It, by Jessica MacEwen

It’s very cold in this room. The floor is wet and the breeze blowing in through the window chills the air. I have been here for many months now, on my own in this cell, sprawled across the pale grey sheets on my bed. My name is Harold, Harold Brum. Why must they be so cruel to me? I shouldn’t be here. I am not deranged! Wasn’t I cautious? Wasn’t I prudent in my planning? It was a genius plan, the cleverest. I can still smell her skin. How I lust for her beautiful silkiness, the pale of her cheeks, the satiny white of her arms. She was a real beauty. Such a beauty! Her name was Amelia Johnson. But you’re probably wondering how I got here…It all started December 19th when I had been visiting my fiancé in Los Angeles.

We had been trying for kids for quite sometime now, unfortunately, with no luck. She was so distraught by my impotency that she decided our marriage was not going to be successful. This conversation resulted in her packing her bags and fleeting my apartment. You see, I have a problem which I usually am good with containing; anger. I was so completely consumed by this pure hatred towards her that I physically injured her, permanently. After my unanticipated act, it seemed impossible to find an appropriate place to stow the body. I resulted in dismembering the corpse limb from limb, carefully downsizing the pieces and devouring them. It seemed appropriate at the time, nothing would have gone wrong and no traces could have been left behind. Or so I thought. Somehow it took no time for the police to start their investigation on the missing female. A few friends and I went out to the beach in order to avoid trouble closer in the city but the Mayor and head of crime investigations, Bill Johnson was quick to track us down and interrogate everyone. I was in the middle of being questioned when I saw her. That ever so pale, luscious, lovely Amelia with strawberry-blond curls. I could smell the perfume off her beautiful shinny skin. It