You know that We Need To Talk About Kevin film? With Tilda Swinton? And Kevin? Well, we have a real life one of those today.

Indeed, a human female concerned her human male son is a bit of a psychopath. Thank Beelzebub we’re here to help!

Lunatic

I write this while hiding in a just booked hotel room in Buckinghamshire, typing out this message through sheer terror. My five year old son, Wigbert, I fear is something of a monster!

His behaviour is… mostly perturbing! Yesterday morning, he woke me by sitting at the end of my King-size bed. He was sitting there staring at me. Laughing most maniacally. Like a sort of, “HAHAHAHAHAAHAH!” Then he squealed, “Mummy is a poopy!” And he laughed again and ran off.

What in the name of Satan is wrong with this being?! Perhaps it was all the All-Bran cereals I ate during my pregnancy… but I did not, no never, expect such a monstrosity to emerge.

But I say “mostly” perturbing, for sometimes he’s okay. Just earlier he got me some flowers from the garden and gurgled, “Mummy flower power!" I was most touched.

Then he went upstairs and started blasting death metal music at full volume from my other son’s (Euripides—of but 16 years of age) bedroom. Fearfully, I treaded upstairs and slowly inched the door open.

Euripides was passed out unconscious with a bong nearby. A most pungent smell filled the air. The smell of… reprobates! And Wigbert was bouncing up and down on the bed repeating the death metal song lyrics, “KILL! KILL! KILL!”

Overcome with horror, I screamed in sheer terror and fled my property in Beaconsfield, Buckinghamshire.

I am now quaking in my five-star hotel en-suite room, trembling that Wigbert and Euripides may come crashing through the door. I have called my two daughters, Christabelle and Mirabelle, along with my husband (Ludlow) and shall, at once, demand their presence in my flat to protect me from my hoodlum sons!

What am I to do with them? The Mountbatten-Wickham-Twisleton surname is in tremendous jeopardy while our mansion is populated by such scum!

Regards, Penelope Mountbatten-Wickham-Twisleton IV

Hi, Penny. Let us cut to the chase. We know you sent this message to us four months ago, so apologies for the minor delay.

If you’re still in that hotel room, we urge you to call the police, fire brigade, and the British Army. Just to be on the safe side.

You can’t be too careful when it turns out TWO of your offspring are vagabonds.

Euripides is clearly a drug addict. We recommend having him sectioned. Disown him, if possible. He can make his own way in life. He’ll no doubt end up in Amsterdam hawking his rakish, emaciated figure to stoned businessmen. What a sad waste…

Wigbert is probably possessed by the devil. But there may be a slight chance, perchance, he’s just a kid having a laugh.

Again, best to be on the sage side. Section him. He’ll probably end us an atheist professor in a university teaching *shudder* normal people.

If your austere, powerful friends ask what happened to Euripides and Wigbert, you can say they were abducted by aliens.

That’ll impress your friends, as it proves you’re important for distant beings to visit this planet and favour you. Hope that helps!