DAVID CROW, Pickett County's most beloved serial killer, sat proudly behind his worn down party table. It stood amongst the hastily cut grass of the man's front lawn, long blades cutting through the rusting metal of the table's legs. The table was empty except for that of the man's elbows, his bare skin scraping through the threadbare sleeves and onto the rough table surface. David Crow was a tough man, sucking down on a thick strand of grain, just as the table legs beneath him sucked all life from his lawn. Like him, the table had seen many days like this one. The crisp autumn breeze blew his greying hair across his forehead and the sign that he grasped within his calloused hands.

NOW HIRING: VICTIM, the sign read, the limp cardboard threatening to slump over permanently.

David smiled, his crooked teeth somehow warm and inviting. He looked beyond his long grass and to his quiet street, longing for just one person to walk past. His arms began to cramp from holding the flimsy cardboard sign above his head for however many hours this morning had given him. He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing his body to release the stiffness in his aged muscles.

Despite the soreness, he loved what he did, and the people of the county did as well. At least, those of higher class. They really did appreciate the lower population of poor citizens, so poor they could not even produce the crops that the county's stores relied on. What a waste of space.

How lucky they are to have a man like me to boost their economy and free up homes for more deserving folk.

"'Scuse me, sir?"

"Yeah?" the man leaned farther forward on his elbows, opening his eyes. Looking up, he saw no one.

"Sir?"

He looked down. His eyes locked with wide blue ones, innocent and pure with wonder. The little girl's blonde hair resembled that of the cornfields just down the street, it's beautiful silk blowing a bit in the wind.

"What ya wan'? Ya be comin' over here to cause no trouble, missy."

"No trouble, sir," she chirped, standing on the tips of her toes to see the man better.

"Then, get!" the man shooed with his sign, "I'm tryin' to employ someone here!"

She didn't move. "What is," she pondered, her brow furrowing in thought, "em...plooo?"

"Employ," he grumbled, rolling his eyes.

"What it mean?"

"None of ya business," he countered, standing up from his folding chair, "Now, get! I be goin' inside now, so don't ya go chasin' me like them hooligans do."

"What's yer name, sir?"

David turned to his house, grumbling as he spoke, "Mr. Crow."

"Oh!" the little girl chased after him, walking by his side, "I'm Annalise! Umm... Mr. Annalise?"

"No, Miss."

Annalise's eyes widened with excitement. She had learned something new today. The learning was so exciting for her that her blonde curls began to bounce as she walked with Mr. Crow.

"So yer Mr. Birdie!" she ran up the steps of the man's house, waiting for him to open the door to his home.

"No," he hissed, opening the screen door, "now get, unless you wanna be my next victim."

"Ooooooo!" her voice raised in pitch, her eyes widening, "Me me me! Can I be one?"

"No," he grumbled, stepping inside of his home.

"I'll..." she paused to think, "I'll scream if ya don't let me in!"

"I'm sure ya will, kid," he rolled his eyes, beginning to close the door.

Annalise put a pink shoe between the door, a serious look painting her face. "Sir, I 'ave a pre...prepop..." she paused, "what's the word?"

"Preposition, I reckon."

"Yea, prepopulsion," she smiled, proud of herself.

"Preposition."

"Propulsion," she countered.

"Preposition."

"Prepolaction!" she rose her voice, stomping her other foot.

"Dammit, kid!" he yelled, opening the door violently, "Get in."

"Thank you!" she smiled, skipping after him.

Little Annalise followed into a musky old entranceway. The man had chosen to walk straight, but to either side of her, she could see that his curtains were closed. Dust left its mark upon the rooms, even the floors, to her sides. They appeared to have been left untouched for many years, the welcoming couches and tables degraded to a meeting place of pesky allergens. Annalise sneezed, blowing some snot on the floor ahead of her. She looked at the floor, careful not to step on her own snot.

Perfectly polished.

The floorboards beneath her held no dust upon them, but only a fresh sheen of oil soap. It was clear to even Annalise that this was the only floor that the man had ever walked on. He had been spending all of his time on the other side of this hallway.

"Where we goin'?" Annalise chirped, following around a corner, "Umpf!"

She bumped into the back of David Crow, receiving a frustrated grunt from the man towering over her. She looked around, realizing that they had stopped at an open door. Dark stairs greeted her, leading down into a tendril of darkness. The only light was that of a flickering light so dim that she still couldn't see the bottom of the staircase.

"Down."

