The Town of Salem

Serial Killer

Alignment:
Neutral (Killing)

Abilities:
Killing someone each night.

Attributes:
If you are role blocked you will attack the role blocker instead of your target.
You can not be killed at night.

Goal:
Kill everyone who would oppose you.

The clock struck midnight, in-time with the slam of the front door as a young man entered his home. He had dropped his handbag by the entrance, cracking his beaten knuckles as he stretched the aching muscles in his back. He took off his trench coat, laying it on top of the coatrack as the clock finished its chimes.

The man made his way to the kitchen, grabbing a glass from the cabinet as he poured himself a shot of bourbon. He allowed his eyes to drift to the clouded window, staring into the empty house of his old neighbor. It had been a few weeks since the woman next door had fled the country for undisclosed reasons, leaving her life behind for the authorities to come to clean it up. He had been questioned a few times from some of the other village people, but he could never produce an answer for them.

He took the chilled drink to his couch, turning on the radio that sat on the edge of the end table. The speaker radiated the soft tunes of evening jazz, allowing the man to fully relax as he took a sip of the coveted drink. He was on his last bottle, unable to bring himself to the local convenience store after a long day of work each day of the week.

Although he appeared composed, those in his line of work would argue otherwise. This man was a sham, convincing those around him that he lived an alleged life of a doctor under the sun while he committed crimes under the moonlight. He was playing a charade he shielded from the world.

The man was sadistic, pleasuring himself in the night with innocent, murderous screams. His so-called vintage "doctor bag" was filled with dual-purpose tools. They were stored neatly in the bag located at the front door, holding items such as his measuring tape for shackles, syringes and needles for sedation, and scalpels for doing the deed. He was trained to inflict pain, leaving behind no trace of evidence to keep his conscience and record clear.

He would prey upon the weak, stealing them from their homes in the night and presenting the best version of himself to the town. He wouldn't utter a word, making it clear over his time in the village that he was a quiet man. This worked to his advantage. He never was required to speak in front of the people and only chimed in if he needed to defend himself. He was never suspected of any trouble and he felt invincible. To them, he was just a doctor and he didn't intend to break the façade.

As he finished off the shot of bourbon, he allowed the soft jazz to overtake his mind as he went to fill another glass. He always had to fight his thoughts in the night, calming them after a killing high. The music was dampened in his ears, the smooth pour of alcohol replacing the white noise.

The walk back to the couch was interrupted, some abrupt movement catching his eye as he passed the window in the front of the house. He had stopped moving, listening closely to the world around him. He was very sensitive to sound, particularly when noise was incredibly sudden. He gently set down the glass of bourbon, the heels of his shoes clicking against the wood as he walked forward.

The moonlight missed his face as he peered outside, craning his neck to see what had produced the disturbance. It only took him a moment to find a young woman staring into the center of the village, a notebook tucked under her arm as she came forward. He felt his heart stop, pressing his face into the cold glass as he fought for a better look.

The woman had long and beautiful brown hair that cascaded down her shoulders, paired together with eyes as green as the everglades. She had a relatively small structure, leaving him to guess that she was unprepared for what could unleash itself in the town of Salem.

He was interrupted by his daydreaming as he saw the girl flee into the first house. He could feel the alcohol slowly warming his cheeks, causing his body to tingle as newfound thoughts began to swarm. He swallowed hard, unable to pry his gaze from the window. He could hear his heart thumping against his ribcage, overwhelmed by the adrenaline pumping through him.

When he could no longer sense a sign of her presence, the man allowed himself to return to the smooth jazz and bourbon. His toes tapped to the swing of the tempo, forcing himself to drink slowly. He was unable to pick apart specific thoughts, his back pressed against the corner of the armrest as one of his legs rested on the couch next to him.

He was familiar with this feeling of pleasure yet he couldn't decipher where it was coming from. It almost felt as though he was weak, something that he had never allowed himself to experience. He was trying not to let it alarm him, returning his attention to the sound of the radio. He stared at the machine with all of his focus and energy, finishing the bourbon with one last gulp. He gently set the glass down beside him, letting out a quiet sigh. With all of these thoughts, he was certain of one thing:

She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.