The scrap yard was like any other place of its kind. The plot of land it was built on was roughly square shaped with two large gates to the north and south for hauling large metals in and out of the vicinity, with a metal grating door on the eastern fence that opened beside the small home and office that the owner lived and worked from. The stereotypical junkyard dog lurked behind mounds of rusted metal and husks of old vehicles, growing at the occasional passerby. It was large, dirty and confusing, the mountains of scrap thrown together like a complicated maze.

Were it not for the distinct trail of fairly fresh blood, Detective Robert Devorsten would have never found the bodies in the first place. The trail started on the sidewalk where he had discovered a long and sharp piece of rusty metal, darkened even more by the touch of someone?s life. Small drops of it guided him toward the eastern door, which was ajar with the lock broken.

Into the yard itself, these drops continued to lead him, though they soon gave way to narrow lines and streaks, as if a body might have been dragged at some point in time. The patterns were difficult to comprehend, a lot of it didn?t match up for the blood splatter analysts, but the blood was there, clear as day. It was a trail that went through the yard, taking many winding turns until coming to a small opening similar to a clearing in a forest.

The center of this space was filled by a large sheet of metal that was roughly square shaped, the bodies of the victims bound to it by steel wire around their wrists and ankles. The cuts on their throats were the obvious signs of death, though their bodies were riddled with holes and cuts and gashes from where the murderer carved away carelessly. Their blood had pooled beneath them, following a small indention around the center of the metal and running down onto the bleached white concrete.

Robert theorized that the splatters of blood leading through the yard wasn?t from the murders or dragged bodies, there was simply too much of it and like the analysts said, it was too erratic. He believed it was a trail purposely set by the murderer for the Watch to find, though why, he was unsure of.

The scrap yard had been cut off from the outside world, police tap surrounding the perimeter and a few officers on duty at any given time to keep thieves and curious eyes out. The bodies had been moved, naturally, but everything else was still in place.

What bothered them was the blood. The murderer had already confessed. He was a young man by the name of Zackary Merchant, an art major at one of the local colleges and from what most said, a bright young man with a future ahead of him. What caused him to commit the crime was anyone?s guess. Hours after Robert had discovered the bodies; Merchant had gone to the local Watch House to confess to the murders, saying, ?I was possessed by something malevolent,? a claim made by many criminals in the city.

DNA analysis deduced that the blood trail was not the same blood from the victims or on the metal supposedly used to kill them, leading the Watch to believe that there were more bodies hidden elsewhere, but when Merchant was asked about this, he claimed ignorance.

The Watch had a scrap yard filled with blood and unanswered questions, a murderer who had confessed to two crimes but was suspected of more, and a similar case just streets away.

And the Watch assigned to keep a lookout around the scrap yard and keep people out kept saying they had the feeling they were being watched by something in the yard itself, they couldn?t say what.