some person who kills people
Author:unloginuser Time:2025/02/13 Read: 5081some person who kills people
The chipped porcelain doll stared blankly from the shelf, its painted eyes following Elara as she crept down the hallway. The air hung thick and cold, a damp chill that seeped into her bones despite the summer heat outside. The scent of copper, faint but persistent, clung to the air, a metallic perfume clinging to the shadows.
It had started subtly. Missing pets. Whispers in the night. Then, Mrs. Gable, found lifeless in her garden, a single crimson rose clutched in her hand. The police, baffled, called it a heart attack. Elara knew better. She’d seen the glint of something inhuman in the darkness behind Mrs. Gable’s shed that night – a flicker of something too quick, too silent, to be human.
Now, it was Mr. Henderson, the kindly old librarian, discovered slumped over his favourite Tolstoy, a single, perfectly placed puncture wound at his throat. The rose, again. A crimson stain blooming on the worn carpet.
Fear, cold and sharp, pierced Elara’s bravado. She’d convinced herself it was just a coincidence, a series of unfortunate events, but the chilling regularity, the cruel symmetry, spoke a different story.
The house creaked around her, a symphony of unsettling groans and whispers. She reached the living room, the source of the copper scent strongest here. The air vibrated with an unnatural stillness. Then she saw him.
He wasn’t a monster in the traditional sense. He was… ordinary. Too ordinary. A man in his late thirties, with kind eyes and a gentle smile, meticulously arranging crimson roses around a body draped on the antique sofa. The body was that of her best friend, Liam.
The man looked up, his smile widening, revealing teeth just a little too sharp, a little too white. His eyes, though, held no malice, only a strange, unsettling calm.
“He was so… vibrant,” the man said, his voice a soft murmur. “Such a beautiful colour. Like a ripe crimson rose.” He touched a petal, his finger stained scarlet.
Elara backed away, her breath catching in her throat. He didn’t move, didn’t chase her. He simply continued arranging the roses, his movements precise, almost ritualistic.
“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice never raising above a whisper. “You’re next. You’ll look lovely in crimson.”
He offered her a rose, its thorns sharp and menacing. The petals were unbelievably smooth, unnaturally so, almost… polished. As Elara stared at the rose, she noticed something else. Embedded within the crimson petals, almost invisible, were tiny, perfectly formed teeth. They gleamed faintly in the dim light.
The last thing Elara saw before the darkness consumed her was the man’s serene smile, and the slow, deliberate closing of his eyes, as if he were finally drifting off to sleep after a long, satisfying day’s work. The scent of copper and roses filled the air, thick and suffocating. The porcelain doll on the shelf watched, its painted eyes never blinking.
