A Killer's Own Ruin

Got photosensitive epilepsy? Step into the dreary town of Ruinridge, where even the highest dose of prescribed valproate won’t save you from the seizures bound to get triggered. You will be met with merciless policemen— relentlessly flashing their illuminances down the gloomy streets— and residents with chilled expressions permanently plastered across their faces’. All of whom are waiting for me to strike again.

Slaughtering people, particularly those who make a distasteful presence in my life, has been my favorite side hobby for the past four years. The mailman— who was discovered beside the local post office with a silver letter opener punctured through his neck and stamps pasted on each eyelid— was my gracious doing after he stared at my voluptuous breasts several beats too long. The boutique manager got a metal hanger hooked through her jaw for selling me stilettos that gave me massive blisters. The chef, simply because he messed up my entrée far too many times. He never cooked my meat to the right temperature, so I will leave it to your imagine how burnt his sculpt got before the griddle station was turned off.

There has always been a rhyme and reason to my killings. Every one of my victims had it coming. I simply saw it as me doing others a favor by eliminating the problems in our small community. Though, the more years I got away with murder, the more on edge the town got. I had to create a similar facade to conceal my crimes, because I learned even the closest person to me wouldn’t appreciate my devoted work.

Therefore, I have made the book you currently have the pleasure of reading, for an audience who respects my passion for cleansing the town. Per se a serial killer’s journal entries with a side of humor. Or a Bad Girl's Ultimate Guide to Parlay the Slay. After all, five homicides without any conviction, I would assume my tactics could religiously be followed if you are trying to remain a free criminal. So, let's dive into my success story….

Victim #1 The Captivating Neighbor April 12, 2021

Radiance over shown through the partition fence even on the thunderous days from her breathtaking beauty. Sabrina was the first in the neighborhood to welcome my husband and me to town. Her curved figure was fitted in a bodycon dress and a homemade apple pie accompanied her soft hands. The neutral tone of her manicured nails was an indication of a calm personality.

She had me fooled!

Sabrina just couldn’t stay on her side. Every unexpected knock on the front door was a signal that gossip would be vomited across my hardwood floors or a plea for my husband’s assistance would escape between her Botox injected lips.

“I will be right back, my love,” my husband said with his ungroomed hair as dark as Earth’s rich soil and clothing tainted with the scent of hardworking sweat. Nothing more attractive than your eye-candy holding a power tool as he assembles a new addition to your home.

“Let me,” I responded. Assuming he was going to get a refreshment to remain hydrated in the scorching heat. “I should’ve gotten up sooner. Would a Bud Light or Power Aid tickle your fancy?”

“Anything as sweet as you, would be lovely, but that actually isn’t what I was off to do. I received a message from Sabrina. She needs help dismantling the headboard in the guest room. Should take me a few minutes with this drill,” he pulls the trigger.

I FUMED!

When did my husband get added to her contact list? Why isn’t there a man in her life to do household projects? Was she trying to steal mine? Was she trying to seduce him? All rhetorical questions, because I knew no matter the answer, I wouldn’t be satisfied.

That night…… she was dead. It was quite simple for me to slide out of my husband’s arms while he was in deep sleep. Joining beams and posts together is a labor-intensive project that anybody would need to rest from. I didn’t have to worry about any creaky floorboards, footsteps made by clattering claws, or little peering eyes— in our childless and pet free home.

The struggle should've been getting into Sabrina's sanctuary, but unfortunately for her, the spare key was hidden in a predictable spot. Underneath the potted plant on the veranda.

The ultimate challenge was picking a murder weapon. I suggest avoiding firearms for two reasons: 1. They can be far too loud, and 2. Ballistics can trace it back to the suspect. So, I have adopted my first trick… find a weapon at the scene where the crime will take place.

For Sabrina, what was more fitting than injection needles from her own neurotoxin company products? Afterall, an entrepreneur needs to promote her line.

Victim #2 The Creepy Mailman September 17, 2022

Every day, on the clock, the rural postal carrier would extend his wrinkled arm out of the mail-van to deliver addressed letters or small packages. The only time he would exit the vehicle to approach our home was when the deliveries were too large to jam into the mailbox. An antique interior decoration I purchased off Amazon was his invitation up our driveway.

Unfortunately, I was home and outside. The interaction put me off and I questioned…. if he bluntly can linger at my covered chest, what has he done to other ladies on his route?

Becoming frail comes with age. So, I had no doubt, the sixty-two-year-old man would be the last to complete his route and close the government facility. He generously gave me enough time to scope the area for cameras and light posts that offered visibility.

He didn’t know I was waiting. He didn’t know what was coming. I was the element of surprise.

Victim #3 The Charred Chef October 20, 2023

Nick’s Mountainview Pub was the supposed go-to dining experience in town, until the chef was cooked out. He must have paid fraudsters to receive the 4.5-star rating. An executive chef should know the difference between a medium-rare and well-done temperature for my New York strip. I wouldn’t be surprised if his sweat dripped into customers’ nourishment and left a pungent flavor.

After my third appalling experience, I had enough. Leaving a poor review wouldn’t cut it. Not everyone takes constructive criticism well.

This time, I made it look like an accident. A puddle of oil on the tile, the griddle still above four-hundred degree, and for an added touch, I place Nick’s phone just beyond reach.

He tripped, his bald head pressed against the grill (with my helping hand of course), he slipped again and hit his head on the countertop. Tout est fini!

Victim #4 The Not So Chic Boutique Manager January 1, 2025

What better way to start off the New Year than to fulfill an affirmation right on day one? I am to embrace the blistering pain and rid myself all any resentment. Quite literally.

The blisters on my achilles, freshly festered and about to burst, didn’t stop me from going back to the boutique store. I understand it is within the manager’s job description to take advantage of sales opportunities. I draw the line when it comes to blatant lying.

Yes, the expensive high heels matched my desired outfit perfectly for the New Year’s party. Yes, I felt confident and strutted my stuff, but those shoes certainly shouldn’t be worn without nylons. Her advice was utterly wrong and caused an injury. For that reason alone, I made my last appearance at the store.

With no other customers in the premises, I requested her assistance in the one location I knew there couldn’t be cameras, the dressing room.

Before she succumbed to her injuries, she uttered the words, “you monster!”

“I may be a monster internally, but you should see how monstrous you look now.”

“There you have it, an internal monster. Written by her hand and read aloud,” the prosecutor states while walking past the diverse jury. “Your honor, the defendant has claimed the published writing -an excerpt shared with the court today— to be a work of fiction, but it contains accurate details that haven’t been disclosed to the public. State officials are asking for you to take the written work in its entirety as evidence. Though published under the alliance name, Seraphine Ruins, detectives have traced the IP address to Cordelia Vane’s computer. The device had the PDF document saved on the desktop. Other sufficient evidence has been uncovered upon her. Cordelia Vane is extremely dangerous to the general public. Thus, we are strongly requesting a life sentence without the possibility of parole.”

“My chances?”

“Not looking good,” my appointed defense attorney whispers in my direction.

“Any word from my husband, Edward?”

“No ma’am. I apologize, but his absence won’t help your case either.”

I slouch in the seat; consumed with misery I haven’t felt before. I am screwed! So are my attracted book readers if I can’t extend one warning…. Don’t ever document your criminal activities, no matter how cryptic you think you are. Unless of course, you are looking to get caught.

The moment I spotted the police cruisers outside my window was the moment I realized I ruined myself! I was my own ruin.