Robin Peace and Brian MacDonald

Brian MacDonald
Inspiration piece

The Collector
By Robin Peace

I call myself the Collector. I keep mementos, reminders of my conquests. I have to have something to remember them by. They brought me so much joy.

For example, my first conquest was a young girl with a broken leg. I saw her limping down the street, dressed in a raincoat, trying to walk with crutches, on a terrible raining day. My heart began to quicken. I wasn’t sure why, but I had this strong impulse to pull my car over to her at once.

“Do you need a ride?” I asked, my voice sounding strange to my own ear.

“Sorry sir, I was told never to talk to strangers,” the little girl said.

“Well my name is Simon. What’s yours?”


“How old are you?”


“Well Ami, we are no longer strangers, we’re friends and friends do nice things for each other, right?”

“Yes, I think.”

“Well, I just want to give you a ride home, so you will be safe and dry. Would a bad friend want that?”

“No…,” she said, but I could see she still had some doubts.

I opened my car door and stepped into the rain. I open the passenger side door.

“We could even stop for ice cream. There is a Friendly’s up the street,” I tried, praying that her next answer would be yes as the rain beat upon my bald head, quickly drenching me completely.

Her eyes opened wide and she smiled. “Okay!”

I helped her hobble into the car and I put her crutches in the back seat. As we drove off, I was feeling so much excitement. I almost couldn’t contain myself. I asked her some innocent questions about school and home. I don’t remember her answers because I was thinking of what I was going to do with her.

I stopped at Friendly’s and leaving her in the car, I got her a Jim Dandy Ice Cream Sundae. When I came back with the sundae, she smiled greedily and began to eat it. She was so engrossed; she failed to tell me how to get to her home. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t going home anyway.

I took her home and she began to panic.

“Where are we? I thought you were going to take me home!” Ami exclaimed.

“Don’t worry, Ami. I will take you home. But first I had to come home and check on my puppy, Max. Wouldn’t you like to see him?”

Ami furrowed her brows. I could tell she was concerned. But she didn’t try to get away. I helped her into my house, holding her half eaten sundae. She called for Max.

“He’s in his kennel. Have a seat and I’ll go get him.”

Of course there was no puppy. What happened next, you must believe me, I didn’t plan.

I reached out and put my hand around Ami’s throat and squeezed. I watched as her life ended in my hands. She struggled to free herself, but was unsuccessful. Her tiny fingers dug into my hand, causing long scratches. She tried to kick me with her good leg. But I held her far enough away, that she couldn’t reach me. I watched as her eyes closed. Her struggling stopped. I felt the rush and power that I never felt before. I wanted to feel it again.   I waited until midnight to take her lifeless body out and bury her deep in a forest, where my family used to camp at.

I kept her crutches and hung them inside of my wooden shed, above the door. So far I have killed eleven more people who were either on crutches or using canes, which I hung in my shed above my wooden shed, above the door. Their bodies lay in a mass grave in the forest, which I visit once a week, to relive their deaths, until I am prompted to kill again.

I have killed children, adults, and seniors of all different races from different backgrounds. I’ve watched the news and printed articles from the Internet, talking about my missing victims. However, I never felt the same rush from the first kill, and I’ve tried in vain to obtain it.

Tonight I hunt for my 12th victim.  Maybe I will once again feel that same power over life and death as I did with Ami.   Even if I did, it wouldn’t stop me. I am an addict to the kill. I pray that the authorities will find me.  I’m really not a bad person. I am just un-well.


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