My name is Katrina Ector. I'm twenty-four years old, five foot five, and have brown hair.
I'm also a serial killer.
I don't really wish to be, but it's something that I've learned to deal with over the years. As is the fact that I'm completely insane. I tried to check myself in to a mental hospital, but I burned it down. So I've learned to survive as I am.
Perhaps it's all getting to me. Maybe that's why I'm starting this blog. To confess. I've always been told that guilt is the undoing of most criminals. I think by this point I'd turn myself in if I could. But that would just end in more deaths. Blank would never let me turn myself in.
Blank is my imaginary friend. I called him that because he has no face. I assume that felt original for a six year old. I know that Blank isn't real. I know that the deaths he causes are really me. But I can't stop myself from seeing him, from sensing him, from seeing him kill. And in my lonely existance, I guess I've come to see him as a friend.
But it wears on me. The running, cleaning up after Blank's messes, never getting close to anyone. Blank tells me that I just need to wait. He doesn't speak, but I understand him anyway. He tells me that soon everything will be fixed and I can go with him.
I've never been good at waiting.