Crime Scene
I walked up to an old house in shambles. It sits in the middle of a farm in rural Wisconsin. The paint was faded almost entirely off the wood paneling of the two story farm house. There were tinges of light red where the rain and weather had not wiped it entirely clean from the face of the wood.  The barn over to the side was blacked and charred as only half of it stood after a fire. The ground was relatively barren, mainly dirt around the house, but a field of grass and weeds grew not far beyond the perimeter. I walked up towards the house and onto the creaky porch. It was a hot, humid day of summer and I took my sunglasses off as I reached the shade of the porch. I looked down at my watch and saw it was starting to get late and the sun would be setting soon, 7:45. There were a set of windows to each side of the centered door. They were covered in dirt and had the look of fragile, antique windows. The door used to be a pale, white door, but now only part of the door remained. It was chipped and splintered from force, and was patched with a large piece of plywood. I grabbed the knob and attempted to turn it open, to no avail. It seemed as though someone had locked it. The fact that the lock worked at all amazed me. It only took a small amount of force to ram the door down. The inside of the house was just as depressing. It was completely bare. There wasn’t so much as a piece of furniture in the house. There were marks on the wall where pictures were hung, but nothing remained besides the shadow of a previous presence. It was an eerie feeling, realizing how much a part of a family’s life this house must have been. Now it laid empty and rotting. I walked through what I could only guess was the living room. I opened a door down to the basement It was dark and possessed a foul smell. I fiddled through my pocket and grabbed a flashlight. I turned it on and walked down the steps. At the bottom there was a pull string for a naked bulb hanging from the ceiling. After a quick pull it glowed and produced a yellow film over the dark basement. There were small tent cards everywhere on the floor accompanied by chalk lines around red stains. It was a crime scene, and by the looks of it, pretty brutal murders. There were chains on one of the walls with crimson stains around the hand restraints. There was a metal table that started to gather rust in the center of the room with some restraints on it. The wall against the staircase held a work bench with various tools, many of which were stained with blood. There was a bloody bath tub on the far end of the room with meat hanging hooks above it. The concrete floor was red in many places, but it had a strangely beautiful swirling pattern that led to the drain under the table. I walked to the opposite end of the room and saw a sliver of light shining onto the floor. I went to inspect the source and found the cellar door. I walked up the few stairs and unlocked the hinges. I swung the creaky doors open and saw a beautiful sunset. I sat there for a moment taking in the last bit of sunlight from the orange pink sky. I walked around the house and the night began to take shape. My car sat in the driveway alone. I noticed it looked like it was shaking. I cautiously walked closer to it and grabbed the keys from my pocket. I started to hear a muffled cry. I unlocked the trunk and opened it. I jumped at the sight, he shouldn’t be awake yet. There was a slender man, tied up with duct tape. He was trying to scream something through the tape that was over his mouth, but only muffled cries escaped. His eyes were filled with true fear as he looked up at me. I curled a malicious grin. I lifted him out of the car and began dragging him towards the house. I dragged him down the stairs and into the basement. I began to restrain him onto the table as he screamed for help. I couldn’t help but grin under the surgical mask I wore. His screams were so elegant and beautiful. Once he was strapped in, I grabbed a knife from my tool bench. I walked back over to the man who was crying as I showed him the knife. “I rather like the crime scene look the police left here. They should have known the killer always returns to the scene of the crime.” Credit To: Adam Olshikaliki Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance.