Lilah

By Leena Klammer

Lilah Krammer is not your ordinary serial killer. She wants to be loved and will go to any extreme to get what she wants. A dangerous psychopath bent on murdering anyone in her way. Size doesn’t matter when it comes to evil.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 8, 2015
• ISBN: 9781312976276

Book preview

Lilah

LILAH

LEENA KLAMMER

ILLUMINATED PUBLICATIONS, PITTSBURGH

A Illuminated Publications Book

Published by Illuminated Publications

Copyright © 2013 by Leena Klammer

Cover Art By Leena Klammer

ISBN 978-1-312-97627-6

1st Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

This book is dedicated to all those who suffered from child abuse and even though this is a work of fiction, it still shows what damage this can have on peoples lives.

PART ONE

SILENT SCREAMS

Torment, I'll forgotten

A soul that will never rest.

Innocence withdrawn in fear.

Fires burning can you hear

Cries in the night.

---Slayer

Silent Screams

ONE

AHHHH, I CAN'T TAKE THIS no more! As I sit here kicking and screaming, I am restrained by a straitjacket and all I want right now is to escape. I am filled with hate and rage as the restraints cut into my wrist and neck, because I am struggling with all my strength to try and break free. I kick and scream, but my sounds are not heard. This is symbolic of my life, for in my life my screams are not heard. Rage is bubbling inside of me. I try to keep it from exploding, but I am full of fury, with myself and those who have hurt me. I feel so trapped. I suppose there is no way to get out, but inside I feel trapped too. I just want to be heard, but there is no way out. I will not give up though, I don’t care how much damage these restraints may cause. I just want to be out, I just want to kill. Who do I want to kill? Well the next orderly who even dares to look at me the wrong way, that’s who. You see my name is Lilah Krammer and this is my story.

I shall start from the beginning. In the year 1976, April 20th my mother Elina Ivanova Krammer gave birth to me in Elva Hospital in Tartu County, Estonia. I wish I really got a chance to know my mother but she died when I was still an infant. She was Russian and my father was American.

There were times that I would hear my father and mother in the next room arguing. From the sound of it, the fighting sounded violent. Were they arguing about me? I feel that they were. Did they want me? I don’t know, my mother left me when she died, and my father showed love for me. I believed that he did, the psychiatrist says what he did to me isn’t love. If that wasn’t love then I do not know what is. What he showed me is all I know.

I remember when I was three I use to watch Dallas with my daddy. Dallas was a non-communist show that originated in the USA. We also watched The Dead Mountaineer Hotel (Hukkunud Alpinisti' hotell) which is a show that originated in my country. I never saw the monster shows as scary, they were just different. Things on the surface seemed normal. Our family would go to church every Sunday. My father was a deacon in the church. We went to the United Methodist Church in Estonia. Estonia is part of the Soviet Union which held atheism as dominated, but religions were tolerated. State atheism was known as gosateizm ias which in the Soviet Union as Marxism-Lenism. My little sister Hermione was going on two and just started walking. After awhile we stop going to church. We never went anywhere. Daddy and step mommy would be in the bedroom all the time, while we ran around the house. The only time step mommy would come out the bedroom was to go to the bathroom and make us something to eat. I don’t ever remember her leaving the house for awhile. Daddy and her would argue and yell all the time just like he and mommy. We didn’t have any toys. On the New Year we got gifts but within week, I destroyed all mine and Hermione's toys. I was angry and just wanted to break stuff, so I did.

I ran away later that year. I went to my grand-mama, she called my daddy and he came and got me. I don’t remember exactly what happen for me to run away from home. Something bad happen and I just don’t remember what it was. It’s the year 2001 and I am now in this institution trying to find a way to get out. I am 25years old and been here for almost two years now. I feel like Michael Myers. I refuse to stay in here as long as he did. I saw the movie years ago and he was 5 yrs old when he got locked up, and he didn’t escape until he was grown. In my case, growing up is not an option. I suffer from a rare trait of dwarfism that makes me look a lot younger than I am. The only thing that reveals how old I am is my little boobies and rotten teeth. What stands out on me is my dark hair and freckles. Seems that most people with freckles have light hair.

When daddy picked me up I didn’t want to go back home but I had no choice. No one would ever suspect daddy for anything. He was a deacon and choir director and everyone liked him. No one knew anything until after he died. He was also very strict. I wanted to be an artist when I grow up. I would draw and write poems and paint. This was my outlet. My baby sister Hermione mysteriously died. I don’t know what happened. It was forbidden to ask questions in our family. I would get beaten with a wooden spoon if I asked anything. Step mommy just told us that Hermione is in heaven with Jesus.

One day daddy woke me up in the middle of the night. I woke up confused. It turned out that our house caught on fire. It was scary. I wanted my stuff and here the three of us was standing outside watching the house burn as the firefighters came and sprayed it with hoses. I know now that my daddy had burned the house down. Not only is burning the house down for insurance reasons, but burning it down seems to signify the cleansing of the old. He wanted a new start. Like the phoenix that rises from the ashes, all is made new.

