Jack lit his cigarette and took a puff out of it. He realized that smoking was probably forbidden in that house, but there was nobody left there to tell him not to. The deep inhalations of smoke were rewarding, after a night of good work. The black gloves were stained red and the sharp blade was dripping consistently. The darkness was welcoming, only the weak moonlight was there to make contrast with it, as some sort of witness to the horror, present but unable to do anything. The corpses were carefully arranged in a position of rest, and looked as calm as possible, or as calm as a murdered person could look.
There was just one thing left. The hysterical cry of the baby cut the air, he could hear it, louder than silence. He didn’t want to kill him, he had satisfied his need already, and, besides that, a baby was not between his ideal prays, so defenseless, so dependent, so… easy. He had to do something though, the baby was not to be left alone to die and rot in his crib, no