The Murder House Chapter 4

Rather than listen to everyone's empty words, I'd take matters into my own hands.

To clear my sister's name, I decided to personally kill her murderer.

I rented the murder house. The landlord was thrilled.

Few people knowingly move into a murder house without hesitation.

I'd seen the police case file. The crime scene was horrific.

My sister had been dismembered in the living room, her body placed on white plastic sheeting.

Red candles around her torso had burned down completely. Fifty-six cuts—death by a thousand knives.

Her head had been severed. Police found it in a pressure cooker in the kitchen.

Both arms hung beneath the bedroom air conditioning unit. Her legs were placed vertically in the bathroom toilet.

Her buttocks had been chewed by vicious dogs, bloody and mangled, intestines pulled out.

Unspeakably brutal...

Looking at the crime scene photos, I couldn't stop crying.

My beautiful, gentle sister—how much she must have suffered before she died.

Helpless, she was slaughtered, until her final moment.

Unprepared, she died with hatred in her heart.

People say twins have been together since the womb, that they have a psychic connection.

As children, when I got sick, my sister got sick—without exception.

But the night she was murdered, I was locked up at the police station for disturbing the peace.

When they released me and I finally got my phone back, I discovered she'd called me.

1:00 AM. She must have sensed something, must have been afraid.

Too bad I'd never know what she wanted to say.