Page 1 of Twisted Diaries of a Monster Groupie

Dear Diary,

My therapist says I’m crazy. Rude Much? I’m not even sure they can say that… Can they?

XOXO – Roxy

Therapy was a drag. A gal stabs one white-collar jerk in the face with a butterknife for getting fresh with her on the company dime and suddenly Roxy Malone was doing community service and seeing a head shrink. Should she have called the therapist something so offensive for just trying to help her? No. But he was a class-A jerk for claiming—what they say—was anger management issues.

Anger? If that didn’t beat hell. It was more than anger. She was furious. Who wouldn’t be?

The jackass she shanked deserved it after he tried to play touch-and-tickle under the cafeteria table while she was trying to relax and enjoy her homemade bento box with teriyaki chicken. Now she was on temporary house arrest and ditching a bottle of psychiatric drugs into the storm drain down the street on the walk home from the bus stop. The only time she was free from her homebound hell was doctor visits and to see her probation officer.

Roxy was too smart for that boring job anyway. She was valedictorian of her class and graduated college with a doctorate in anatomy and neurobiology. She didn’t deserve the shit storm she found herself in. Nevertheless, temporarily working in the call center wasn’t exactly living the dream, but at least it put money in her pocket, even if she did hate harassing the poor souls who were behind on their monthly bills. One day some guy from the marketing department thought his afternoon snack should be a handful of her cookie jar, and now she found herself on probationary leave.

Thinking back to the happenings of the dreaded event, she couldn’t understand what gave that tool the right to put his hands on her, anyway. It was Roxy’s word against his, but that’s how it was for her; always the one to take the heat for everyone else’s screw-ups. Even at home, she was the lightning rod for all the bullshit of her cohabitant’s struggles. Lord knows she wouldn’t call them family because they didn’t act like it. It was a madhouse.

Her mom was the only one who at least pretended to care, but she sure wasn’t the June Cleaver type, baking cookies and being the mom of the year. Darla was too busy being the preverbal hot mess of miniskirts and too much gaudy 80s makeup that she believed impressed losers at the local bar. As proof of her lack of parental instinct, the woman was often aboard the stepfather train with shady men who made their way in and out of her life faster than warp speed. Usually, they consisted of a treasure trove of perverts, abusers, and the less-than-shining scum of the earth. Since Roxy’s mother and birth father divorced, it had been a rollercoaster of alcoholism topped with physical and emotional abuse where Darla dragged her daughter right down to the bottom of a whiskey bottle with her.

Roxy honestly didn’t know why she stayed in that house other than the hope that one day her mom would wise up and she wouldn’t have to keep looking out for her. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t happen soon because the new guy was more dangerous than the rest. Not because he was physically abusive, but because he gave her mother the financial freedom to keep her self-sabotaging lifestyle going. He was probably the better of the group of losers Darla got entangled with, but he was far from being Prince Charming.

At least the new husband de jour was a butcher who owned his own business so they could keep the lights on. Even though Roxy was almost sure he was using his meat locker to put bodies on ice for the local crime element, he did provide a roof over their heads. There was no way he could afford his fancy Corvette without making a little something on the side, so it made sense he was into some sketchy dealings under the table.

As the punk glam-clad woman chomped on her gum, dragging herself to the front door of a rundown house just outside of town, she rolled her eyes when looking over at the broken shutter that was swinging in the wind. The squeaking sound coming from it made her teeth set on edge. On the upside, it almost drowned out the yelling coming from inside. Again… madhouse.

In her mind, she imagined a lovely home with flowers lining the walkway, far from the rat-infested nightmare it was. She pictured her mother standing at the door with a batch of freshly baked cookies to greet her with a smile. Far from it, because that would require her mother to have a lobotomy.

The home was your typical white-washed, three-bedroom Floridian home where the paint on the siding was flaking and there were more than a few leaks in the roof. The only curb appeal was the rusty old lawnmower in the front yard that some flowering weeds had overtaken over, complete with a stray cat family living underneath that seemed to be content with their new home. The grass dying across the lawn with an array of fire ant hills reflected the lives within that had long passed the expiration date of being anything worth living for, sparking heated activity that no one wanted.

