Excerpt
Stowy’s new home, an A-frame chalet reminiscent of houses on an alpine slope, was replete with lovely exposed beams, a distinctive wiggle board treatment, and fanciful railings on the deck. Its expansive picture windows provided breathtaking panoramic views of the picturesque valley, and its open floor plan could’ve easily sprung from the glossy pages of a modern design magazine. But that was all for show. Nothing more than selling points to make any Realtor swoon. Stowy didn’t care about any of those things, because his real living area was underground. In the basement. Away from prying eyes.
And now that he was situated in his new base of operations, Stowy wasn’t going to wait any longer. He’d been fighting his natural urges ever since the escape, but no more. He had to do it. Had to. He needed it. Like a junkie without a fix, his skin was crawling with need.
He had to kill.
He felt safe. Cocky, even. Thanks to those Snowman-like murders Zeke committed, any blood Stowy shed now would just be chalked up to the copycat, that is, if he were sloppy enough. Who else would the idiots blame? After all, the whole world believed the real Snowman died in the explosion.
“Time to feed the beast,” he crowed as he loaded his kill bag.
*****
