4th Oct – dawn
I must not let things slip again – the days & dates must not get away from me. I must be vigilant – my task is clear – I wait for further instructions – I am the handmaid of my sisters’ salvation.
The thing, the thing, the actual thing is the how & the when & the where and she is obstinately mute on this topic. I have been waiting for direction – but it doesn’t come.
I beg, I cry , I rant – “tell me what to do” – but there is no answer
So, I am forced to consider it myself – how must the changeling die?
She is very clear on one point – I must escape capture, there are those who will not understand my act, they will not see the liberation I am offering, they will trap me & not allow her to complete the circle – it will all be in vain.
So, I need a plan.
What a perfect night for evil – yes I am all too clear that what I am doing could be seen as evil, as unnatural, as the act of a mad woman – but now that I understand I see why this must happen – it is an act of love.
If my twin returns to me, I can be free and as she has so patiently explained to me, the changeling herself is unhappy with her life; her death will also set her free – I can finally make my daughter happy – I can finally be the mother I hoped to be. In death, I can embrace the changeling, hold her to me & show her the depths of my love for her.
It all makes sense and now I have a plan as well.
In the days before everything unravelled, I loved to read murder fiction; I became a cognoscenti of unusual death, of ritual slaughter, of the disposal & dispersal of unwanted bodies. I read books about the monsters outside, to silence the monster inside. I could comfort myself that my few acts of maternal failure, of parental unkindness were nothing when placed on the continuum of human serial killers. I read books that kept my mind quiet, to silence the tiny voice that plagued me, whispering in my ears “you could do that” “that’s what you’re like” “you know you want to” – I became most interested in the most bizarre, the killer cannibals, the dungeon masters, the collectors of grisly souvenirs – the ones I was most definitely not like, after all I reasoned, all parents struggle with their children, all fantasise about that moment of inattention – I steadfastly ignored the fact that even I was sure that most parents did not fantasise about their child’s funeral.
But, now all this reading has revealed itself as a very useful resource, I have achieved killers 101, I have a game plan.
Nov 5th – another bonfire night
– I have a strong feeling of a journey undertaken; I am quite literally, not the woman I was, when I look down at myself, my lack of substance is ironically the most substantial thing about me – I continue to vanish at a rate.
Her voice is quieter now, she comforts me with visions of what the future will be, a continuous soft monologue , she murmurs into my ears as seductive as any lover. I try and keep myself as still and quiet as possible, mouse-like I creep about, my whole attention focussed on her voice – I am waiting for the signal, but I have learnt my lessons well, I know now that I must do nothing to attract attention, no more make shift sound proofing, no more careful arrangement of furniture within the apartment – everything must seem normal, I must seem normal and I have hit upon a way to drown out all other sound without the possibility of marking myself out.