She should have known her stepdad wouldn’t have gotten off his fat ass for even a moment to fix any of it. Roxy did her best to keep things going herself, but she wasn’t exactly Miss Fix-it. She knew his day consisted of butchering defenseless animals for their meat, then right to his musty recliner to guzzle down a six-pack, so pitching in wasn’t even on the table. He’d watch whatever sports were playing while bitching at his wife about not having dinner ready on time.

Today was a special delight because it was Monday evening, which meant her mother had been out to the bars all weekend doing God knows what. The shit show Roxy would be honored to witness later would most likely end with a surround of cop cars, complete with yelling on the front lawn for the neighbors to hear. Oh, and of course, her mother would be crying for them not to take her husband away or crying for him not to leave her.

Ah yes, Roxy did enjoy those exciting evenings when the whole neighborhood could witness just how truly white trash her family was. What a treat.

Despite the irony of that, she was her typical happy-go-lucky self. She had not a care in the world as she whistled to herself and skipped up the creaking steps to the front door like she was entering a sunshine dream. Glass shattering, voices raised, and the sounds of detest from whoever was brawling inside were no distraction for her. Nope. She just hummed her favorite tune before skipping past the chaos in the living room to go into the kitchen to grab a snack.

“Where the fuck have you been, bitch!” her stepfather yelled, distracted for only a moment from the verbal abuse on her sleazy mother and a puff on his cigarette.

Her mother, wearing what looked like a stripper outfit far too skimpy for a woman her age, slithered across the floor, wiping blood from her lip and a drunken slur. Roxy assumed it was the man beside her that caused it, but she never had witnessed Hank actually hit her mom. It was an assumption that was gained only by the woman’s history with men.

“She’s been to see the nut house doctor again. You’ll never be anything more than a leach on society because you can’t stay out of trouble. To think you’re my daughter who had the world at her fingertips. You were a genius and now you’re nothing. She’s crazy, Hank.” Her mom laughed, grabbing Roxy’s cheeks and shaking her face. “Crazy just like her deadbeat dad.”

“He wasn’t crazy. He was… special,” she chirped, before kissing her mother’s cheek.

The woman wiped her face looking at her daughter like she was completely off her rocker. “He was a nutcase, just like you are. That’s why they took him to his ass to prison. Keep it up and you’ll be right there with him,” the woman said as she pointed her finger at her daughter’s chest. “I don’t even know why I keep you around. You’re just like that loser. You’re lucky I love you, even if you are nothing but trouble.”

“I know, Mom.” Turning back to the kitchen, she hummed a tune again, ignoring the fact her mother looked to have been beaten up or most likely fell over her own two drunken feet. The fact she was insulting her when she looked like she’d just fallen off a three-day bender was a joke in itself. Who was she to criticize?

Ignoring her surroundings was the only way Roxy could cope. Pretend everything is perfect. Imagine everything serine. Hold it in. Hold it all in. One. Two. Three… breathe .

As the woman continued her nagging, as she always did, her daughter could smell the booze seeping from her stank breath. “You were so smart and you’re wasting your life away. Mark my words, Roxy. One day you’re going to get in some real trouble, and you won’t have me to fall back on. You need to get it together.”

It really was rich coming from her. Darla wasn’t exactly stepping high on the social scale herself. In fact, Roxy was the most normal among them, even with her mental health being a little out of sorts from time to time.

While going to the refrigerator she blocked all the negative thoughts replaced with images of a better life. The visions almost made her family’s screeching voices turn into a muttered haze, then became part of the song in her head that she often sang to herself when she was troubled. The folky song hummed over her lips, soon drowning out everything around her as daydreams of happier times flooded her mind. This was her utopia, in her head, away from it all.

As her mother turned back to the fight in the living room, away from the evening’s festivity of berating her daughter, Roxy’s mind wandered to Uncanny Valley images of a perfect life. Darla soon became adorned in a 950s dress with a loving smile, holding a freshly baked apple pie to serve her family. Her stepfather’s grimy look of a dirty wife-beater t-shirt and low-hanging pants was soon transformed into a nice suit with a pipe while telling stories about their upcoming trip to Niagara Falls. He’d make jokes about his afternoon on the golf course and his wife would laugh along with glee. In her mind, she could create the perfect family, complete with a new puppy and a nice clean scent of pine cleaner that made the pristine kitchen floor shine.

