The Stitcher [Editing]

Chapter 2: Fours

A man wearing a ragged trench coat and a scarf covering most of his face walked into the abandoned house at the end of 4th Avenue. This house had been abandoned for decades, maybe even a century, well that was true till last month. The man was clenching a newspaper in his hand, he set it on the table and took off his trench coat and scarf. His skin was pale, and covered in stitches and scars. He was rather short for someone of his age, but it had never really mattered to him. His face was rather narrow with sharp features. He had a bright red hair and eucalyptus green eyes. He set down his clothes on the table and picked up an overturned chair on the floor and sat on it, he then picked up the news paper and read out the title, The Stitcher Strikes. "What an unusual name for someone, does this mean I'm now The Stitcher? That's good, I never liked me name anyway, it reminded me of my imperfection." He then muttered, "Imperfect imperfect imperfect imperfect." He yawned slightly and began reading the article.

The Stitcher Strikes

Mayhem was caused today on the outskirts of Boston, at Fenway Park. While a woman was out walking her dog last night, she claimed that she saw something moving up in a tree, while a figure was walking away. She then went to investigate the tree only to find four bodies, sewn together and hung in the tree by thread. Officials believe that the victims were Victor Gray(44), Samuel Lester(24), Tiffany Smith(16), and Sarah Wells(28). They had each died four days apart, all torn open violently by the looks of it, then delicately sewn back together. We are still waiting for the bodies to be fully examined by morticians. Does The Stitcher (name having come from previous articles) have any motives? And if he does, when will this killer strike again?
-article by Zale Clyatt.

The Stitcher stared at the name of the reporter, Zale...? He tried to think of why the name sounded so familiar, but he choose to shrug it off as a stupid suspicion. He stood up and shredded the newspaper into pieces then threw it away, he was done with it and no longer needed it. He walked to the fridge and look at all the drawings pasted up on it, all in green crayon. One was a stick figure drawing of himself that he had done when he moved in here. Another was of the four people he had killed, all draw in at different times. The last one was of his parents that he made last week.

He opened the fridge and looked in it. Inside of it were several different organs, he had four kidneys, four hearts, four livers, four eyes, and four stomachs, all of which were human. He picked up an eye and plopped it in his mouth, always preferring them raw. He closed it then opened the ice box and pulled out a popsicle. He opened it and began eating it will walking into the next room.

The Stitcher sat down on the dusty couch, he looked around the room and saw an old rag doll that had been torn apart several times, then sewn back together. Immediately dropping his popsicle he picked it up angrily, he shouted at the doll, feeling it was unnessicary, and should be eliminated. "No no no no! You are a disgusting thing that should have never existed! You are imperfect! Imperfect imperfect imperfect imperfect!" He then started tearing up the doll. After it had been in shreds, cotton from inside now scattered along the ground with its other remains, looking almost like a crime scene. The Stitcher pulled out a sewing needle with green thread. He set aside the cotton and started sewing the pieces back together, "Do not worry, I am fixing you, you will be perfect again. Perfect perfect perfect perfect," He said into the lifeless doll.