Collector

Collector

We all know the story of Count Dracula, who sssucked the blood, that mere essence of life itself, out off his terrified victims… And we all know the tale about Jack the Ripper, who roamed the streets of London in search of innocent women, only to rrrip their hearts out. Yet, although horrifying, these stories are fiction, mere products of their author’s minds.

But behold! The gruesome story I am about to tell you is not fiction, is not something I made up; it is TRUE!

Therefore I plead you: let not the weak of heart read this tale of hideous horror; let not innocent children hear about this exorbitant evil; let not frail, feeble women witness this wickedness.

But friends, someone must stop him, must make an end to this unspeakable terror! So let me tell you about the evil one, let me tell you about

The Collector – LadyShave

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For reasons I will explain to you later I cannot reveal his identity. He might live in any street, in any town, in any county. He might be the man who works in the post office; perhaps he is the shoe-salesman on Main Street; it could be the librarian. He might even be your neighbour. He goes to work in the morning, and returns in the evening. He lives in a typical house in a typical street and looks not any different from you or me. But do not let him fool you; behind this facade of innocence lurks… The Collector.

Nearly every evening after dinner he climbs the squeaking stairs to that dreadful room no one but him has ever entered. In the shimmering light he inspects The Collection, in which every precious piece has its own name: Marion, Evelyn, Sharon, Cindy… a sheer endless number of items are displayed on the many shelves along the wall. He lets his eyes wander over The Collection, and every now and again carefully lifts a piece from a shelf. He moves it around with his hands, as one would a diamond to let it sparkle. Only this way the piece reveals its full beauty, a beauty so much appreciated by… The Collector.

Whenever inspecting The Collection he opens a drawer, thus revealing the instruments of evil, used to maintain The Collection. He still feels a bit ashamed when looking at the scissors. He used them in the early days. How could he ever have used such a crude, clumsy instrument? he wonders. As his skills progressed he started using razors instead. That was a mayor improvement. He picks one up; its blade sparkles in the dim light. It has served him well. Then his eyes rest on the precision-tools he uses now; a set of scalpels. Yes my friends, surgeons use scalpels too, but they don’t have them half as sharp as… The Collector.

No living soul has ever seen The Collection. No sane-minded person would ever survive it, as looking at it would do to him what Medusa did to anyone who dared to look her in the eye. There is only man on the face of this very earth who can bear the sight of it, who will not turn to stone seeing this horror, and that is… The Collector.

Yet, my friends, I can tell you: The Collection consists of women’s hair! Blonde, chestnut, black… it’s all there. Loose, braided or tailed… you’ll find any style. From crewcut to waist-length, it is all present. A collection unique in this world, every item a masterpiece, and it is all brought together during many years by… The Collector.

I just said ‘Nearly every evening…’. The remaining evenings he is out on the streets, carrying his razor-sharp tools. Seeking for a new exciting item to add to The Collection. Like any collector he spends hours, days searching for that unique item, that missing piece. And when he finds it, he follows it. He hunts his prey down like a true hunter. And then he strikes. With a few fierce slashes of his scalpel the woman gets brutally deprived of her hair by… The Collector.

You may say ‘True, collecting hair is a shameful thing, but more shameful things happen.’ You may say ‘True, depriving a girl of her gorgeous hair is a crime, but worse crimes happen.’

My friends, brace yourselves for the worst is yet to come. Yes, however gruesome, however hideous, I must now reveal to you the full evil of his insane mind: The Collector collects women’s hair… And like any collector seeking for perfection, he is compelled to take the utmost care not to damage this precious material, obliged to conserve it in its natural state. And therefore, my friends, he uses the scalpel to cut it… at the throat! YES! IT’S TRUE! O horror… I can barely write this evil down. If he sees a woman with gorgeous hair, ravishing enough to draw his attention, she may well soon become part of The Collection, after being decapitated by… The Collector.

My friends, The Collection consists of women’s hair, but with the heads of the unfortunate victims still attached to it!

How do you know about this evil, how is it that you can tell about it in all its gruesome details, you might ask. You might think ‘Why don’t you tell us who he is, so we can stop his terror’. Well my friends, unfortunately I cannot tell you for *I* am… The Collector!

Whohahahahaha…

 

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