(raspy, labored breathing)

Mommy never had time for you; she called you "her little monster." Daddy had all too much time, though you hated the games he played, and he made you swear never to tell Mommy. If you did, he said, he'd cut you up into little chunks and dump your bloody bones in the river.

You had no friends - Daddy discouraged visitors. and the other kids were uncomfortable around you anyway So you sat and festered alone in the damp cellar. Not that you were lonely. You saw and heard things in the dark that no human had a right to see and hear. The scuttlings in the walls, the scrapings under the floor, the rattling against the window - you knew what made them all.

Over all the other noises, you heard the distant wail of the river. The river, which Daddy had deprived of its prey. The river, singing for pieces of flesh and bloody bones. You had been a good boy. Mommy and Daddy had been bad. Time for them to go to the river.

There were tools in the cellar - sharp saws, heavy hammers, pliers, rope, an axe. You waited until you heard the screaming upstairs. Mommy and Daddy had been drinking. Now they were fighting. They were being bad. You took your tools and climbed the stairs and went to play with Mommy and Daddy.

Afterward, you made a deal with the river. The river got Daddy, but you got to keep Mommy. Now she had all the time in the world - she could play with you forever.

The stench would eventually have alerted the authorities, but something else found you first. It bit you, and changed your outside to look like your inside. Now you really were Mommy's little monster But you still had a debt to the river. Now you play your little games with other people, and the river gurgles its contentment.

You have learned little save how to hide, stalk and kill - but you have become very good at these feats. Your education was nearly nonexistent, but you are very cunning.

Roleplaying Tips:
You have been terrified all your life, and now you plan to inflict the same fate on others. You don't think like other people or vampires do, and rarely speak. When you do talk, it is often to the shrunken head of your mother, which you carry around at all times.

Chainsaw, hockey mask, icepick, straight razor, axe, carpet cutter, knives of all shapes and sizes, Mommy's shrunken head

This info is ©1994 White Wolf. It is currently used without their blessing or permission. I'm real sorry 'bout that...but I mean 'em no harm. And if they say to remove it, I'd be happy to. I'm not doing this for money, or glory, or anything except to further the reach of their already incredible game system, and probably making 'em even MORE money...but still...