I let go and he slumped to the floor. I stood, straddling his body, and did what I'd originally intended for that room. Relieving my bladder. Once done, I flushed and washed my hands. The sink had cracked from the impact and a small piece was sticking from his forehead. I turned, left the room and closed the door.

"What the fuck was all the noise?"

My mother was half up the stairs, looking furious. She'd told me to be quiet. It wasn't my fault I'd not been able to.

"Sorry, I slipped."

"Well, you need to shut the fuck up. He doesn't like being woken up."

It was after three pm. He should have been up anyway. He'd definitely not wake up now.

By the time I was at the top of the stairs, so was my mother. We faced each other in a way that reminded me of when I was six years old. My father and I had stood in exactly the same way, except I was no longer a boy.

"I don't know why you came, but I want you to go."

My mother's face was close to mine, and I could smell the alcohol and tobacco on her breath. Her teeth were yellow, with two bottom ones missing. Her skin was tinged a fainter yellow and wrinkles made tree bark of her features, something I didn't notice until we were so close to each other.

"I came to kill you," I said.

She laughed and spittle rained on my cheek. I wiped it off.

"Kill me? Not content with your dad, eh? Why are you really here?"

"That's got nothing to do with this," I said.

It did, in a way, but not for the reasons that might be obvious immediately. My father's death hadn't made me a killer as such, it just showed me something that gave me pleasure. Pleasure was not something I experienced often, yet with the other deaths, it was unmistakeable as it ran through me. My mother didn't seem to believe me, not that she would. People didn't usually tell you they were going to kill you, particularly on the landing of your own home.

"Bollocks," she sneered. "You're a shit, just like your dad."

"And Uncle Fuckwit in the bathroom?"

"Unc... What do you mean? He's asleep."

"He probably was, but he was definitely awake when I saw him. At least for a little while."

"What...? You...? What have you done?"

She tried to push past me, but I blocked her way, putting my arm out to the wall.

"I told you I came to kill you. I just started with him."

My mother went still at that, staring at me with wide, and wild, eyes.

"Get out of my way, Joshua."

"I don't think I will, and it's Josh."

"Get out of my fucking way!"

She tried to force me out of the way again, but I stood fast, grabbing her arms as she went to punch me. She struggled, but couldn't break free.

I was there. The time had come.

Six.

She brought her knee up sharply, right into my groin. I just had time to twist myself so she didn't hit me where she intended, but my grip loosened and she wrenched her arms free.

There was a second where our eyes were locked, with both of us frozen in a heartbeat, then I was reaching for her and she was falling back, her arms flailing.

She landed with the same sound as my father, a thud and crunch. I stood at the top step and looked down at her. Even her head was bent in a similar fashion to her ex-husband.

I didn't move. I couldn't. She was dead. My mother was dead. And the bitch didn't let me do it!

Her struggling had robbed me of my chance! It had taken my glorious sixth kill from me! How the fuck dare she?

"Bitch!"

I turned and stormed away across the landing, my fists clenched, pacing up and down. It wasn't fair! She was meant to be the last! Number six! I was thirty seven the next day. It would be too late!

"BITCH!"

I was thrown off course for the first time in my six times six years. The year had held so much promise, and had delivered – right up until then. My life before and after would go on as it wished. That was supposed to have been my time! Out of my entire existence, I had only wished for that twelve month period to do what I wanted.

As someone who believed they didn't feel, I knew I was feeling, and I hated it. Was this what others had to go through? I'd held it at bay for so long and now that woman had thrust it upon me. Was there no end to her torment?

The stairs stretched down before me, the abyss my mother had opened up for her only son. There had to be something I could do. Maybe she wasn't dead yet and I could still finish the deed. No, with the way her body was twisted, and the dead stare, life had left her behind. It was gone in search of another host or some pearly gates to climb over while no one was looking.

"Bitch."

I spoke the word through clenched jaw and gritted teeth. I thought of spitting on her, but my saliva would be stolen by gravity long before it reached her. The anger seeped out of me like the air of a punctured tyre. There was nothing to fill the space it left. Now it had gone, I sensed the void where it had been and wished for more feelings to fill it. But they'd left me, realising I wasn't a welcoming home for them.

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