#0000918

My mother, Angela Hart, died on November 7th, 1996, at 5:46 P.M.

I’ve always known that this is when she would die. I woke up one morning in the summer when I was around ten, and I just knew. I knew other death dates as well--I had the family dog’s death down to the millisecond. A childhood friend’s death to the last breath. Every person in my life, and then some, I have known exactly when they would die.

I never questioned the knowledge. I just knew it would happen, and it did. Every time, without fail.

At least, until my mother.

She was a good mother, for the most part. She didn’t believe me when I told her I knew when someone would die--naturally, no-one would believe a twelve year old when they say that, not unless you’re especially strange, but she indulged in my “predictions” and would hum and nod and say “good to know, sweetheart” or “thank you, doll,” and left it at that.

She was not always the kindest mother, for all her going along with my prophetic knowledge. More often than not, she was stressed about something, and she was rarely around to give my siblings and I her affections, since my father had left the family right after my youngest brother’s birth.

Once I was about sixteen, I was used to playing babysitter, as the oldest of three. My two younger brothers were not exactly responsible, though we were close enough in age that I did not need to keep an eye on them, I did anyway. We went to each other for comfort, rather than my mother--oftentimes she would even lock the door to her room so we could not get to her. Only if there was a real issue, like when Ryan broke his wrist, and I sent Daniel to pound on her door.

She loved us, she was just… a bit absent, in the later years of our childhood. She was struggling to get us through high school, and college would be even worse, but we managed well enough, and all the while I was predicting deaths.

Like my mother’s. I knew, I had been so sure, she would die November 7th, 1996, at 5:46 P.M.

And then… she… didn’t.

It reached 5:46 P.M., and the clock froze. Everything froze, and the world fell still, and I was the only thing still moving, save for the breathing of the living things around me. And I felt, if I did not do anything, it would stay this way forever.

I never knew the cause of death. Only that it would happen. My mother was perfectly healthy, no issues that might lead to death, she was not doing anything this evening that would endanger her life, and as I stood there on my front porch, I realized what was happening.

Angela Hart needed to die. She needed to die now, and nothing else in this world was willing to kill her.

She was home alone that night. I returned to my childhood home by way of walking, as nothing else would move, and I was only across town, as I hadn’t gone far when I first moved out. My footsteps made no sound on the gravel driveway as I stalked up to the door.

I didn’t know how to feel. All I knew is that she needed to die.

I needed her to die.

It was an insatiable need, one that demanded it be fulfilled, and I did not want to find out what the consequences would be if I did not fulfill it. I craved her death as much as I feared it, and my movements grew manic, excited, rushed--the door opened soundlessly and closed the same way behind me. 

I don’t know how I knew that I was running out of time, but I did. My terror, my excitement, it made me sloppy and rushed as I grabbed a knife from the kitchen, before returning to where my mother sat, motionless save for her breathing, in the living room.

I could feel my own blood rushing. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears as I stared down my mother’s unmoving, unblinking gaze, and I knew that I was witnessing her very last moment alive.

It did not scare me.

It thrilled me.

I stabbed her thirty-seven times, piercing organs, her throat, going through her skull--I had to be sure she would be dead the moment it ticked past 5:46 P.M. The corpse did not move from its seated position, but by the time I was done, it did not look like my mother anymore.

So yes, I killed my mother. The cops were right. But I didn't do it out of malice--it’s simply how it was meant to be.

She needed to die. I fulfilled the request.

Some things simply can’t be changed.

FOLLOW-UP NOTES

... For lack of better words, this is one of the more fucked up statements I’ve come across. It’s unclear if this is a true paranormal experience, or the ramblings of your run of the mill murderer, but I guess I’ll operate under the assumption that the events stated here are fact.

Dorothea Hart was arrested on November 7th, 1996, for the murder of her mother, Angela Hart. That much is true. Dorothea was only 20 at the time, and had just moved across town from her childhood home.

According to records here in the case file, she supposedly only said one thing while being arrested: “She needed to die.” She refused to say anything else, and was convicted of second-degree murder, only to disappear from custody a day later. Supposedly she hasn’t been seen since, but if this statement is anything to go by...