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It was like nothing the goriest horror movie could have ever prepared him for. The chest and stomach were split open, the intestines were stretched out, there was so much blood. The face had been smashed into an unrecognizable pulp. 

Vernon turned his phone’s flashlight on and saw the light glistened off the blood soaked blade. The knife had a long blade, much like the one Vernon had seen in many horror movies. He put the knife into an airtight bag and went home.

Vernon knew he should call the police. As careful as he thought he had been, he knew a forensic scientist could find traces of him at the murder scene and he had evidence that could help catch the murderer. But he had an unhealthy obsession with serial killers and he wanted a memento, something that no one could ever have. 

He’d come upon the scene by chance. He’d heard screams and a man’s voice. As he turned the corner the man was standing over the victim, his clothes soaked in blood. The killer and Vernon locked eyes, Vernon was terrified, the killer was not. He seemed to be looking for something before turning and walking away, he’d been looking for the knife.

As he walked into his apartment he had no idea the killer had followed him.



The killer’s name was Derek and pain had always been a part of his life. 

His father had beaten him as a child for no reason, his mother never intervened, she seemed happy to watch her son getting hurt. Derek had always felt he’d just been born, to be their experiment, their specimen. 

School was no better, he was beaten and berated. He was constantly made to feel inferior, even by the teachers but that all changed when he turned fourteen. 

He discovered exercise. Exercise changed his body and gave him confidence and no one could possibly understand how the confidence changed him. When he was sixteen he began taking steroids; his body and strength grew. In his last year of school, his size made him feared and he used the fear to keep others away from him.

Steven Dawson was an awful human being. He was a bully who got off on intimidating others. He was the high school quarterback and everyone loved him because of his endeavors on the football field. Steven had made people’s lives miserable but lately he’d tried to be friendly towards Derek.

“Hey, how’s it going?” asked Steven. 

Derek said nothing, he just stared at Steven. 

“Ever thought about trying out for the football team?” said Steven.

Derek said nothing, Steven had been responsible for so much of his pain. Because Derek refused to answer him, Steven became agitated.

“You know what, fuck you Derek. Your little intimidation act is not going to work on me. Underneath those muscles, you're the same loser you always were.”

Later that night as Steven walked the path through Greenfield Wood, Derek confronted him. When he approached Steven he was holding a knife behind his back. 

“What do you want?” Asked Steven.

He didn't reply. He felt the rage flowing through him. He felt his heartbeat thundered within his head. He tightly clenched the knife’s handle before thrusting the blade into Steven's abdomen. 

He watched the shocked and pained expression on Steven's face as he twisted the blade and Steven fell to the ground. Derek stalked Steven as he tried to crawl away, his blood dripping from the blade in Derek's hand. 

Steven died shortly afterwards. Derek buried his body in a shallow grave. The body was never discovered. There was an extensive police investigation but Derek managed to cover his tracks and burned his blood soaked clothes in a furnace.

He had followed the man who had the knife that had killed Steven and many more and he wanted it back.




Vernon had studied the knife, not taking it out of the clear plastic bag, not wanting to contaminate it with his touch. He was aware that if the police knew he had the knife he would be in a lot of trouble. The news channels, newspapers and websites had reported extensively, all saying the murder weapon had not been found.

Vernon put the knife in his desk drawer, maybe he should go to the police. The killer was connected to several murders in four states and the knife in his drawer could be the key to his capture. But he was worried how much trouble he would be in with the police if he confessed what he’d done.


Derek had been watching the man who had his knife. He knew where he lived and he knew he was struggling, he had seen the men regularly visiting food banks. He knew the man needed money.

He wondered if he should just break into the apartment, find the knife and leave it at that. But the man had seen Derek’s face and he was concerned he would go to the police. It was so complicated. 

 Derek left the man several bags of groceries on his doorstep, better quality food than he would get at a food bank and a note.


Vernon had enjoyed the food the killer had left him, he hadn’t eaten so well since before his parents threw him out.

The killer had left a note, explaining he wanted his knife back and a time to meet but Vernon hadn’t gone, how could you trust a murderer, Vernon didn’t want to be his next victim.

He had decided to go to the police the next day, when it was daylight and plenty of people were around. He would accept the consequences, it was getting dangerous and the killer needed to be caught and he knew where he lived. 

Vernon was too worried to sleep, every noise had him on edge but in the early hours of the morning he finally fell asleep but was suddenly awoken as his bedroom light turned on. 

Staring back at him was the murderer, with the knife in his hand.

“I didn't tell anyone.” Said Vernon.

The killer didn't reply.

“You've got your knife back, just go and I promise I won't tell the police. I mean I would get in trouble too, they've said repeatedly they have no murder weapon. I would be arrested for concealing vital evidence.”

The killer walked towards the light switch. “You've seen my face.”

He turned off the light.


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