They're coming for me.
We've massacred the town looking for the killer, there are only a few of us left. I've been a part of so much death. How I can even look at myself in the mirror is beyond me. But the imperative demands death.
They're coming for me.
I know this because the imperative demands it, it asked for retribution a day ago, and yet, I have heard nothing since. There has been no calling to a man's house, no demand for blood from me.
They're coming for me.
I can see them now, the last four of this tiny little hamlet. They come wielding torches and oil. Do they mean to burn me out of my house, or are they just fulfilling a cliche I wonder? Fear guides them, yet I wonder if they know if they are murdering the last sane, last normal, person in this town? Obviously not.
They are coming for me.
These are my final minutes, they just burst in through the door. The imperative has demanded my blood, I will let them have it without cost. I will not give the killer, or the rest of them, the satisfaction of a struggle. The are my final words.
They are co-
(Investigator's notes- A line of ink trails off to the bottom of the page, a chair is knocked over backwards. Can be assumed that victim was grabbed from behind and dragged while writing.)