The Murder House

To avenge my sister, I rented the murder house.

I filled it with torture devices and carefully prepared.

Finally, I waited for the day the killer would return.

Three years had passed. The police leads went cold. The case file gathered dust.

But I couldn't let it go. I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep.

In the dead of night, I'd see my sister's dismembered body in my dreams.

My friend who studied psychology told me, "Killers often return to the crime scene."

Most murder houses can't be rented or sold.

Not because of ghosts—because of the fear the killer will come back.

And me? I was afraid he wouldn't come back...