Birdsong for a Murderer

of the creaking door. This is your host to welcome you and do the inner sanctum once again. Come in. Our little place may not be a mansion, but it has its advantages. For one thing, it's thoroughly scare condition. The scream pipes are always a good working order, and the rent's quite reasonable. We get a cut raise.

You've had your warning. Whatever happens from now on, you asked for. Just be sure the family is provided for. Oh, to our happy little anecdote for tonight. Bird song for a murderer. My name is Carl Warner. I'm not a young man any longer but I don't mind that. I wasn't very happy when I was young. Now, well, at least I'm not unhappy. And late at night,

after a lane has gone upstairs to bed, but she's my wife and she's very pretty and younger than I am. Perhaps I made a mistake in marrying her, but, well, anyway, late at night, I go into the womb when I keep the birds, and then listening to them sing, I get as close to happiness

as I can expect, stay an hour, and then I cover their cages, and then they know it's time to sleep, and they sleep. Even on the stormiest of nights, since it was a stormy night, It was late. We know very few people.

We kept to ourselves mostly in the eye. I was worried a little when I opened the door. Yes? Mind if I come in Mr. Warner? Is it kind of terrible? No. Of course not. You.

You seem to know me. I do, don't I? I don't know you. My name is Bruell. Just a Bruell. Just a rule. I still don't know. Remember? It doesn't matter. What? What did you want?