House of killers

House of killers

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WpMetadataReadOngoing13m
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Mon, Jan 1, 2018
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Fiction
Mystery
16-year-old Gracie is just your normal teen, friends, a good family, a good house, and a good school with good grades. There is only one thing that's not so normal, she has anger issues now some people have anger issues that are like punching walls or breaking things but Gracie takes her anger away by doing something even more worse. Gracie is a killer, when she gets angry she kills and gets away with it until she finds out her family is murdered and everyone thinks it's her except it's not she loves her family and would never hurt them ever. Once rumours at school get spread she loses her friends and the police get involved. Once they find out she committed over 20 murders they take her to a huge house called the house of killers, once she goes there she finds some dark secrets and maybe the killer of her parents. What will happen when she enters this house? Read and find out what happens.
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#25
newfriends
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'The night was alive with silence. I moved through it like a shadow, black leather gloves tight on my hands, boots soft against the grass. My gas mask hid my face, leaving only darkness where my eyes should be. The world narrowed to a single point: the house ahead. Tonight, it would belong to me. The farmhouse rose stark and white beneath the moonlight, silent except for the occasional grunt of a pig or the low hum of a cow. They were unaware. They were insignificant. I crouched behind the hedge, eyes scanning, senses alert. Every detail mattered: the flicker of light across the curtains, the faint rustle of movement inside, the way a shadow shifted across the floor. She was there. Oblivious. Popcorn in hand, murmuring to herself as the television flickered. Every motion was a note in tonight's symphony, and I was the conductor. I studied her, cataloging. Timing. Patterns. Fear. She didn't notice me yet, and that was perfect. Patience was everything. One sound, one misstep, and it could all unravel. I rang the doorbell once. Silence. Again. Still nothing. She flinched slightly, just enough to make my pulse quicken. Her small reaction was delicious. A sudden movement in the yard caught my eye-a neighbor's dog barking at some unseen intruder. Its voice was loud, startling, but contained. I froze. My breath slowed. Patience. Observation. The dog's curiosity would pass. I remained still, hidden in shadow, letting the moment stretch. The animal lost interest and padded away. Perfect. I moved to the back of the house, hammer in hand.' ...

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