Red Rain

The little girl loved it when it rained. The moment she begun to hear the patter of water against the roof she would rush to her bedroom window and peer outside, grinning excitedly at the sight of the grey skies above.

"Daddy!" she would call, running through the quaint little house in search of her father.

It wasn't difficult to find him; he was often found replacing the ceiling hatch that lead towards their attic, and the little girl would run towards him and begin to pull on his trouser leg impatiently, practically hopping from one foot to the next as her father dismounted the ladder.

"Daddy, it's raining again!" She would say, taking hold of his hand to drag him to her bedroom, his chuckle rich and deep behind her. She would turn and smile up at him, her eyes going wide in earnest as she would ask, "Do you think it'll be red rain today daddy?"

Her father would pause, considerate, before smiling again with a nod. "I believe it will today buttercup."

When she gasped and squealed happily at the news, he would pick her up and hold her in his arms, chuckling when she wriggled and giggled in his grasp. He would move to sit down amongst the pillows and blankets they had placed beside her window and she would settle in his lap, her eyes gazing up towards her window in wonder. Her smile would only grow when the first drops of red began to hit the glass and race down towards her windowsill.

"Red's my favourite colour daddy," she would say, leaning her small form back against his chest and snuggling closer, "I wish the rain was always red."

He smiled, enveloping her within his arms and squeezing her gently as the rain outside continued to pour.

He would have to clean her window again tonight before any of it stained. It was always a time consuming task, but by now he had gotten it down to a fine art form; really, the blood wasn't all that hard to clean off once he knew what ingredients to use and scrubbed at it hard enough. By now, there were hardly any remaining stains once he was done cleaning her window, and it wasn't all that difficult to scrub it off her wall and ceiling either.

No, the real difficulty was figuring out what to do with the body upstairs. He would always bring them up into the attic and leave them to bleed out upon the tarmac, but he knew he couldn't keep them there for too long. He'd have to think of some way to dispose of them soon, before anyone began to question where his victims had gone.

But he didn't have to think of that now. Now, he would enjoy the sound of the rain against their roof, and the feel of his little girl in his arms, as they watched the blood of his latest victim run alongside the rainwater upon her window.