Deep in the backroads of a young, yet mad as a hatter poet’s mind was where all things unstable and unsafe lay. A mere folk who dare to enter and who dared to face the tragic madness often found themselves questioning their health and the bounds of their own hearts. So instead of the challenge, most left it alone like a beggar on the streets.

This young poet by the ugly name of Adofo was not simply out of his mind, but rather was stuck in it. Walls of guilt clouded his judgment and he was trapped in the shackles of his own mind. Fixing it was not worth the bother to him and so instead he wrote. He wrote day and night, and it was never about anything else other than what he had done. What he wished he could fix.

His stories stayed in the same room. The one covered in filth created by spiders and dust. A single window gave Adofo a view of the forest surrounding him as he wrote, bringing him little peace to his troubled world.

On an ordinary day, Adofo wrote on his ancient paper with an ancient pen, scribbling almost like his life depended on it.

Today was no ordinary day.

The blinds were open, the room was clean. Adofo found himself confused for the first time in years as he opened his sleepy eyes that morning. Did he clean his house? He was sure he hadn’t. Did he open the blinds? He was sure he hadn’t.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Soft knocks on the door that rarely ever touched human hands sent Adofo into a scare.

When the door was opened, neither the visitor nor Adofo spoke. An inspection was made, and almost as suddenly, a sneer from the lips of the twisted visitor.

“Hello, Adofo. How wonderful it is to see you again.”

Adofo wasn’t quite sure what to say in that moment. He was simply speechless. Who was this strange visitor and why did they come?

But it was nary a minute later Adofo remembered. His blood ran cold and he could feel the blood drain from his face.

The visitor seemed to sense Adofo’s fear, and smiled. He stepped into the room with giant booming boots and looked around in delight. Like a silly schoolboy, the visitor jumped onto Adofo’s grey-haired writing desk and crouched. He sat relaxed and composed as he stared at Adofo with haunting eyes.

“What… What in God’s good name are you doing here?” Adofo trembled under the visitor’s intimidating gaze.

The visitor’s head cocked to one side and instead of a simple grin, he had a smile that reached his eyes almost.

“Well now really, Adofo, don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten?”

Of course he couldn’t. How could he? He remembered the night like it was yesterday. The blood on his hands, the dead body beneath his feet. And the man in tears across from him, screaming out the words that would forever haunt him.

“I will find you again, Adofo. And when I do, be ready. For I will have my revenge.”

Adofo could still feel the dead woman’s silky hair in his hands, her perfect curves, and her beautifully sculpted bosoms. He remembered what it felt like to pierce her skin with the sharp edge of the knife. He could still remember her screams.

And her lover, helpless to the side, Elmore Dullmont, weak and in pain. At the time, it brought Adofo great pleasure to see the man in such a vulnerable state.

But now the same man was standing in Adofo’s house, a hand settled and relaxed on the handle of a sheathed knife.

“Riddle me this, Adofo,” Elmore said with an angry smirk. “Some random posh stranger who reeks of booze walks up to an innocent newly wed couple trying to get home and snatches the woman from the man’s hands. He smells her neck and he touches her chest like as if she belongs to him.

And then, he tortures her. He shoves her on the ground and does things no man should ever do to a woman. This rich man’s little goonies hold the girl’s husband down on his stomach and forces him to watch as his wife screams in-“

“That’s enough!” Adofo screamed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about you lunatic!”

“You raped her!” Elmore yelled as pulled out the knife from the sheath and held it at his side. “And then you killed her. Maybe you don’t remember but surely you remember what the husband of the girl said to you?”

I will have my revenge.

And that night was the last night Adofo lived. Piles of poems about his serious crime sat untouched for years and years to come as Adofo’s body began to rot. Nobody remembered Adofo and nobody noticed when he had gone. A very few remembered Elmore Dullmont and his late wife, but he vanished on the same night as Adofo was killed; never to be seen again.