It all started on a fine, rainy night…. The sky was dark, with the only sounds being the rumble of thunder and the crackle of lightning. For someone like me, it seemed terrifying, yet... strangely beautiful.It looked as if hell had broken out and the devil himself was about to come.I switched on the television, listening carefully to the news of murder...…but none knew the person behind all this was none other than me…..
It all started when I was 16… young and jovial for the hellish world…..i returned back from school, fussing about being swamped with homework...….
I reached home just to find blood pooling around the bodies of my family members… they were brutally killed, stab wounds where no blade should ever reach, and that was the day the monster within me came out.
I was determined to find that monster who murdered my family, and I knew the police would be of no help so I stepped out in search of the unknown,but little did my gut tell me he was very well known,especially by me.
17th birthday,one to be spent with my loved ones, filled with joy and laughter, was now a reminder of my loss A gun in my pocket. A blade in my hand. And a bulletproof vest clinging to me like armor. I barely recognized the reflection staring back at me from the mirror.I set out of the house that once was a home. I returned to my base, the one place I could think clearly, because something about Uncle's sorrow felt staged—too rehearsed.it seemes as if he's hiding something.....someting too dark
I went to his house,requesting if I could stay for a few days,saying that the mansion felt too lonely and of course he had to say yes . He couldn't suspect anyting weird about me,hahah who would even believe that behind the angelic smile was a devil in disguise
A few days later on fine evening,when I retured back from "urgent work" that needed to be done. The house was quiet. Too quiet. Even the walls seemed to hold their breath.
I lay in the guest room, pretending to sleep, but my mind was wired, ticking like a bomb. Something about Uncle Tom didn't sit right—his grief felt too perfect, like he'd practiced it in front of a mirror a thousand times.
Then I heard it.
A soft voice. Muffled. Talking. From the room across the hall—his room.
I went closer, barefoot on cold marble, breath shallow.
"Why did you do it, Tom?" Pause. "I had to. They deserved it."
Two voices. But only one man.
My heart slowed. No... it froze.
I peeked through the slightly ajar door. Uncle Tom stood in front of the mirror, one side of his face twisted in rage, the other blank… like he was switching masks mid-sentence.
"They were family," he whispered. "They were traitors," he spat back at himself. "She'll find out." "She already suspects."
My breath caught in my throat.
I stepped back too fast. A floorboard creaked. He stopped.
Silence.
Then—"Come in, dear. Couldn't sleep?"
His voice was calm. Too calm. That smile? The one he gave me? It was the same one he wore at my parents' funeral.
I pushed the door open slowly. "Were you… talking to someone?"
He chuckled,. "Old habits. I like to talk to myself when I can't sleep."
But his eyes… they weren't the same ones I knew. One flickered with fear. The other? With something darker. Pride, maybe. Or madness.
That night, I didn't sleep.
Instead, I hacked his laptop.
I found a folder named "Others." Inside were videos,taps, and a voice recording labeled "Session #15-The Blade."
I hit play.
And that voice—deep, violent, unlike Uncle Tom's usual soft tone—growled through the speaker.
"I warned Tom not to let her in. She'll find the knife. She'll dig too deep. And when she does… We'll have to add one more to the dead body count."