If you are reading my story calmly or with some curiosity to discover how and whom I’ve murdered, I’ll bet, you are thinking that life will go on eternally. It will indeed, but alas we won’t. At this very moment, try minding more insignificant things than making best use of every second we could never possess, something makes us suppose that life lasts forever. The Sun never rises to find out some of us dead, sick or aggrieved. The Night doesn’t come to bring death upon us. It is all about our minds, hands and our steps we are putting forward.
There is a saying at Warlock’s Heath Coach Station. They say that there is no such thing as a free ride. They say that the driver always knows who has to pay. They say that everyone who rides has to pay. Freddie Thompson was a delinquent. He never went to school, it was far too dull. He wanted to be where the action was. Instead of going to school, Freddie would go to Warlock’s Heath Coach Station and play the waiting game.
The way she spoke into her tape recorder was slow and precise. Her voice echoed off the walls in the cold, musky room. The grey walls surrounding her were ominous; they trapped the eerie, unsettling presence within the space. She had a clear view of the large, dusty windows across from her. Seemingly haven’t been cleaned in years, they displayed an insidious winter scene, equal parts chilling and enchanting to the doctor. She opened her notebook and placed it on her lap, anticipating what her patient would soon tell her.