Confessions of a Mall Elf Strangler

I’m Clyde Parker, otherwise known as the Mall Elf Strangler. I’m serving time at San Quinn Penitentiary for strangling some guys.

People ask why I did it, and everyone has their theories. Some say I had a troubled childhood or psychiatric problems, and although neither is untrue, there's more to the story.

I also did it to relieve boredom and escape a stultifying existence. And I did it to gain control. I won’t lie; it was a hell of a rush, but most of all, I did it because my life sucked.

I drove a piece of shit van, lived in a ramshackle house, and busted my ass but could barely afford a McRib. Worse, I had no friends, no dates, and no prospects. I was highly unemployable, possessing no discernible skills or talents. Not to mention, I had an IQ below 80, a lazy eye, and a snaggle tooth I couldn’t afford to fix.

So one day, I said, “Fuck my life,” bought some rope, and the rest is history.

But really, I blame Kevin Drew. He’s the reason I got into this mess. Couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

One night, I was working the night shift at Santa’s station, posing for Christmas pictures with the kids. But Kevin, one boy's father, kept pointing and laughing at me, saying, “Nice green tights, asshole!” and “Look at the camera with both eyes!”

I barred my teeth then swallowed my rage as I followed Kevin into the john later. When he stooped over to tie his shoes, I whipped out the rope I kept in my pocket and squeezed it around his neck until his eyes bulged and his face turned indigo.

And I was like, “Ha, ha, ha! Now, who’s laughing, asshole!”

Unfortunately, mall security busted in mid-strangling and called the police. Kids cried, and parents spat at me as the cops escorted me out of the mall, handcuffed, and shoved me into the police car. The whole thing was a mess. Kevin still sends me hate letters daily.

Dick.

Sometimes I write him back, telling him I’m sorry he provoked me, that I shouldn’t have lost my temper when he harassed me. Whatever makes me sound remorseful and shit.

But what Kevin doesn’t know is that I’m not really at San Quinn anymore. I hid in the kitchen garbage can earlier and got wheeled out to the dumpster, finding freedom at last. I grabbed the rope and employee t-shirt I’d stolen from the break room and hitched a ride to Kevin’s house. Now I’m standing on his porch.

The wife and kids are gone.

Just Kevin home alone.

Perfect.