“Why not, Redman? Where else am I going to go? Nothing but Hell waiting for me on the other side after the life I led. Why would I be in a rush for that place?” The weight in Nick the Pig’s voice reminded me of the ghost of Jacob Marley rattling his chains for Scrooge to see what the punishment for his mortal life had been. Nick the Pig’s voice rattled the air and sent a chill up my spine. What had this man done? He had called himself a killer earlier. Was he a wild west outlaw? Something more recently? Had he killed people in this house? Is that why he haunted here? Or maybe this was his hideout? The way he talked to Johnny smacked of black and white westerns on the weekend movie classics. Not that I ever watch those. Very often.
As if reading my mind, Johnny threw out his next question. “What did you do that was so bad you believe you would go to Hell if you left this house?”
“I TOLD YOU I WAS A KILLER!” Nick the Pig rushed the circle again, yelling with enough force to crash the cameras that were still standing.
Day 18: 234
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