Psycho Killer's Game ✓ Book I

0.1 | october

Edited — June 14th, 2022

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ANNE LITTLE
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OCTOBER, 1995

HE COULD'VE killed her years ago if he wanted to, but he hasn't yet.

His hazel eyes held a darkness to them as he paced in front of her smaller frame. The bolts in his head turned as he was pacing, lips parted to speak, but he would close them a second later and shake his head. Trent did that a lot when he was plotting something that was exciting to him, a small hop in each step he was taking.

Ethan and Arlo were in the small lounge room, watching a rerun of some show. It was a bit too loud, but it helped keep the eerie feeling out of the even smaller kitchen. Whatever Trent was thinking in that dark mind of his, Anne knew she would not be as excited as he looked, because whatever left his tongue, it would only seem atrocious. But if she didn't show the same excitement as he did, she could only wait until the bedroom door closed with both Trent and her inside, his rough and painful hand loaded at his side, ready to throw bruises to her already painted pale skin. It sent icy shivers down her spine just thinking about it.

He ran his hand through his unruly chocolate hair, some curled, others standing up to say hi. He snapped his head toward her with a gleam hidden in his hazel eyes; a gleam so evil looking, it casted a dark shadow over his defined facial features; high cheekbones, sharp jaw, perfect nose, but the hypnotic powers of his eyes made her look past the malicious shadows creeping over his face.

"Arlo is three now, right?" His voice was heavy with excitement as a cheshire cat smile pounced on his lips. Anne dismissed the fact he forgot how old his second born was, too busy out in the woods with their eight-year-old son, Ethan. And not to mention Arlo's birthday was only about a week ago on October 3rd. It was obvious Ethan was Trent's favourite. Maybe it was the same look they had in both of their hazel eyes, or the baleful half smile they gave each other during dinner.

Father like son.

But Arlo? He was her little angel, the adorable blue specks in the bottom half of his hazel eyes, captivating and full of life. Even at three, he was bubbly and sweet, everything she would have hoped for in a child.

"Yes, he is," she said softly, her blue eyes darting around his face, trying to understand where he was going. . .

"Good," he nodded as he spoke, dropping his gaze from her and looking at the wooden floors below his feet, pacing back and forth again. "Good."

Anne squinted her blue eyes at her husband, tilting her head to the side a little in question. "Why?"

His ears picked up on her question, lifting his head up in alert before looking back at his wife, a baleful half smile taking over the left side of his mouth. "I want to take him out with me and Ethan. What do you say, gorgeous?"

Endearment: a futile attempt to gain her trust.

Her dark brows furrowed at his words and her thin arms crossed over her chest. "To do what?" It came out harsher than she would have liked, creating a grimace to crossover her face.

"Boy stuff." It was a quick response. He didn't even need to think about it because it was already programmed into the list of things to keep her out of his business.

"Can I ask what kind of boy stuff?" Her voice was shaking from the look of his eyes hardening on her, making her feel like he was pushing her into a small box she could barely fit into. She was pretty small, ribs showing and hollow cheeks, already looking like a walking ghost, but the tables were turned. She was being haunted by her own husband.

"For fuck's sake, woman, boy stuff!" His voice was less human and more monster-like as her body jolted at the volume of his words. Her thin arms shrunk into her body, shoulders tightening and reaching up to her jaw. A portion of her life left her body.

"Tomorrow I'm taking Arlo out with Ethan and I," he said, stepping closer to her. She took a step back, bumping into the kitchen bench behind her. "No more foolish questions. He'll be fine," he assured her, smiling. "Like Ethan," he added before walking out of the kitchen toward the boys in the lounge.

Anne's knees buckled out from beneath, luckily she turned around and held herself up with the help of the bench. Her soul started hurting, being squeezed by phantom hands. The thought of watching what happened to Ethan happening to her sweet, kind angel swarmed her mind. She remembered when the look in Ethan's eyes changed from child-like wonder to something so close to his father's after Trent took him out to the woods when he was around four.

And the worst part was, she couldn't do anything to stop Trent from taking her little angel out with him to the woods. She could only hope—even at such a young age—Arlo understood what was happening and turned his head away from whatever happened out there.

ＡＵＴＨＯＲ'Ｓ ＮＯＴＥ

Word Count: 800+

The chapters 0.1, 0.2, 0.3 and 0.4 were supposed to be one chapter, the prologue, but it would've been too long for a prologue all together, so I decided to do what Mary Shelley did at the start of Frankenstein. These chapters were added in, lol, i'm still trying to write chapter 18.

— DYLAN.