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"No, I love taking pictures of them dead

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"No, I love taking pictures of them dead."

I was then utterly taken aback to his answer and suddenly felt terrified to his morbid fascination with the dead.

"Sorry did my answer bother you?" He asked worriedly and drew closer to me.

"No not at all!" I exclaimed in contrary to my feelings as I warily took a step back away from him.

The photographer frowned and resumes organizing his camera. However, something caught my eyes inside his opened case box, there's a severed thumb with a bit of red liquid on it. My eyes widen in shock and gasped silently, my hand covering my agape mouth. Gradually stepping my feet backwards in horror yet I outbalanced myself and instantly closed my eyes, preparing to fall back.

Much to my surprise, I didn't sense any pain or impact from the ground but rather an arm wrapped around my waist. Slowly opening my eyes and saw his perturbed yet attractive face so close to me. His alluring ebony eyes locking to mine and felt his hot breath on my face, sending chills down to my spine until someone's clearing throat snapped us back to reality. He quickly released me from his grasp and we both flushed in embarrassment after getting caught in a somewhat compromising position we were in.

"I think this is not the right time to flirt." My mother commented and shook her in dismay.

Still, she invited the young man beside me to stay for the dinner as a token of appreciation but he refused because of some important matters. A part of me felt disappointed, though I reminded myself that he's not an ordinary photographer to easily welcome him after the gruesome thing I saw.

When he finally completely left our mansion, I went upstairs to my room and mulled over about the post-mortem photographer. He intrigued me at least, despite his weird interest and also the terrifying finger part in his case box.

What if he's the serial killer on the loose? Whoever he is I hope not to see him again.

Psychotic Photographer  | J.HWhere stories live. Discover now