Okay… So maybe Roxy was a little crazy because that puppy was a rat that scurried across the stained linoleum. The vintage furnishings she pictured were there but didn’t have one hint of their heyday to make the place look livable. Damn if she didn’t have to be a little out of her mind to deal with what had become her so-called life. Since her real father was arrested, everything had gone wrong. She was a woman in her mid-twenties who should have been living her best life. Instead, she was trapped in a nightmare of cobwebs and poor wallpaper choices.

As the couple turned their bitterness back to each other, she took a sandwich and soda to her room, smiling as if it was the best day of her life, despite being anything but. The curl to her lips was eerie in the most delightful way, once again humming the tune without care.

In her room, the walls were a goth dream of horror flick posters and old movie memorabilia. Her haven of solitude. The shelves were filled with vintage to modern fandom, and right above her bed, a cut out of her long-time crush, Acid Green. The one man who made her lady parts quiver, despite his undead features and the neon green hue to his skin.

As the yelling from the next room grew louder she turned on a retro record player her grandmother gifted her as a child that she’d covered with monster stickers. Throughout the room played a melodious yet unsettling song she’d been humming to herself all day. Tonight You Belong to Me , written in 926 echoed through the home, making everything bad seem to fade away. Why she loved her grandmother’s old records, she didn’t know. Maybe it mirrored everything around her that was old and dated. Yet there in the harmony of the song, she found beauty.

Laying back on her bed, she smiled up at the cutout of the greenish man above her as her hands supported her neck. He was gorgeous, even for a Frank-n-freak celebrity.

“Hey, Acid. Did you have a good day today? Mine sucked. But look, I bought tickets to come see you at Scream-a-Con and it’s just a few towns over. Soon, we’ll be together once I get these house arrest bracelets off,” she said before pulling items from her bag. “You know, you’re the only one who gets me. Daddy would have liked you if he didn’t get put in that stupid prison. Oh well. Like you always say, I’m not dead yet. I still have lots of living to do. So maybe he has a lot of life coming, too… I sure miss him.”

Living wasn’t exactly correct in Acid Green’s case. Not in the traditional sense. Although an actor like none other, and a horror legend, his undead life dipped into the macabre. A real-life Frankenstein monster with a fandom that scanned the globe. He was twice as sexy as any human actor with more charisma than the original Frankenstein flicks, with an ego to boot. With his greenish skin, tattooed scars mimicking stitches stretching over his fit physique, and a smile as bright as the harvest moon, he was a heartthrob to the ghoulish groupies who raved over him like a goth king. Roxy was as smitten as the next girl and his biggest fan.

When rumors of Frankenstein’s monster creation started to trend online, he figured out a way to plot his death, pay a scientist to patch him up, and then become the biggest Frank-n-actor to date. The goth gal hated to admit the very scientist involved was her father. It was only a few years prior that he was arrested for murder and crimes against humanity for creating creatures like Acid for profit. The cops said he was a mass murderer, but she never believed he was capable of such atrocities.

She had to take a little pride in the fact he did have a bit of a cult following. It was she who gave her father the idea to start the Frankenstein monster project in the first place. Like her famous scientist father, she had a love for knowledge and how the human body worked. To them, it was nothing more than creative science to reanimate the dead. Sure, her dad was now believed to be a mad scientist, but when Frank-n-creation was at its peak, he was the talk of the scientific community.

Her father’s genius was admired by the masses for several years until other humans started bringing down the heat on him, calming the labs as an abomination to mankind. Soon the project was forced to shut down once grave robbing was becoming an outbreak and a spike in murders happened around the area. To save his daughter from being a target of the backlash, Dr. Malone hid her part in it, and Roxy was forced to leave science altogether. Someone had to take the fall, and her father was the one who was the patsy the feds were looking for. Who was to believe a high school goth girl was behind the whole thing back then?

As she looked at Acid’s picture overhead, she could almost imagine being in that lab when he was brought back to life. She didn’t even mind the fact he had that green hue. It was a perfectly unique side effect of the lab radiation leak that made him special.

She hummed to herself and blew him a kiss wishing it was her who pulled the switch to give him life. To her he was no freak of nature, he was awork of art.

Lost in her fantasies, Roxy was jarred from her thoughts when suddenly a shrill scream from down the hall rattled the thin walls. It was typical for the household, and she knew intervening would only bring the heat onto her. Just as she reached to turn up the record player to drown it all out… it stopped.

Total silence.

Sitting up, her heart pounded. Silence.

“Momma... Momma!”