The Collection

He was always an odd one in the batch. Quiet, alone, wide-eyed, and scared. You could see it in his eyes if you got close enough. The emptiness, the deep, black hole that sat in the center. He never said a word, when he did say something it was just. murmur under his breath.

Nobody understood his role. He was always there with everyone, but he was secluded. As far as everyone was concerned he had no friends, no crush, no love, and just maybe, no family.

Just like the rest of us, one day he grew up. But the emptiness never left him. Always quiet, always lonely, always scared.

Then the reports came out. Bodies had began to go missing from the morgue. Nobody understood who could do this, or why they would. Nobody would have guessed. How could he do something so... so dark.

Nobody knew, until the day that he died. He committed suicide.

His basement gave it away. It told every secret that had been held up in his home for the past decade or so.

I worked for the police myself. So I got a first look at the scene.

The bodies of the missing people from the morgue sat on the couch, in chairs, laying on his bed, a few even standing up with drink cups in their hand. As we got closer we realized that there were drinks in them.

Metal rods driven through their arms and legs to keep their lifeless bodies from falling in a heap on the floor. Blood still dripping down their arms and legs, some of it dried and caked in layers. Their ragged clothes were ripped, torn, and stained in blood.

Flies buzzed around the open wounds, lay dead in drinks, floating bellies towards the sky, and swarmed around spoiled food. Mold grew in every corner, filling the room with the disturbing familiarity, and central theme of death and decay. The entire room-no, the entire house- smelled of decay.

"Oh. My. God." I whispered to myself in horror.

A detective at the other end of the room was bent over a trash can vomiting. We had seen "bad" before. But it was never that bad. Never.

"We came for him. We can come back later for the... others." I spoke, ending the silence that filled the house. My voice shaking from the horror as the word "others" rolled off of my tongue.

I stepped over a fallen body... or was he supposed to be lying down? No. The eyelids were taped back, and he held a cup in his hand. Flies swarmed over his face. I shooed them away only to find his eyeballs not only deteriorating, but half way gone. I noticed small white worms squirming inside of the squishy pink mess that used to be his eyes. Maggots.

My stomach flipped and turned every time I saw a new one. They were everywhere. No matter where I looked they were there. Staring right back at me. Their soulless, empty eyes seemed to cry out for help.

"This is... How?.. I... I have no words." The sheriff had just came in. His words spoke what nobody else could bring themselves to say.

"Let's just get him and get out." I repeated.

I had to force my eyes onto his body, hanging from the ceiling fan. As I got closer and closer I noticed something on him. Written all over his arms, legs, hands, feet, and neck.

'ALL I EVER WANTED WAS SOMEBODY TO LOVE' it read over and over again, written in sharpie all over him.

My eyes wide with terror. I cut the rope that connected him to the fan. He fell in a heap on the ground with a loud 'THUD!'.

I picked his limp body up and placed it in the body bag.

"I guess all he wanted was some friends." I said to everybody. They all looked back at me with the same horrified look.