Madness, I say! They are part of the madness in my world, my bloody, red, giant world. Children are running and running and running--why are they running? Candy spills onto the street as I watch the children run and run and run--why are they still running? That candy spilling on the ground looks like the blood trickling from their bodies and the guts from their stomachs, but I still want to know why those children still run away. I am not attacking them.

Come back! They are not my targets, it's those that dress up to taunt me, to mock me, to ridicule me, to abuse me. A child is at my door. I stand at the door. The father sees me. Nothing. He says nothing as he can hear the screams inside. He does nothing. Nothing. He pulls his son away and runs from my place. No, I wasn't going to hurt you! Come back!

Screaming continues. Lick my lips--yes, that'll do. I can still taste the blood of that one girl, one that I had moments before I came out here. She screamed. Loud. Loud noises still ring in my ears and I can hear her cries. Tears spill. Blood pours and I laughed. Laughed! I could laugh at their pain and they could scream at my insanity. I am not insane. I am not. I am not a maniac. No loser. No freak. I'm human. Human!

They are still screaming. I want my axe. Yes, my axe. It's been through so much with me, still bleeding from the last victim. I should clean it off, but I would rather have the prize still on the blade. Blood dripping, body parts clinging, and skin ripping. Yes, that's lovely.

Enough is enough. I start to laugh again and walk through my home. Never have been outside for years. Some think it's abandoned. They enter, they die. Simple as that. My basement door is perfect. No scratches, no blood, no terrors etched into the wood. Screaming continues. I laugh louder. Doorknob is cold, stairs are loud. Run, run, run!

The girls are still screaming. Two are holding each other in one corner and another is in the other corner. Two are crying and praying to God I save them--I won't--and the other girl is just sitting there. She is next to the mirror. I look at myself. Frayed blue hair, round red nose, pale white skin, white gloves, yellow-blue costume. Blood runs up and down my body. I smile. Perfect.

They are mumbling to themselves, thinking of a way to escape. I look in their direction and start to laugh again. I run up to their faces and start to maniacally laugh. They close their eyes. Terror. I scream about how they will not survive tonight, and they start to cry. My breath probably smells like alcohol. Mint? No. Yellow teeth are always stained.

I run over to the other girl and kneel before her. She doesn't look at me. Look at me! You wore that for a reason! Look! She doesn't. I look back in the mirror. The blood grows. Legs are stained from her blood. She's still breathing, right? She can't escape, not tonight. I wonder why they are afraid.

Trick or treat, I laugh to them all. The two in the corner yell "trick" over and over again. They always do. Bruises from the last "trick" still mark their bodies, and while I must slam the axe down on their chest, they are thankful to be alive. Alive! This is not alive! This is death! The wood from the house starts to crack from my blows. I don't care. They do. They want to escape.

I turn to the other girl. She is whispering "treat" over and over. She has for the past two days. Delirious, delusional, and lost. My teeth are stained again and she cries in agony. More of her arm is off, the skin hanging from my mouth. She doesn't move. She watches the blood fall from her arm and does not scream. The girls start to scream and I start to laugh. My axe twitches.

Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! The room is spinning, screaming still piercing my ears. Stop! Stop! Before you hurt someone! I turn to those two girls. They look at the bleeding girl. I reach into my pocket. Smoke? Yes. It's time for a smoke. Lighter? Yes. Let the fire burn. I inhale and walk to the other alive girls. I exhale: they're dead. Axe embedded in their chests, both of them, and blood is squirting on my costume.

Axe is out now, and back in again. Girl's stomach is open, contents on the floor. I stepped on her organs before picking up her precious heart. It isn't clean. Dirty! I throw the heart to the one girl in the corner and start chopping up the other girl. Another dirty heart! My pile grows next to the girl and I cannot find the clean heart! I turn to the girl and start to cry.

I run over to her. Axe is on the ground in front of her, she looks at me. I look like a fool! A joker! "No heart! No heart! I couldn't find it! All dirty, nothing clean. Why!" She rubs my head for comfort and I accept. Mother, mother, mother. She's not my mother, but she does this anyway. Why? I don't know her! Get away! But she is still rubbing my head. I accept. It feels right.

She says nothing. She takes her hand away and I still cry. Over the hearts. I hear my axe being picked up and I watch her still smiling. She's delusional. She starts to whisper: "I'm free, free, free, free, free, still free, flying, soaring, angels, Heaven," and runs the blade up her arms. She is bleeding out. I start to laugh and think of it as a joke. "Heart cleaned, nothing dirty, still clean, pure, fresh, divine, holy, relentless," she says, "I'm free; and you are?" Then death. Her eyes are still staring at me and I take the axe.

What a joke! Such a funny thing! I open her chest. Ribs crack, lungs collapse, and her heart at a perfect stop. There, the clean heart! She was right! Blood still falling, I must have it! I lick her wounds, continue to thrive on the perfection I had found. My axe must be happy, because my heart is happy as well. It is my candy, my treat. And she had been right all along: "treat".

Sweet glory, sweet merciful glory! No more screaming, just silence, just still for the night. I'll stay here for the night. And all the children have gone away--are they still running?--or some are in their beds, sleeping peacefully into the night. Monsters are still loose. In fact, I am a monster. I have just killed an angel, a mere angel from God himself. He did nothing to save her. And now she's dead. Mother would be proud. Mother would be very proud indeed.