There was an abadoned house in the big, deep, dark woods.
The house possessed several unattractive qualities: first, the shattered windows; second, the boarded-up door; and third, the vandalized interior.
A loud, rumbling engine revved nearby the house.
Yes, that sound was a shiny motorcycle.
As the brushed-chrome machine approached the house, it became apparent that the driver had voluminous blonde hair.
Stopping abruptly, she threw down the kickstand and ran her fingers through her hair.
The blonde hair, almost touching the gravel road, what was revealed to be awake as she quickly removed it and began to run toward the boarded-up door at a fast pace.
A radio erupted on her shoulder, "Jen, if you wouldn't wear that ridiculous where you could be inside already."
"This house, the alleged site of numerous murders eight years ago, should not be analyzed at any pace faster than my speed now," Jen retorted.
The voice on the radio responded, "Alright, alright. Just be careful."
She pushed the door open forcefully, but found nothing unexpected on the inside.
Jen, who had been a police officer for nearly 10 years, had never encountered such a case that made her heart beat out of her chest despite the relative lack of action.
As she moved through the house, her hand on her hip, she's on the calendar on the kitchen wall with the date June 20, 2008, circled numerous times.
She turned around and saw a note on the counter that read, "It's true, they died here in Green Bay, Wisconsin, in 2008."
She removed Herthum from the bottom of the note and it was signed, "Yours truly, the person in the window behind you."
Pulling her gun out, she ran to the nearest table and ducked under, estimating that she would have enough time to escape the man staring through the shiny glass plane.
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