I stand here, with a knife in my pocket, waiting for my next victim. I am not a killer, but I am the messenger of death. My name is unknown, but my legacy is fear. They call me the “Plumber’s Nightmare.”
One dark and stormy night, I was hired by a woman to fix her leaky faucet. Little did she know that she had just invited me into her home. As I entered her house, I could smell the fear on her face. She knew something was wrong, but she didn’t know what.
I pretended to fix her faucet, but in reality, I was scouting out the place. I needed to find the perfect spot to strike. The woman was getting restless, so I quickly finished my job and left.
As I walked out of her house, I could feel her eyes on me. She knew that something wasn’t right, but it was too late. I had already made my decision.
Days went by, and the woman disappeared. No one knew where she went or what happened to her. But I knew. I had taken her life.
The next victim was a plumber. He had done some work on my house, and I needed to pay him a visit. As he walked out of his truck, I approached him and asked him to come inside to discuss some plumbing issues.
Once inside his home, I pulled out my knife and struck him down. The look on his face was priceless. He knew that he had made a grave mistake by coming into my home.
From that day on, I continued my rampage on plumbers. I became known as the “Plumber’s Nightmare,” and people would do anything to avoid me.
But there was one plumber who was brave enough to confront me. He knew who I was and what I had done, but he didn’t care. He wanted revenge.
One night, as I was walking down a dark alley, he appeared out of nowhere and attacked me. We fought for what seemed like hours, but in the end, he won.
As I lay there dying, I realized that my legacy would live on. The “Plumber’s Nightmare” would continue to haunt those who crossed his path.
And with that thought, I took my last breath and faded into the darkness.