Memoirs of a Nutter

A Story by Badger-dee

Jacklyn Winchester and her sisters try to get rid of the body of her stalker and have a get out of free card.

“Memoirs of a Nutter”

The girl looks at the thick and wrinkled “letter”. “What’s wrong, Bobby?” grimly thinks Jacklyn (Jack) Thyme Winchester. “Is this your first stalking?” She punctuates this question with and even grimmer chuckle as she hands over the letter to her twin sister, Francesca (Frankie).

“I don’t like him at all, Jack,” says her other present sister, Alexandria (Alex).

“What am I to do, Alex? Torture him?” questions Jack.

Both Alex and Frankie grin and simultaneously say, “I would.”

“But, that’s illegal. I cannot afford to get my butt in trouble right now!” says Jack.

Alex pulls out her own copy of How to Survive a Stalker, “’Cause you have and continue to seek ‘legal help’ via an ‘attorney’.”

This is not uncommon to have Jack and Alex butting heads. After all they are the extremes of a six girl family. Their father, Jeff, never had a chance with the estrogen-filled house, even when the two sets of twins were off to college. He had an enormously hard time with the girls after their mother, Jessica, died of cancer back when Jack and Frankie were sophomores. Often he would call them in order of births. “Jacklyn Thyme! Francesca Lane! Louisa Joan! Samantha Heart! Tracey Lea! Alexandria Lynn!” The six of them would run down the stairs from their three bedrooms, bathroom and recreation room, for the second and attic floors. Once they hit the second set of twins, Jeff decided it be best if the girls all lived upstairs together. This became a mandatory unspoken rule when Jessica died.

Where was I? Oh, yeh. “PLUS, college, Alex,” argues Jack.

“Shy are you still in college?! You already did your four years! If I were you, I’d get out of there with graduating EARLY…,” says Alex

Jack rolls her eyes and her twin steps in. “It’s called a master’s degree, you dum-dum,” states Frankie. “Come on you two, let’s get inside. Tracey is waiting for us in the place.” She opens an old semi-rusted baby blue door fro m the side of the brick building to their left. “Come on before it rains.”

Alex enters with no questions, Jack, on the other hand, looks up to the sky above the alley. The night sky has only a few clods whisking alongside the stars and the full moon. “What is she thinking?” ponders Jack. “Nothing’s up there… Bah. ‘Don’t question the weathergirl.’” She follows Frank into Tracey’s Bar, Wolves' Den.

The three girls walk up to the bar and take their seats on maroon barstools. Behind the mahogany bar, the bartender is wiping at an already clean beer mug. She hums softly to herself a country tune about tears in an alcoholic beverage. "Go figure with Tracey," thinks Jack. She faces Alex and Frankie and grins. The two sisters shake teir heads and lip "no". Too late for any protests. Jack slams the heels of her army style bots on the top of the bar. Tracey whips around with ahand gun and points at the source of the noise, Jack. Jack grins, removes her feet, palces her finger in the end of the barrel, and leans over the bar to get a rag. Tracey rolls her eyes and lowers the gun. Jack shrugs and begins wiping down the bar with the rag to remove the dirt.

From behind her, Jack hears two familiar sets of foot steps. She grins again and says, "A horse walks into a bar..."

"Poor horse! What? Was it blind? That would have hurt!" exclaims Samantha (Sam).

"Do you fell bad for him?" Jack sarcastically asks Sammy as she and her twin, Louisa (Louie) sit. They sit to her right. To her left, Frank sits closest to her, having Alex sitting next to her at the corner of the bar.

"Yes..." pitifully says Sammy. The six girls begin to laugh, but are soon rudely interrupted by a smakc of Jack's living nightmare.

A slam of the door forces all six of the girls to turn to the ruckus. A tall figure walks in and says, "I want a beer..." Of course, this is a lie. This is Robert Robertson (His parents must have hated him). This is Jack's stalker.

Jack would tell you when she met her psychology teacher for her undergrad degree; she thought that was just it, totally professional meeting and nothing more. If you ask Bob Robertson, he wodl tell you that's when he met his soul mate. He soon folllowed and harassed Jack. She changed phone numbers and moved a countless number of times. For a a year and a half now, he has been from undying love to love me or die.

