The beginning

I was six when I first saw Blank.

I had heard about imaginary friends before that, of course. A bunch of my schoolmates had them. I really didn't. I would occasionally make up a talking bear or a dragon when around others of course, but that was just to fit in. I never saw a thing until Christmas when I was six, then there he was.

Even as a child, when I was supposedly normal, I never fit in well. I tried of course. In fact it was one of my obsessions. I bent over backwards to try to be what others were. But I was always the outsider, the last one picked. Before Blank, not even something imaginary would acknowledge my existence. So of course I welcomed him. I played with him and talked to him. He never exactly talked back, but he was good conversation anyway. For once in my life, I was happy.

I was seven or so when things began to change. Blank's patience seemed to be leading to something. Something he wanted me to do. And one day, he told me.

He opened up his arms, and told me to hug him.

I did.

They found me at the bottom of a ditch, bleeding out and suffering head trauma. I'm still not sure how I got there.

But that's when things started to go sour.

Me

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.