My mother has killed twenty-seven men. The reason she was able to kill so many is that my mother is "clinically insane." Every time she kills someone, she doesn't go to prison. She's taken to the state hospital, locked up for a few days, and then released. Today, Christmas Eve, is the day she's being released again, not long after the last one. And as soon as the news hit, all the men in town started lining up at our door, begging for her hand in marriage. 1 I was up early on Christmas Eve, stringing up some old lights. Our neighbor, Mr. Henderson, came over carrying a literal armload of gift bags. He smiled when he saw me. "Celia! Is today the day? Is your mom coming home?" I nodded. "That's what they said. The hospital called. Said they wanted her to be home 'for the holiday.'" Mr. Henderson's smile widened. He set the gifts down on our porch. "These are for you and your mom. A little Christmas cheer." He started wringing his hands, suddenly looking nervous. "Listen, Celia, I've... well, I've admired your mother for a long time. I'd very much like to make her my wife." "When she gets home," he said, "do you think you could... put in a good word for me?" I stopped what I was doing and stared at him. My mother is a psychiatric patient. She has killed twenty-seven men. Every single one of them was her legal, wedded husband. Except for my father, the other twenty-six all died within a week of marrying her. One of them snored too loudly. One of them chewed with his mouth open. One of them forgot to brush his teeth before bed. Any tiny, trivial thing could be the reason they ended up dead. Because of her diagnosis, she was never convicted. She'd just get sent back to the hospital. And, for some reason, she was always released after just a few days. I looked at Mr. Henderson's kind, simple face. "Mr. Henderson," I said gently, "my mom is... she's not well. Her temper is bad. She could... you know. Aren't you afraid?" His brow furrowed. "That's a terrible way to talk about your mother, Celia! It's not her fault! Those men didn't know how to take care of her. They deserved it!" "My only wish," he said, his voice full of passion, "is to marry your mom. I know I can take care of her. I can make her happy." Before I could argue, he clapped his hands together. "So you'll tell her? You'll help me? Thanks, Celia!" He walked off, practically skipping. He was just the first. For the next hour, a steady stream of men from our small town came by. All of them brought expensive gifts. "Celia, you know I've always looked out for you. You gotta help me out here. Just tell her I'm the one." "Celia, if I marry your mom, your college tuition is paid. Full ride. And I'll give you a five-hundred-dollar-a-week allowance." "Celia, here are my bank cards. My PINs. My retirement account. If your mom marries me, it's all hers. Everything I make, from now on, goes to you two." I stared at their faces, twisted with a kind of desperate... love? The gifts piled up, filling our living room. I was baffled. My mother isn't a supermodel. She's average. Her personality is, to put it mildly, volatile. She's a literal serial killer. Even I was terrified of her. I just... I didn't get it. What in the world did my mother have that made these men go so crazy? 2 An hour later, the state hospital car dropped my mom off. I pointed to the mountain of gifts. "Mom, these are from all the men in town. They... they all want to marry you." My mother, Evelyn, didn't even glance at them. She just grunted, "Oh." As if this was the most normal thing in the world. Before we could even talk, Mrs. Gable, the town's biggest busybody, was knocking at our door. She was beaming, holding a stack of envelopes. "Evelyn, honey! Welcome home! I've come to play matchmaker!" "My goodness, the men who want you... they've nearly beaten my door down!" She fanned out the envelopes like a deck of cards. "Take a look! Anyone here you fancy?" My mom looked at me. "Celia," she said, her voice flat. "You look. Anyone you think is... 'not bad'?" My blood ran cold. I knew what happened to the men she married. "Mom," I said, my voice shaking. "I think... I think you're better off single." Mrs. Gable swatted my shoulder. "Don't be silly, child! The most important thing for a woman is a good husband. You don't want your mother to be lonely, do you?" I just stared at my mom, willing her to listen to me. She looked at me, then back at the envelopes. She reached out and, without even looking, plucked one from the pile. "This one's fine," she said. When I saw the name on the envelope, my heart stopped. How... how could it be him? 3 My dad was dead before I could remember. My whole life has been a revolving door of my mom getting married, killing, and going to the hospital. Whenever she was "away," I was alone. When I was nine, I was washing clothes in the creek and fell in. The current pulled me under. I was drowning. And then, an older boy from town dove in and saved me. His name was Mark. He was a few years older than me. After that, whenever my mom was gone, he would bring me food from his house. He'd help me with my chores. He'd just... sit with me and talk. When kids at school made fun of me, calling my mom a "psycho," he'd find them. He'd get in their faces. He defended me. He was my hero. He was the person I was secretly, hopelessly in love with, the person I could never, ever be with because of... well, my mom. And his name was on that envelope. And my mom had just picked him. Mrs. Gable was thrilled. "Evelyn, you've got good taste! You picked the handsomest, most successful young man in the whole county! He'll take good care of you." She hurried off to "spread the good news." I didn't wait. I ran out the door. I ran all the way to Mark's house. He was standing on his porch, his handsome, steady face looking... anxious. He was waiting for the news. I stalked right up to him. "Mark. You're young. You're smart. You could have anyone. Why... why my mom?" He looked startled to see me. Then his expression hardened. "Why do you ask, Celia? You don't think your mom is good enough?" "That's not the point!" I was almost yelling. "She's... she's sick, Mark! She kills people! Are you insane? You're signing your own death warrant!" His face went cold. "That's not her fault. Those men were weak. They didn't know how to treat her. They deserved what they got." He looked me straight in the eye, his gaze firm. "If I'm lucky enough to marry her, I won't make those mistakes. I will spend my life taking care of her." His sincerity was terrifying. And in that moment, I understood. All those years... taking care of me, defending me... It was never about me. It was always about her. I felt a sharp, acid burn in my throat. "Well," I said, "congratulations. She picked you." 4 Mark's face lit up with a joy so bright it was almost blinding. He kept asking, "Really? Are you sure?" until Mrs. Gable came huffing up the path to confirm it. Mark, who was always so calm and cool, looked like he'd just won the lottery. He was practically vibrating. "When can we have the wedding?" Mrs. Gable asked. "Today," Mark said, without hesitation. "It's Christmas Eve. It's the perfect day." He looked at me. "Celia, go tell your mom I'll have everything ready. She just has to be the bride. I'll handle everything." He seemed to love my mom to the point of madness. I just stared at him, then turned and walked away. My mom didn't object to a Christmas Eve wedding. She was as calm and indifferent as ever. The wedding was rushed, held that afternoon. The whole town came. It was our local custom. They all clapped Mark on the back. "You're a lucky man, Mark! You got her!" Mark's smile never left his face. After it was over, Mark came up to me. "Celia," he said, "I'm your step-father now. I promise, I will take care of you both. You'll never have to worry about anything again." He was true to his word. He moved in that day. He cooked a huge Christmas dinner for the three of us. He never, ever took his eyes off my mom. Halfway through the meal, Mark started to get antsy. He looked at my mom, his eyes gleaming. "Evelyn... honey. It's getting late. Why don't we... turn in?" My mom nodded, put down her fork, and with a small, rare smile, she followed him to the bedroom. They didn't even finish their food. My heart was pounding with a new, intense curiosity. This was their wedding night... but it was also Christmas Eve. My mom was a 27-time widow. What magic did she possess that made a man like Mark so antsy he couldn't even finish his dinner? Why was every man in town obsessed with her? I couldn't understand it. Driven by a curiosity that was stronger than my fear, I crept to my mother's bedroom window and peered through a crack in the blinds. And I saw something I will never forget.
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