Warning; If you get scared easily you may want to stop reading now, If not, then I hope you enjoy this.
Although the first chapter focuses on Arthur, Canada will become a fairly major character in later chapters.
At about 12:30 PM, on a cool, windy, autumn day, a letter addressed to Arthur Kirkland arrived in the mailbox of a small home out in the suburbs of a large city. It was the only piece of mail delivered to that home on that day, and Arthur Kirkland, having just finished eating the lunch he had cooked for himself, picked up the letter that had fallen to the floor next to the front door.
Arthur was an author, and although he was only twenty-six years old, he already had one novel published and was in the middle of writing a second one. His first novel, which he called "Just after Sundown" (A name he was not particularily fond of, but it fit the story, so whatever) was not too widely known, but in the year since it was published he had acquired a small but loyal fanbase, and some good reviews from critics. The book was about a serial killer, he had got the inspiration for the character while reading about the Zodiac killer case, a mystery that had always fascinated him. The novel he was currently writing did not have a name yet, but it was also about a serial murderer, this one based on the so called 'Midwest Axeman' who killed entire families while they slept in the midwest United States during the early 1910's. He hoped this novel would gain him more attention and more publicity than his last one. It was unlikely however, as most people had no interest in reading the kind of dark and depressing stories he wrote. As much as their misdeeds disgusted him, he had a morbid interest in murderers, so it was only natural that he'd write about them.
Arthur examined the white envelope he held in his hands. He noticed it had no return address, but even more strangely, the writer of the letter had written two words on the front of the envelope with a black felt pen; READ ALONE. This struck Arthur as rather odd, and now curious about the contents of the letter, he walked into his living room, sat down on a couch, and neatly tore open the envelope.
Inside were two pieces of paper, he pulled one out and began to read it, the first line sent a shiver down his spine, it read;
"I have killed and I am going to kill again. Do not show this to the police, do not show this to anyone, both of those actions will result in consequences. You will probably not believe what I am about to say but I have been watching you, I am watching you now as you read this letter. Tonight, someone will be killed, I will use a hammer, the murders will get closer and closer to you until it's your turn to face me. Try to find me if you want, all attempts at tracking me will be useless however."
Arthur put down the letter, walked over to his living room window and looked out, he could not see anyone but he closed the curtains anyways. Arthur knew that when he began writing fiction dealing with the dark subject matter of murder, he would probably have to deal with letters from crazy people like this occasionally, but being threatened like that in real life was alot more terrifying than he thought it would be.
After re-reading the note a few times, he turned his attention back to the envelope and pulled out the other piece of paper contained within it. It was a picture, obviously cut out of a newspaper, the picture was of a dead body, covered in a black body bag and being carried away from the swamp it was pulled out from. The caption below it read "Third Victim of massacred family found miles from crime scene." Arthur knew where this was from, a family of four had been brutally massacred in the middle of the night by an unknown assailant, the bodies of the parents had been found at the scene, but the kids had been kidnapped, and only one of their bodies was found. This had happened about two years ago, but he still remembered it fairly well. Then Arthur noticed what was probably the most unsettling thing about this letter, at the bottom of the picture, written in the same black felt pen used on the envelope, were the words "my work, like it?" Followed by a small smiley face.
Arthur was almost certain this could only be a sick prank, but he slipped the two pieces of paper back in the envelope for safe keeping, better safe then sorry after all.
Arthur placed the envelope on the brown wooden coffee table in front of him, and realizing he could use this as inspiration for his story, he got up and walked over to his computer. The writing program he used to write with was already open, so he sat down, lit a cigarette, and began to write.