I.
He didn’t know which of his victims was haunting him this time. He just hoped it was one whose throat he had torn out.

II.
Her heels clattered down the empty corridor as she raced for the door. She hoped prayed that she would be able to get to it in time to escape and feed.

III.
He was thankful both that his guests enjoyed the ham that he’d prepared and that no one had thought to ask from whom he had carved it.

IV.
It was ’69 and he played it ’til his fingers bled – as did everything else.

V.
He tried to stop, begging his brain to just shut off, but he was stuck forever composing those tiny paragraphs of horror.