We gathered what was left of our charred belongings and went into a hotel. Eventually we moved into another house. It was stunning. It was much better than the one that burned down. It was much bigger to. It had a dining room, living room, and down stairs also had a living room. We also got a dog to protect us from burglars. I had my own bedroom that was across from daddy and step mommy room. I wish little sister was here. I thought to myself, One day when I die, I’ll go to heaven and see little sister and we can be friends, I started painting and writing poems again. My daddy didn’t approve of my poems so he took them and burnt them. In our family we were taught to keep our thoughts to ourselves and this was an example. I was forbidden to write poetry again. It was my outlet and I hated the idea that I wasn’t allowed to express myself. Even therapy was forbidden in our family. Step mommy wasn’t happy at all. She got even worse after little sister died. Daddy would get her liquor and she would just stay in her room drunk. They really started arguing even more. At this time I was seven years old. I found another outlet. I took piano lessons. I found Tchaikovsky's music really an outlet. Something about his music would make me feel relieved. In school I joined the band. I enjoyed playing the piano. It was my escape. Other children picked on me. They thought I was weird. I just kept to myself. In school we all wore uniforms. The typical uniform for girls is a brown dress and an apron. The apron was black for every day, and white for holidays and special days. The dress had shorter sleeves for the summer and long sleeves in the winter. The dress had white, often lacy or trimmed with lace, collar and cuff covers. The white collar and cuff covers were removable (they were sewn on with a running stitch), and usually removed, laundered and sewn back on weekly. First through third grade all sat in the same classroom taught by the same teacher. On the wall of the class is a portrait of Lenin. We start school at the age of seven and already we are required to learn to read and write before we start school. A boy during school made a remark about my freckles.

Hey Lilah, and your freckles reckon the speckled gingham.

I wanted to punch him. I'm not a fairytale character. I do enjoy reading about Baba Yaga though. Later on within a month after school started I got sent home for beating him up. I was beaten and punished by my daddy. Step mommy decided she wanted to leave daddy, so she left my daddy. Grand mama also died, now there was no one else except me and my daddy. I was angry a lot. One day Jehovah Witnesses knocked on my door and I stood in the doorway.

Hi, I’m Molly, and this is Holly said one of the women.

And I’m Derrick, said the guy with them.

What the fuck you bitches want. Get the fuck away from my door now, or I’ll cut his prick off and shove it in your mouths, I said. All three of them had a horrific look on their faces. I am seven years old and didn’t give a fuck.

Go sic them Dondi, I sic the German Shepard dog on the Jehovah Witnesses as they fled the scene. I then closed the door as they ran. Shortly I went outside to call the dog.

Dondi I yelled. The dog didn’t respond.

Dondi I yelled again. No answer. I went outside looking everywhere for the dog. I couldn’t find Dondi anywhere. My daddy came home shortly. He didn’t have a baby sitter, so I would stay home alone at short periods at a time.

Daddy, I can’t find Dondi, I said.

We'll find him

Daddy went outside looking for him to. We called his name and nothing. Eventually we gave up for the time and went inside. To our surprise Dondi was inside the house. I forgot I let him back in after I sent him after those people. Hehe.

The next day the police and one of the Jehovah Witness came by. The lady named Molly went to the police for assault.

You should have heard the words that came out of that little girl’s mouth. Little girls don’t talk like that. That dog of hers bit me, I’m suing, said the woman.

I couldn’t believe this. I am seven years old and had to be in court with my daddy. The lady didn’t follow through with the suing, but Dondi was taken away from me. In truth she had no case. Jehovah Witness was looked down upon in our country due to being banned under Operation North. She just wasted her time even thinking that she had a chance. My ass got tore up that evening. I slowly pulled my pants down and held my breath as I leaned over the bed. Daddy took the belt and kept hitting. The more I leaned, the harder he would hit. He would hit and hit until his arms got tired. I stumbled shakily to my room, it hurt to pull my pants up. My butt was bleeding. I looked at my rear in the mirror and it was swollen red. The next day my butt was purple and blue. That following night daddy came into my room. He told me that he did what he had to because he loved me. He kissed me on the cheek. I had a feeling where this was heading, for it isn’t the first time. First he wanted to see my butt.

Pull your pants down, so I can see and make it feel better, said Daddy. I slowly pulled them down and turned around so he can see how discolored my butt is. He then got on his knees and slightly kissed by butt.

See now that feels better, doesn’t it?

I guess, I said. I didn’t know what else to say. An hour later he left my room, I felt so much shame and confusion,"Maybe this is what it is to be loved, is this what all girls have to do?" I thought.

I was interested in porn at the age of seven. I had no access to it, but I would try to find stimulating things on TV. I would flip through the channels until I would find something sexually stimulating. It could be just two people kissing. That was enough for me. Even someone in a scene that is half undress would do it. I would even look at my old step mom’s magazine and stare at the pictures of anyone that was half dressed.

In 1985 I was nine years old. I use to love to flirt with older boys. I didn’t know at the time, but most little girls see boys as ew. I never went through that phase. Here I am at church at Tuesday night prayer groups and bible study. We had to be in groups that was our age. I didn’t care to be in the younger group, I wanted to be in the older group with the older boys.

After group we met up to join the church gym to play a sport. I didn’t care for sports, so I was just there sitting on the sidelines to stare at the older boys. I lusted after them. I wanted them. I wanted those older boys inside me. Even though I was nine, I just thought this was normal for a girl. To me it was just flirting. I wasn’t interested at all with boys my age. At regular school I even lusted after a school teacher named Mr.Vaslav. I like my men and boys older that knew what they were doing.

The doctor here at this Institution told me that a child of abuse bonds sex with love, and wants to find love with whoever they can. A child of sexual abuse wants to make the culprit do what he did was OK, by recreating the action as a way to desensitized oneself or recreate the action with other people. And that a child of sexual abuse communicates sexually with love and believes that sex is the only way to get love. A child of sexual abuse thinks sex is wrong and spends their life trying to make sex right. Maybe that is true, right now I don’t care, and I just want to break free from this damn institution.

I enjoyed going to church revivals. It was a chance to be at a different scene. We would make long trips on a bus. On the bus I