Tracey, with her fast paced and business mind, calls, "The bar is closed for a private meeting. You can get your beer tomorrow. But, tonight you must leave, unless you want the cops called on you, she pulls out her handgun again, "OR worse."

"Just let me talk to Jack!", exclaims Bob.

"Talk or kill?" asks Louie. "I'm not letting you near my sister, either way, BOB!"

"Talk! I just wanna talk!" exclaims Bob and slams his head and hand on a nearby wall.

"Sure, and I'm a scientist!" says the architect, Frankie.

"You're an architect. You're not a scientist," drearily says Bob, obviously confused.

Frankie and Jack exchange looks. "She'll love you when pigs fly," says Frankie.

"But, pigs can't fly!" exasperatedly cries Bob. He starts to sob and curl into a ball of a broken beast. "Just wait a couple of mintues," thinks Jack, "Next, he'll come at me... he always does."

"Oh! So, you can solve word problems!" exclaims Alex. "Good boy, Bob!"

"But, she'll love when pigs fly, but pigs cant' fly..." mutters Bob. "Pigs fly, she'll love me... We're meant to be, but she won't love..." He becomes frustrated and enraged with the simple ironic sentence, he suddenly charges at Jack. Before he can even get three feet from Jack, his head is slammed to the floor. His neck is pinned between the wooden floor and the heel of Louie's boot, gasping for air. He faces Jack trying to plead for air, and instead winds up looking like a fish gasping for water. The other sisters, excluding Jack, all surround him. Sammy squats next to his face. Tracey places her boot calmly on his right ankle and aiming her gun at his head. Frankie on his left ankle and Alex on his left wrist.

"Guess what, Bob!" coos Sammy to Bob. "Game over, man." Bob's right hand flies up and almost immeadiately has a hole through the center of the hand's palm. Sammy jumps back next to Jack. Jack casually leans down to her and asks, "Does Sammy need her teddy?"

Sammy looks up and nervously smiles. Jack Pats her sister on the head and rises, sitll facign Bob.

Tracey has his head in her sights once more, "If you even THINK of moving, I'll blow a hole through that thinck skull of yours."

"Cool it, Tracey..." Frankie says before Jack can even open her mouth. "We don't need more blood on your new floor. Be cooool."

Tracey nods and lowers her weapon, "Yeh, Cool." Bob releases a ragged sigh of relief and almost begins to sob once more.

"I wouldn't cry if I were you, Bobby boy," coos Sammy. "You might choke."

"That would definitely be a waste of our efforts," agrees Louie.

"Louie?" asks Jack. SH elooks at her siter in the eye and doesn't even need to speak her request.

Louie nods and relieves enough pressure on Bob's throat so that he may speak.

He immediately garbles, "Thank you. Thank yoy. Thank you..."

"Shut up, Robert," growls Jack. "Now, you have two choices. Go get help and participate in therapy for this obession. Or, the six of us can kill you right here."

"Never," gargles Bob. "Never, I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I loveyou. I love you. I love you. I love you..."

"Well, I'm sorry to do this, Robert," says Jack ignorign the redundant confessions of a false and twisted love. "But, you did do this to yourself."

"Just think of it as thoguht you messed up a trick, Jack," says Frankie. She know what her twin is about to do.

"I love you. I love you," Bob continues to chand this as though it is a special spell that will make what is now HIS nightmare go away.

"you tried to take my life away; now I take yours," says Jack. WIth this, she jumps onto Bob's skull. His head is immeadiately crushed. No longer does Dr. Robert Robertson say to his class, "A mind is a terrible thing to waste." wearing his morning coffee on his hideous ties paired with nausea-inducing button-up sweaters.

"'terrible thing to waste.' ... Eh, Bob?" Jack asks the lifeless corpse.

"YOU GOT BLOOD ON MY FLOOR!" shrieks Tracey. "YOU BETTER CLEAN THIS UP!"

"Don't worry, Trace. I've connections. THis will just go away," serenely says Jack. "We'll be fine."