He was known for hiding in the shadows no he was the shadow itself. He lurked around killing whatever was on sight or within a few inches away from him. People called him the hatchet or sometimes the masked killer but to me whatever name you gave him he was still a cold-blooded killer.
He loved the scent of blood or witnessing the life of someone drain from their eyes. But what he loved the most was cutting out someone’s insides and using their remains to paint a masterpiece. The skin color he says makes the work more aesthetic, the lifeless eyes make the work pop out. The person’s intestines would be used as a border for his work and the splash of blood gives it more life and color.
He loved his victim’s cries of agony and pain. They would echo all over the house. The crazed look he would hold when looking at them in the eye and stabbing them non-stop, let’s not talk about skinning them to the point of bone peeking out from their tender flesh and blood gushing out like a fountain.
This was why I barely went out or associated with too many people but don’t get me wrong I have friends sometimes I just wished I had none at all because I’m sure all of this would have been avoided. All I had to do was look in his direction.