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“Give us one good reason why we shouldn’t burn the place down.” Brianna was practically frothing at the mouth as she pointed at the newly painted window of the store.

The sheriff took a step forward and put a hand out to stop her advance. “Folks, you’ve got to get a grip here. Listen to yourselves for—“

“I don’t care how it sounds. In the past month there have been seven fires. The mayor and his family are missing and twenty seven people have died. All since these fruit loops opened this here gallery.”

“Brianna, what you’re suggesting. It sounds—”

“Sounds what? Sounds completely logical? What else would you call it?”

“What else then? How could the owners here be responsible for all of it?”

“That’s your problem to work out Walter. You’re the sheriff after all.”

“Sheriff or no, it ain’t my responsibility to chase down every crazy notion that you might have coming down the pipes of that nut cracked skull of yours.”

“It ain’t crazy sheriff. It ain’t crazy when we’ve had more deaths in a month than the last three years! I don’t know how they’re doing it but I’m tired of watching you sit around on your fat ass watching the crows fly by. We’re going to do something about it.”

She walked forward, jabbing towards the store with the can of gasoline and with the other, flipped open the metal Zippo. Walter dropped his hand down to the revolver and the crowd paused.

“Folks, I don’t want to take you all in but I will. Every last one of you. We’ll get a city bus down here to haul all of your asses down to the jail. Now get on out of here before this escalates beyond our control here.”

They all grumbled, looked like they wanted to challenge him but in the end, they all turned away and dispersed, like a puddle of water slowly oozing off into various ditches and drains.

Inside, Damion was peeking out from behind the closed shutters of the display window and let out a sigh of contentment as he flipped on the lamp, pausing to run his finger along the shade that had once belonged to the late mayor.

There was a sign over the stairs stating “private” that he walked underneath to go down to the workshop. He stepped over a pool of blood and several stray body parts, into the main room where Gloria was sewing something together at one of the stainless steel tables. Damion walked up to her and placed an arm on her shoulder.

“They’re leaving for now, I think we’ll be—”

He looked up at the sound of footfalls on the stairs. The sheriff had apparently walked in unannounced and had followed him downstairs. Damion watched as the man looked around at the carnage on the floor and walls, looked at what was left of several of the citizens of the town and looked up at them, ice in his eyes.

“I told you idiots that you needed to take things slower. Now look what you’ve gone and done.”

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