Hey there! (: I'm Linh, if you didn't already know (and if my username isn't an indication), and I have this new idea for a story. It, er, involves a lot of popular concepts, but I'll try to make it as original as I can.
Lots of people here like a good mystery---heck, I know I do---and I believe that the demonic child concept, popularized by Mike Turpen's "Daddy's Little Girl", to whom this prologue is dedicated, is a very interesting and potentially Wattpad-changing idea.
I hope you enjoy this story, and please tell me your opinions on it! I love your feedback, and love to write for those who are willing to read. :3
Lots of love!
They were the sweetest children the Montgomeries had laid eyes on. Walking out of the adoption agency with the three precious girls was the most exhilarating moment of their life.
Of course, that was before they were bludgeoned to death in their cellar.
No one ever found out who killed the middle-aged couple, who were found, skulls bashed, on that foggy September morning. All the Houston police knew was that their adopted children---Ella, Callie, and Alice---had just lost their third foster family.
It was tragic, really. How the biological parents were killed in the car crash, the storming New Year's Day, 2008, when the children were aged 1, 3, and 5, respectively. It had been four years, and it was as if everywhere the girls went, tragedy followed.
May 2009---the first aspiring parents, Mr. and Mrs. Hardy, unable to conceive, turned to the orphanage and adopted the newly orphaned trio. Within two weeks, the couple was found stabbed to death in their luxurious master bedroom. Blood pooled from each of their twenty-nine stabs, until the beige carpet was soaked with the dark red liquid.
December 2010---the Laroques, French aristocrats who recently moved to Texas, were kind socialites who, unfortunately, could not bear any children during their twenty year marriage. Pitying the hapless children, they adopted Ella, Callie, and Alice, and, in the following month, were beaten with a shovel until their brains sufficiently enshrouded the basement floor.
July 2011---the Montgomeries. Everyone knew how that went. They all thought, 'Well, third time's a charm!', but really, they were only another pair of hopeful adoptive parents who ended up rotting in the ground.
The average Joe would probably shrug it off, calling it a gruesome coincidence.
You wanna hear my opinion, honestly? Those girls, the eldest no older than 9, that all the adults called darlings?
I think they're nothing short of devils.
Though, that could be a problem, considering my family, the Turners, was adopting them in a month's time.
I, fifteen-year-old Beatrice Turner, am much too young to die. I've got a plan, but it involves a lot of reckless improv. You know how they say, 'There's a fine line between bravery and stupidity'?
Yeah, what I'm doing is just plain stupid.
YOU ARE READING
They were the sweetest children the Montgomeries had laid eyes on. Walking out of the adoption agency with the three precious girls was the most exhilarating moment of their life. Of course, that was before they were bludgeoned to death in their cellar. Death was not uncommon fo...