1. There was a mansion in the middle of an industrial park–unseen from the road, unquestioned by the truck drivers who drove past it everyday. There was always a small green and rusted car parked in its makeshift parking lot. It would move from spot to spot over the course of a week. No one seemed to know who drove it.
Every month the manager of the neighboring trucking company would speak at city council meetings, urging them to rezone the land. Maybe then the house could be demolished. No one felt good about it being there. Every month the city council would agree to think about it then deny the request. It does me no good to go down this road, the manager thought after the latest rejection.
2. Sweat and blood dripped into the young man’s left eye. He had been bound and gagged and now was shoved in a corner. He tried in vain to understand his surroundings, but the room was poorly lit. From what he could see, it was a large room that had once had a chandelier. Each of the four walls, save five feet in either direction of him, were stacked floor to ceiling with something. He tired to inch closer to a stack near him. Lightening bolts of pain shot through his lungs down to his legs. He wanted to scream, but a whimper was all that left his taped up mouth. He realized he had been tethered to the wall with what felt like an electrical rope. The man strained his eyes more. The stacks looked like rust soaked burlap sacks. The bottom sacks more stained than the top. It was at that moment the man realized the floor was stained the same color as the bags and under him seemed sticky and fresh.
3. The detective had arrived at the scene just as five of the seven senior forensic team members ran out of the house and vomited.
4. The problem wasn’t the bodies. Those could be identified. The problem was the patterns that brought these people to this house. The detective hadn’t smoked in twenty-odd years. On the way to the scene the second day, he bought a pack. Driving to the scene he wondered about his old friend that had gone missing. Maybe he would be in a stack. The detective slapped himself, it does you no good to go down that road.
5. The little old man drove down the main road back to his house. He could barely see over his dash. He was about to turn left on to the road back home when he noticed flashing lights scream past him and turn down the same road he wanted. The old man merged back into traffic and continued straight down the highway. It had only been four days since the manager finally died. It does you no good to go down that road, he thought. It was time to move on, just like last time.