What Creature Kills You in the Dark? Mystery, boogieman, lying. The detective, who would have been my savior, stood before the microphone and lied to the press. I was the monster, I was the one in the dark, their blood was on my hands; Lie after lie I was painted as the boogieman. He was very good at painting the gruesome picture. A cult, a promise, a bloody execution, and one remaining survivor standing on a mountain of tithed gold. It wasn't me. The evidence showed no one ran, no one hid from the violence, they just welcomed death with open arms, literally. What faith they must have had, what guilt can one feel so strongly that they welcome death? This lone survivor must have been one insane manipulator. Why the lie though? The detective knew I wasn't the one who left standing. The cameras captured the story and broadcasted it anyway. It wasn't me. I was not the monster, I was the canary. I didn't see the violence but I knew it was coming. Sing loud enough they'll hear you, but be careful who you warn, they might just be the monster and hatch a plan to make your song sound like a confession. No one saw the survivors face, but there he is the lights of the camera reflecting his mask in a detective badge. The only one who knows for a fact it wasn't me.
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