HELLO LISA

DID YOU LIKE THE LETTER I SENT YOU?

Staying up all hours of the night? Not healthy for you at all, Lisa dear. Why, when I stopped by, you were sleeping on the floor, using The Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man as a pillow while cradling Sabriel like a teddy bear. Of course it wouldn’t do for an upstanding lady to be found in such a compromising position, would it? I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty of moving you to a more respectable location.

My, what a large house you live. How strange it is, for a lone woman to be living in a house so very large. One filled with so many memories and skeletons. Have you told our audience why it is that a young woman like yourself is in possession of such a spacious house?

Did you ever tell them about Daddy Dearest? Poor young Lisa, always so desperate for parents’ love. What a futile hope. Daddy never could be made happy, could he Lisa? You were always disappointing him. If only you had been smarter, maybe if you’d been prettier, perhaps if you hadn’t failed at every task he gave you, you wouldn’t have gone to sleep every night after night after night covered in bruises. But you could never too that. You were too much of a failure for that.

So many years this went on! Even a monster such as myself could have learned a few things about causing pain from Daddy. His only failing was that he did not realize what your breaking point would be; had he just held that awareness, how many more wonderful years could he have continued the performance?

You always have been so fond of your fantasies, haven’t you Lisa? Running away to your little make believe lands, where you don’t think the real world can hurt you. Daddy hated your little escapes. Hated that you possessed a way to hide from his grasp, even if it was only for fleeting moments. And one day, his hatred turned into action. What a brilliant fire those pages must have created!

For the first time, little Lisa gained her voice. In response to this threat against her one refuge of happiness, little Lisa spoke out. Harm to your own person was tolerable, but harming books? Heaven forbid.

You should have known better than to defy Daddy. He didn’t like that. Not at all. I don’t believe he had ever held as much rage before, which is a true accomplishment. Bruises? Those were the least of your concerns in the beating which followed. But it’s not as though you needed your left leg’s bones to be intact. Or your rib cage. And this time, when he took his belt off, it wasn’t because he meant to hit you with it, was it Lisa? WAS IT, LISA?

Hours later, you were still lying there, next to the ashes of your books, clothes ripped apart, salt on your cheeks from your dried tears. Practically comatose. What was it that sparked you into movement? Maybe after I have devoured you I will know, but for the time I can only watch in wonder. Ignoring the crippling pain which you no doubt were experiencing, you stood on your feet, took a knife from the kitchen, and limped to your parents’ room. Lying there before you was the brute, asleep and snoring. You finally wanted your long desired revenge, Lisa? Finally would have the courage to meet violence with violence? Snicker snack went your knife, through the sheets, through the skin, trailing red everywhere….. You might have killed him there, had your mother not woken in time to stop you.

When the ambulances arrived, the story was that your injuries had been a result of Daddy trying to defend himself from his insane daughter’s unprovoked attack. No one was surprised by the tale. They always did think of you as the odd sort. “It’s always the quiet ones who snap,” they all told each other.

Sometimes I wonder what delightful tortures would have been inflicted on you had Daddy returned. I have no doubt that they would have been AMAZING. But so fortunately for you, Daddy was burned alive in his own hospital bed the same day Mommy experienced a fatal car crash. The beatings were over, but they were replaced by the years of apathetic therapy. Judging by your current state, I don’t believe it helped much.

With your legal guardians dead, it fell onto your relatives to assume care of you. But why would any of them want to raise YOU? They didn’t even want to associate with you. You were a black mark of shame on the family. They simply wished to push you aside and keep you out of sight until the scandal went away. So they sent you to one of the family’s old homes in Fairfax, where they would regularly check to make sure you were staying silent, praying you would die quietly and they could stop dealing with you.

I really should apologize to advance to them. As you most certainly are not going to be dying quietly. NOT. AT. ALL!

I wonder. If spontaneous combustion is the karmic retribution for those that rape you…. What horrible punishment could be given to me after I inflict what I am planning to do to you?

Oh, shivers of anticipation run down my spine whenever I consider it.

Sincerely,
Grendel