A mile into the woods, deep below the snow, that’s where all the dirty bones go.
When in spring he shows again, to bury them deeper, along with their friends, because he is a
keeper of souls.
He is crafty, that man with the blade.
A locksmith, they say, was his former trade.
Not bad with guns, or rifles either, for everyone knows he is;
“The Soul Keeper”
He slinks into bedrooms as quiet as a mouse, then skipping the jewelry, the money, the spouse. Oh, he’d shoot the spouse, but first he’d awaken the wife, who lays there in sheer terror, in horror of the night.
Her screams wake her husband, who is quickly shot, for the Zodiac kills for the adrenalin rush.
The screams and the horror are what he craves, it feeds him like spinach fed Popeye, to make him strong and brave.
The begging pleas from a now pleading wife, just minutes away from the end of her life, gives him a rush like no other, the Keeper of Souls can never stop.
Come hell or highwater.
T.A. Dieringer.