Annalise was suddenly scared. No one ever spoke to her in such a commanding matter except for momma and daddy. But that had only been when she was bad. This man was commanding her to go into the darkness below when she didn't deserve any punishment.

"D-Did I do somethin' bad?"

"Course ya did," he smiled sweetly at her trembling form, "Ya decided to pester me. If ya hadn' been so excited for victim-ing, you wouldn' be here. Ya got me?"

"M-Mhm, Mr. Birdie."

Rage flickered in the man's faded eyes, a low grumble emitting from his gut. Heat rushed to his cheeks, his brow twitching irritably. A little girl degrading him into a friendly "birdie"? He was a Crow, not some fluffy little thing that would probably croak out of fear.

"It's Crow," he took a step forward, hands twitching with rage, "now get down there," his voice rose, causing little Annalise to step back and onto the edge of the top step.

"Sir, ple—"

With a grunt of anger, David Crow pushed the little girl into the darkness. He heard a scream, a few thumps, and then nothing at all.

"Finally, quiet."

He walked slowly into the darkness, carefully closing the door behind him. Despite the lack of light on the stairs, he was able to walk down them with ease. The familiarity of his basement outweighed both the darkness and his wobbly knees. He stepped off of the last step, hearing a faint crunch. He looked down, realizing he had stepped on the delicate fingers of Annalise.

"Oops," he chuckled, bending down to pick up the girl's limp form.

His knees made a rather concerning crack as he lifted the girl into his arms. He would have preferred to drag her, but he had always reserved that tactic to those who had already met their fate. Annalise was already endowed with a large gash upon her forehead, but her frail chest still strained to rise and fall. He would have to wake her up later.

He carried her towards the flickering light hanging from the ceiling, the dim light barely lighting the small concrete room. Below the light was a wooden table, beside it a tray of rusty tools. Maybe in another life, David Crow was a doctor of the living. But now, with his weakening form and a cart of knives at his hip, he was the doctor of the dead. He only hoped that he would never meet his past victims in Hell.

"Hush now. I'll make ya real pretty," he cooed, laying her body on the table and picking up a rusted knife. He hated to clean, so he often left his table soaked and his tools crusted with blood.

"Momma?" she croaked, not opening her eyes.

"Hush," he placed a hand on her collar, bringing a knife to her throat with the other, "I'll make it fast if ya be quiet."

"I don't wanna be quiet. You mean," she mumbles, opening an eye, "Can I see the pretty?"

"The pretty?" he raised a brow, "This knife?"

"Yea."

He placed the knife in front of her face so that she could see it. She smiled slightly, her gaze groggy like he had always looked in the mirror on his tipsy nights. Her neck was slack, her mouth slightly open from the pain rushing through her head.

"Can I hold it?" she looked up at him, both eyes now wide.

"No, and don' you dare go threatenin' to scream again."

"It's real pretty, Mr Birdie."

David Crow only grunted in reply.

"What it do? Cut up chickens?"

"Well," he smiled, "it cuts up you."

Annalise's eyes widened. Victim, that's the word. She had not known what the word meant, only that it started with the letter "V". That letter had always been her favorite.

"Would ya like to be pretty, Annalise?" he pressed the knife against her neck once more.

"Sir?" she looked into his eyes, her own glazed with fear.

"What?" he hissed, leaning closer.

"I-I have something to tell you."

"Dammit, kid, what is it?"

"I..." she paused to lick her lips, "I have to go potty."

"My god," he threw down the knife in frustration, "Right now, kid? You serious?"

"Very, sir," she coughed.

She sat up and jumped off the table, and David Crow let her. He watched as she dusted off her pale pink dress, her eyes narrowing in on a fresh stain.

"Grow up, kid. Just get yerself a new one," he grumbled, turning to place the knife he had thrown in a more convenient and organized spot. Only, the knife wasn't there.

It was in her hand.

Annalise grasped the knife with both of her hands, swinging it in a flash. David Crow saw black for a moment, his blink prolonging to what felt like minutes as he fell. Red. It spewed violently from the sides of knife in his thigh, billowing out in pools upon his concrete floor. His vision blurred, his blinks slowing, as he watched little pink shoes run out of his sight and into the blurry world beyond.

Annalise ran until she was back on the man's front lawn, just as it had been before. Her bare little feet brought her to stalk through the overgrown grass that threatened to swallow her legs, the blades poking at her bare skin. She sat down in David Crow's chair, smiling, and reached forward over the oversized party table. Giggling, she held up the sign, adding a red fingerprint to the fading letters.

NOW HIRING: VICTIM