• The arouma of rotting flesh and high ammounts of amounia hung in the air like a man on a rope. The light sound of a droplet of blood falling into a pool. This room is the eqivilent to every horror stories villian sancutary, a carpet of soft flesh, bone, and intestines, freshly painted blood red walls, chains adorned the celings amoung vairous weapons, blades, screws, scirrors, shears, razors, and other objects that are too horrible to describe. The amounia container laided open on a table with a freshly gutted victim, a 20 year-old woman, 3 months pregnant. Her unborn embryo contained in a jar still innocent-looking and fragile. Why no one has found this place from the smell is unknown even to me, the stench could've possibly been smelled from here all the way to Antarctica. Who's the man behind this you say? He lurks in the shadows, he is the most feared person you would ever lay your eyes on, he fallows his very tight scehdule, if you read the paper you'd know...
    Mondays; 3:30-8:00 Kill 2 Gay Men.
    Tuesdays; 3:30-8:00 Kill 3 Pregant women.
    Wensdays; 3:30-8:00 Kill 8 Priests.
    Thrusdays; 3:30-8:00 Kill 10 School Kids.
    Fridays; 3:30-8:00 Kill an Elderly couple.
    And he does nothing on Saturdays and Sundays. He kills people on the same time frame everyday, but his slayings are so clean he doesn't leave a fingerprint, anything to trace him from a crime sence. But alas, I know who he is, and I have told no one this story I'm telling you, but I know him, and I have been to his lair multiple times before. I watch him silently as he brings his victims in slays them and feasts upon their flesh like a straving mutt in an alley-way. I watch as he silents his victims with the amonina then rips their hearts out, devors them, preserves the baby, saves the flesh for his clothing and blanket. But his bigger project is one I know seldom about. He keeps mummbling in his sleep, that's how I find out, I dare not venture through the iron door with the blood smered handle. Soft whispers echo in there like a scream in the mountains. Small shadows run across the small gap under the steal door. I have always wondered what or even who was behind that door, even he sill looks spooked about it. My gaze always settles to him then to the door, I always wondered if he ever noticed me, sitting cross-legged on his flesh floor, gazeing into his mad-hatter eyes with my dark black ones, I guess no one ever really notices me, I just fallow him wondering when he'll notice me. My eyes fallowed him as he walked across the room, towards the forbidden door, his shaky hand streching out towards the handle I could hear whispers of excitement. 'he's gonna let us out!' 'Us?' I thought, 'There's more?' appentantly because when he opened that door two white beings sprang out, twirled around him like a whirl wind of leave in the fall, and slowly pulled out his soul through his face, I was astonished, the murderer has been murdered, that's what will appear on the next headlines. his body found face down in his sadistic room. Most of the force gagged at the horror that was led from a correrdor. I chuckled in the corner, still un-noticed, but I still remember the final words he said before opeing that horror's door.
    "Thank you shadow...." and just like that I felt pride and aknowledgement in me.
    I'm am the Murderer's Shadow.
    This Is My Story.