a thread already, and she continued this job for several months, until word of this got around mom’s office.  She lost her stable day job, and with this shitty economy, she had to keep being a prostitute. It wasn’t enough to keep the house, however. After mom lost her job, we had to downsize to a hellhole in a very small town. I guess the fact that pedophiles and serial killers were our neighbors made it worse. The person I reluctantly called mom came home in skimpy outfits, reeking of alcohol and a sense of lost hope.

At the age of 12, I was old enough to stay home without a sitter, not that we could afford it anyways. I was always very bored. Two years in this rats ass town, and still NO friends. But I found a way to make friends. My house, or shack, which ever suits this dump better, was always crawling with mice and other rodents. They seemed nice enough to keep as pets, friends even.  One day, I was playing with my new friend, Roscoe. He was a sewer rat, and he loved stale crackers. But then he did something. Something he would regret.

He bit me, very hard, and b.roke the skin. I just couldn’t understand why he’d hurt me. We were friends. It was angering, throwing me into a silent rage. "Roscoe,” I started. "Why would you do that to me? I'm. Your. FRIEND." I made out through a shaking voice and a few hot tears. "You CANNOT do that to your friend." The next thing that I did… It didn’t even seem like my hands were mine. I tied Roscoe down to a solid plank of wood, limbs outstretched as if he was being dissected in a biology class. I was just going to hang him there, leave him in ‘time out’, but… I found something interesting. A jumper cable, the ones used on cars, lying in the corner of my house. “This seems fun,” I thought, reaching forward for it. Roscoe the rat was killed almost instantly as electricity rushed through his tiny body, the metal clamps secured into either side of his stomach, leaving one smoking, black, and very dead rodent. I carefully removed the clamps, smiling at my work. "See Roscoe? You learned your lesson. Now we can play properly. You're better this way” I whisper, my voiceas sweet as a loving mother. I gently scooped up the corpse, holding him in my arms, and sang him lullabies to soothe him into ‘sleep’.

I loved playing with my new friends. I had Buddy the raccoon, and Suzie the mouse, to name my favorites. All of them lined up on the wall in my room. And the best part was, I could do whatever I wanted with them, and they wouldn’t bite me. The jumper cables helped me with my new friends, of course. I hid them from my mom, too. No one was taking my friends away from me.

Time passed, and this continued until I was 14. One day, I was walking home from school, and heard a faint weeping coming from the park. I turned the other direction to see where it was coming from, to see a little girl all alone. The girl looked about 5 years younger. Since it was dark, anyone without protection in this town was screwed. I approached the girl, and in a voice like honey asked, "what's your name? And why are you alone?"

The girl looks up from her hands. "I-I'm Laura." She makes out. "I-I'm lost."

I smiled down at the girl. "Well, you can't just stay out here at night. Come back with me, to my house. I'll help you. My name's Gracie" I add, sticking out a pale palm to help Laura up. I led the girl back to my house, and then closed the door behind us, a 'click' sound made after turning the lock. “Laura,” I started, a beastly smile across my face “Would you like to be friends?”

She was so innocent and naive, making the perfect friend. "yes please, I'd like that." She grinned back.

I could feel my sweet smile curl into a twisted one, eyeing the jumper cables located in the corner. Poor Laura didn't have time to fight back as she was tied to a wooden beam by my hands, metal clamps gripping on her young skin. I watched her convulse and smoke, a malicious, crooked grin on my face. The shrieks she made as I took her life were music to my ears. When my work was finished, I took the charred, stiff corpse into my room. "See Laura? You're better this way." I whisper. I carresed her in my arms, and I sang her the sweetest of lullabies to soothe my new, obedient friend into ‘sleep’.

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It was all over the news. "16 year old Gracie Sparks found guilty for the murders of 18 local childred, all killed by electrocution. Ordered to attend rehabilitation at the mental assylum. No more information was disclosed by officials."

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