This series is going to be quite a bit graphic, so please be warned.
None of it made sense, merely the ravings of a serial killer. Martin shifted his legs in his office chair, thinking about the uncomfortable nature of this dingy, dusty police office. Martin had been assigned to the latest killer: The Teardrop Butcher. Martin gave him the name after he noticed all the bodies had a chunk of their skin missing in the shape of… well, a teardrop. He was the lead man on the case, this being the first time he ever led an investigation. Boss thought he’d done well in his past cases, but something about this guy was a complete mystery. Martin didn’t know if he would be able to solve this one. Martin shifted again, thinking about the lunch he’d had 30 minutes prior. Man, these chairs were uncomfortable.
“The Red Room…” Martin whispered to himself. Maybe it could be a room for polaroid developing? Or maybe it was red because it was covered in… Martin shifted again, squirming at the idea. He’d only seen pictures of the bodies after they were dumped in the woods, merely husks of skin and bone, most of the flesh being removed. But, the killer always left his calling card: The Teardrop. It disgusted him. Only god knows what he did with the flesh.
Martin was given these diary notes after an anonymous source mailed them to the office. They couldn’t trace it back to anywhere, it merely said “OPEN” on the letter. It’s clear this sicko wanted the police to read over the acts he committed, almost like an attempt to share the ecstasy he felt while cutting and slashing away at his victims.
“Sigh.” Martin slumped back into his chair. He knew he had a lot of work ahead of him.
