A masked figure snuck into the cemetery as the clock tolled twelve. A limp figure was in his arms; he also carried a shovel. He set the limp body down, starting to dig a hole.
Twenty miles away from the cemetery, a wail was heard. Twenty miles away, blood stained the bed of a little boy.
The man in the cemetery knew that he had to hurry. Dumping the last shovelful of dirt into a mound, he dropped a silhouette into the pit he had dug. He shed his coat and laid it on top of the limp body before piling dirt back into the hole. Replacing the dirt in the hole, the man acted quickly. After the task was done, he found a trash can in the nearest park and dumped his gloves in it. He tossed the mask into the garbage bin and smiled; it was garbage day tomorrow.
Another silhouette was seen in the graveyard that night. A wisp of a girl darted to her small bike. It was time to ride home.
She lived twenty miles away from the graveyard. She knew the man in the mask.
But she would never make it twenty miles away.
The man knew her, too.
