Jeffrey Dahmer.
John Wayne Gacy.
Jack the Ripper.
They all had a legacy they left behind, and one day, when he was dead and gone, he would too. It was crafted when he was a child, and it was perfected as an adult.
Everyone had to be remembered for something, right?
Well, this was his thing.
He would unearth them, take what he wanted, and close them back up.
Luckily for him, he’d only been discovered a couple of times, and when he was perfecting his craft.
Thus, the media giving him that name.
What they didn’t know was that he’d actually done the deed more than twenty times and had been practicing for a very long time.
Since childhood.
He had been honing his craft, and that was something he was very proud of, too. It took dedication to stick with something for as long as he had.
Old people.
Young people.
Women.
Men.
No one was free from his grasp, but only when it came time to dig them up, he only dug up the women. They were the ones he liked seeing the most.
They were pretty and he hated that he was attracted to them.
Still, that was his favorite part. There was something about that innocence as they laid there so peacefully in their pretty dresses, off to the next realm, or wherever the soul went. There was something about their eyes since they were the windows into the soul.
He would take the ones he favored, following in life because they were special to him. They reminded him of the one he wished to decimate.
So he did.
The woman hit by a car while she was running.
Oh, did he do that?
His bad.
The woman who went missing after working a late shift at the hospital.
Yeah, that was him, too.
He admitted it.
She was just too pretty not to take.
That might have been a little impulsive of him, but still, he liked to think of himself as a connoisseur of pretty things.
In a world of ugliness, he liked to admire the lovely things that were just out of his reach.
