"It's a shame, isn't?" An elder woman with dyed red hair came into the library shaking her head and peering at the television.

"All them killings," she rose her eyebrows and bulged out her eyes, "All in your name too!"

The librarian turned to look at the lady and shook his head slowly as well, "It's awful, isn't it?" He gave a sad chuckle. "It's kind of scary knowing he goes by The Hare." He rose his eyebrows like the lady did and laid a hand on his chest. "When that's your own last name!"

The woman nodded and set her books on the counter, looking back up at the small TV that was near the entrance to the library. She scrunched up her nose. "His ways are vile... I wonder if he does anything to the bodies."

She crossed her arms. "Sick men like that are into some ungodly things."

She lowered her voice. "I wonder if he does anythin'... sexual," she whispered the word, as if she wasn't allowed to say it, "with em."

The librarian twitched. "They didn't find anything on the bodies like that, I don't think he'd do that to those women..."

The old lady turned to the librarian. "What? Well do you think he's some kind of queer then? Just hadn't found the right victim?"

"No!" he said quickly then closed his eyes.

He opened them slowly and smiled, then turned to get the woman's books. "I just think he's clever, that's all. He wouldn't waste time with immoral things like that."

The lady rose a brow. "Immoral? Everything he does is immoral."

She shook her head. "Marcus, I swear. You can stop being nice when there's a serial killer on the loose. You gotta suspect someone...!"

He looked at her through his glasses. "I don't."

The woman pursed her lips. "No... You're too much of a gentleman to do that, aren't you Marcus?" She rolled her eyes and grinned, getting a warm smile from the man known as Marcus O'Hare. All the ladies in the town loved Marcus, and all the men respected him.

He was an attractive young man. He was lithe and tall, with broad shoulders and long limbs. His angular face had a handsome softness to it and his brown eyes shone bright under his glasses. He kept his ebony hair long, though rarely ever let it down. When he did, it would fall mid-chest, though it's usually in a ponytail.

He had moved here straight out of high school, not ready to go off to college so soon. He had found work where he could and was always very helpful, nice, and intelligent. He was reading constantly. Around the time he turned twenty (he's twenty three now), he had been working for an old librarian for quite some time. The old man had no more family and was quite fond of Marcus, seeing him as almost an adopted son. The old man died around a year later. The man was very sick so Marcus had already been running the shop by himself for the last few months before his passing. So Marcus lived now in the small apartment above the library, where the old man used to.

After Marcus had finished checking in the woman's book they proceeded to continue watching the news together. Another woman had gone missing a couple days earlier, and everyone was expecting the worst. She would turn up eventually, they all knew that was the Hare's ways.

Marcus slowly looked up to the ceiling and furrowed his brow. The woman noticed and looked up as well, after a moment she heard a soft thump, only noticeable if you were truly listening. She glanced over at Marcus who was already coming around his desk.

He moved quickly but gave a small sigh as he passed the old lady. "My fool of a cat, I swear. She's always making so much God forsaken noise." The woman blinked at him as he left, it really wasn't any noise at all. Only Marcus had seemed to really hear it. The lady smiled though, since it was a library and it was meant to be kept quiet.

The only thing wrong with this was that Marcus did not have a cat. In fact, he was really more of a dog person. As he got upstairs and locked the door he thought that maybe he should get a cat, because someone will want to see it eventually. He removed his clothes, and as he stood in the nude he plucked a bobby pin from the table and twisted his hair around his finger. He pinned it close to his head and then bent down under his bed to grab the mask.

He didn't have time to regard it fondly, as he had to do this quickly. He tied it on, just a safely precaution in case she got away (though they never did). Marcus walked swiftly into the bathroom and tilted his head, staring at the torn body of the woman laying in a crumbled heap on the floor, as she had managed to escape the tub. He shook his head and turned her head to face him, her eyes were clouded but he could still hear her heartbeat. He wrapped his fingers around her neck and squeezed. Her mouth opened slightly in an inaudible scream and her broken body convulsed ever so slightly before she stopped moving. Her mouth open, jaw hanging dead and unnatural and blue eyes watery and open.

He took off the mask and washed his hands before going back into his bedroom and putting his clothes back on. He jogged back down the stairs and saw the old woman leaving. "Ah! Sorry, took awhile to catch her," he waved. "Come back soon!"

The old woman waved back and grinned at him before departing. Marcus slipped back behind his desk and sat down and his day of work began. He decided to reread To Kill a Mockingbird, that day. He was in the middle of a new novel, but Harper Lee always made him feel better.

After work had finished, he waved goodbye to the last person, locked the doors, and flipped the "Open" sign over. He made his way upstairs slowly and tiredly, although he knew that once nighttime truly fell, his second wind would hit him like a semi-truck and he wouldn't be able to sleep till the next work day. Occasionally he'd have to force himself to sleep. His body was strong and as much as it annoyed him sometimes he never got sick.

Never had a cough, a cold, or the flu. He'd have to almost overdose on sleeping pills to get a good night's rest. Even though he hadn't slept more than an hour in five days he stripped off his clothes except his underwear and undid his hair. It fell down his back and shoulders gently and he bent down to remove the outfit he fashioned for himself. He was always embarrassed when people found out he knew how to sew, as if they would judge him.

It was completely full body and in it he laughingly felt like a superhero. It was completely black and made of a leathery texture. Boots were sewn in and he stepped into them, pulling the arms up. He felt it almost mold to his body and he felt warm and safe inside. It clung to his lithe, toned form and he reached behind to slowly zip it up his back. It came up and hugged his neck, it was also studded with tiny spikes around his hips. He smiled and grabbed his gloves. They were of the same spandex-like, leathery material the rest of the outfit was, but he was proud of these more than it. They fit perfectly around his fingers, and ended in black, hooked claws, sharp enough to slice someone open, in which they did. He looked around and then remembered where he had put it. He moved swiftly into the bathroom where the woman lay dead and picked up his mask from the sink. He lifted it up to his face to admire it finally.

It was beautiful. It was his creation and he loved it so. It resembled a rabbit, and he had carved a huge, terrifying grin into the white circular surface. It was made out of hard, moldable material and silk. He had sewn it it on and the stitches came from the corner of it's mouth, looking as if it was pulling the smile wider. Two crudely carved out black holes were there for the eyes and he had covered the back with thick black material to hide his face. It had no nose but two huge stitched bunny ears springing from the top of it. He laid it back down along with his glasses and took water from the sink and splashed it over his face, slicking back his hair messily. He tied the mask on and looked at himself in the mirror.

What sweet perfection.

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