Rewritten and republished. Originally posted on fictionspawn.com September 21. 2016.
Gundersen was standing on his little bedroom balcony. He could see the whole factory from here. It was going well, they had lot of profit. He was getting rich.
The workers kept complaining, though. Assholes. He had built a great factory they could work in, and all they ever did was whimper. Our children are hungry, they said. We can’t afford medicines. With the accidents lately things had gotten worse.
He couldn’t get the image out of his head. She had been only eight years old, the little girl. Her body crushed in the paper compressor. Her swollen face…
That summer Ron stayed home a lot. His so called friends wasn’t treating him well. He’d had enough, he just wanted to be alone.
He started going for walks at night, roaming around the streets, exploring the gardens of others when they were sleeping.
Sometimes he saw someone walk in a distance. At first he was hiding in the shadows, but night after night he started following them. Sneaking after them, finding out where they lived or where they were going.
One night he saw Gary come out of Andrew’s house…
A man was going home alone, late at night. Marlor watched him as he walked towards the forest. His victim. … More
He ran into the forest, the shadows. Into the darkness. No one had seen him. He walked between the trees. … More
Dear Margareth. I write you today with heavy heart. There’s no easy way to put this, so I’ll write it … More
Rain started falling. The water made it harder. Dirt kept falling into the hole as he dug. Lightning lit up … More