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savingpeopleHe blew into town at some ungodly hour of the morning, 'round the time the suits usually began their morning commute into the city. Dawn was beginning to creep into the darkened sky when he pulled up to the rickety old house that had brought him here. As he'd thought, the house looked like something straight out of a scary movie. Only thing missing was the big-breasted blond running across the lawn, really.
It was far too late for anything really otherworldly to be happening -- or too early -- but it wasn't like he couldn't scope out the place while he was waiting. From what he'd gleaned from the different newspapers/paranormal websites, he needed as good a grasp of the layout of the place as he possibly could.
Dean killed the engine and sat for a few moments just staring up at the house. Grisby's house, home of the grisly. Had to give 'em points for creativity, at least, though he wasn't really sure how much solace he could take in the notion that today's youth knew how to rhyme. Over the past year a total of six different murders-slash-suicides had taken place inside the house, each one more gruesome than the last. It had escaped media attention for the longest time until just recently, when one of the claimed victims turned out to be a small boy no older than eight.
Said boy also happened to be the sole heir to a rather prominent big-name corporation in the city, but Dean wasn't one to really sweat the small stuff. The fact of the matter was, a kid was dead. And he was damn sure going to make sure the son of a bitch responsible was going to die for it.
Hands stuffed into his pockets, he approached the house with the casual air of a curious passerby. There weren't nearly enough people on the streets by this point, but the occasional car that breezed by gave him enough light to pick out the tattered lines of police tape crisscrossing the house and the grounds. Pretty clear this place wasn't a frequent tourist spot. He had his suspicions as to what it was that was doing the killing, but until he actually got inside he couldn't really be for sure.
When he got close enough to squint inside the dusty window he paused. Was that... light?
"Son of a bitch."
It was far too late for anything really otherworldly to be happening -- or too early -- but it wasn't like he couldn't scope out the place while he was waiting. From what he'd gleaned from the different newspapers/paranormal websites, he needed as good a grasp of the layout of the place as he possibly could.
Dean killed the engine and sat for a few moments just staring up at the house. Grisby's house, home of the grisly. Had to give 'em points for creativity, at least, though he wasn't really sure how much solace he could take in the notion that today's youth knew how to rhyme. Over the past year a total of six different murders-slash-suicides had taken place inside the house, each one more gruesome than the last. It had escaped media attention for the longest time until just recently, when one of the claimed victims turned out to be a small boy no older than eight.
Said boy also happened to be the sole heir to a rather prominent big-name corporation in the city, but Dean wasn't one to really sweat the small stuff. The fact of the matter was, a kid was dead. And he was damn sure going to make sure the son of a bitch responsible was going to die for it.
Hands stuffed into his pockets, he approached the house with the casual air of a curious passerby. There weren't nearly enough people on the streets by this point, but the occasional car that breezed by gave him enough light to pick out the tattered lines of police tape crisscrossing the house and the grounds. Pretty clear this place wasn't a frequent tourist spot. He had his suspicions as to what it was that was doing the killing, but until he actually got inside he couldn't really be for sure.
When he got close enough to squint inside the dusty window he paused. Was that... light?
"Son of a bitch."
