Serial killers. We all seem to love the thought of them, at least on the television. From Ted Bundy to Jack the Ripper, tall tales of men who fell to depravity. In one small town, one summer's eve, the local sheriff's department heard word of a cold case. A pile of human remains that were found in the woods, right before the neighbouring jurisdiction. When they arrived, the remains seemed to be in pristine condition, with no evidence of foul play. The more they looked, the stranger it seemed. Who did these belong to? Why were they here? After finishing up for the night, they walked back to the squad car. Strange enough, there was a bag right in front of the driver-side door. The officer peered in, not knowing what it could be. More remains. If the situation couldn't get any stranger. A quick trip to the lab, a few weeks until results. What the officer heard, could have shocked us all. The remains were not from one person, rather nine different girls. Hell really isn't made for demons.

Hell isn't made for demons

Mammon loved her flowers, she had a green thumb. On her worst days, she would go to her garden and swing a sweet tune. On her better days, she would caress their petals and tell them stories of how they would all grow up. Mammon's story was not that interesting or different, in fact, she was stung by a bee and died of anaphylactic shock. Her throat closing up o her, she really did live and die with her flowers.

Mammon

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