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Part One

Everyone in the city will sleep a little easier tonight after the 10 o’clock news. The serial killer who has been terrorising the streets for weeks has finally been apprehended, according to the reports.

They found him in an abandoned building with various souvenirs from the crime scene, things much too disgusting to itemise, even on the later newscast. He looked like a killer, according to everyone who had an opinion on the matter. His deep-set eyes were ringed with the bruises of a man who had not slept in weeks. His hair, grown out and matted, was almost as dirty as his face. He was covered in blood when they found him. The videos circulating online show him manically laughing as he strains against the handcuffs behind his back. He shouted something as they pushed his head down into the police cruiser. Everyone assumes it was some sort of satanic curse.

As I walk the streets, I can feel the tension release, dissipating into the crisp night air. The ground vibrates with the deep bass of parties that have every intention of going until morning. Yet, no one complains. This isn’t a typical night, after all. The curfews have officially been lifted, the door-to-doors have ceased, and everyone finally feels safe. The monster has been captured. Those who choose to sleep tonight do so soundly, even with the relentless thud of dance music threatening to break their slumber.

It almost makes me want to take the night off. To give my fellow city-dwellers a night of peace. I owe them that, don’t I? I do. But then I owe the monsters of this city so much more…

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