I woke up dazed and confused. My head hurt, and my vision blurred. I looked around and tried to get my surroundings. I was in a small room, a window in front of me, blocked off with wooden boards and heavy curtains. Despite this, some sunlight still wormed it's way through the cracks, illuminating the right side of the room somewhat but worsening my headache. To my right sat a drawer, along with a small table, covered in jars full of things of a grisly nature. Eyeballs, brains, hearts, and severed fingers to name a few. I twisted my head around to see a door behind me, open and leading further into the building. I couldn't see to my left, but I heard a radio blaring the local news station. It was unnervingly playing a story of a local serial killer, said to be so violent that his victims were found with their throats cut, and drained completely of blood. In places where there have been signs of a struggle, some victims were found to have entire limbs ripped off, or massive holes in their torsos. I tried to stand up briefly, but was pulled back into place. I looked down, I was sitting in a chair, arms and legged cuffed down to the wood. Before I could do anything else, I heard footsteps behind me. I sat back, staring ahead. A large man, about 6 foot, 250 pounds stomped past me, before placing a jar down firmly onto the table. It was empty. He reached over to the drawer, opening it and reaching inside before he noticed me awake. He grin grew impossibly big, and he pulled out a large knife. Running his hand down my face lovingly, he whispered assurances that he'd make it quick. I like to believe he did try. He let the point of the knife rest against my chest, and with one swift motion, plunged it down to the hilt, piercing my right lung through. The pain was awful, and my breathing grew forced. The wound was enough to kill most, Yet, all i could feel was hunger. Welling up at the sight of my own blood, I looked up, smiling, my fangs running across my lips. My eyes fell to his neck. It was a shame that I had gotten captured, because now I no longer had a scapegoat.

I stood up.