The Creator P. 1

The window was frosted with not only the ice from the uncharacteristically cold winter, but from the frozen blood penetrating through the cracks from the inside of Victor Brumer’s late 1800’s Victorian house. Although Victor was no longer living, the house was still in use. Now a new occupant has arrived in the rich neighborhood near Beverly Hills.




Duce looked at his reflection in the eight foot mirror, although it had not been cleaned for months, on account of the owner being…used in other ways, Duce could point out every imperfection on his nude body. He often stands there for hours, studying, trying to think of ways to improve, oh how he longed to be perfect. His bland brown eyes searching franticly up and down had a tinge of pride in them, for Duce had improved so much in the past few months in his host’s mansion. The scars on his slightly chubby body were a sign of his growing success.
He had tried to loose that excess baggage in his abdomen and breasts, but considering his condition it was nearly impossible. This was his next project, his weight; he needed to figure out some diet, some exercise, some…transplant to fix the tragic flaw. This is what he is doing in the famous actor, Victor Brumer’s house in the middle of January 1998.
A sly smile crosses over Duce’s face as he says the name of his new infatuation, “Jenny,” he says in his raspy voice,
“Soon you will be mine, just like Carla, and Jean, and Debbie…”
Duce had a way of getting what he wanted, no matter what he had to do. When he found a girl, she would be his, dead or alive. He looked over at his wall of women, thirty five faces stared back. All of which were dead, they wouldn’t love him, and they had to pay the price.
Finally, when the deformed troll left his mirror, taking one last glance of the dreadful baggage, he headed for the basement, where his creation waited.