There is only one thing that I enjoy most over digging... It's burying the bodies of my victims.

That is why being a Grave digger is the perfect job for me. I love the feeling of the shovel in my hands, the sensation of it digging into the beautiful brown dirt. It reminds me of the many times I dug up empty graves for my victims.

Not just that, but I have grown to realize that it is so much easier digging 8 feet down, place the body bag there, cover it up with some dirt and leaving 6 feet of empty space for the casket that is designated to be placed there the next day.

But keep note, I never planned to become a serial killer. I never even enjoyed the sight of blood. But one day, a single man changed everything.

#

My parents and I were enjoying our traditional movie night that occurred every Friday. We were having the time of our life, that was until a man barged in. I was only 10 years old back then and didn't know what to do, except to hide.

My father handed me a knife from the kitchen and instructed me to keep it close. I held it as close to my chest as I could and hid in the only space that I could think of. The empty kitchen cabinet which I would always hide in whenever my parents and I played hide and seek.

The things that I heard; their screams, thrown objects and bodies thudding to the ground, I couldn't take it anymore. I covered my ears. In doing so prevented me from hearing the man's footsteps coming toward my hiding spot. Without a second to react, the man opened the cabinet door and dragged me out.

He grabbed the back of my Pokémon shirt and forced me to face the bloody mess of my parents. Their stomachs were sliced open, their entrails splattered all over the room, a mix of my mother and father's. Their bodies laid in the middle of the room.

I did the best I could to refrain from spewing my dinner all over the floor.

"See this beautiful touch of art? That's what I am going to do with your insides. I hope you take in every inch of this view because this will be the last thing you see", said the man.

He sounded crazy, almost amused, like he enjoyed seeing my reaction as I watched the horrific scene in front of me. Right then and there was when my sanity snapped.

I gripped my knife tight in my hand, the tip of the blade pointing at the floor, and swung behind me. I felt it slice into something and the man gave out a loud cry. His grip on my shirt loosened and I turned around to see that my knife had left a big bloody slit on his side. This made me smile a bit.

"You piece of --!"

I didn't let him finish. I plunged the knife into his stomach, just as he did to my parents, and pushed it in deeper, twisting and turning the blade one side to the other. I didn't even notice how his blood curling screams sounded so blissful.

I felt the adrenaline rushing through my veins – the flood of ecstasy consuming my body. I continued to fill the man's body with gashes, even after his screams died down. His blood splattered all over the place, all over my face and hands.

That was the first time I have ever felt so alive.

#

After that, I educated myself on how to erase evidence that were left behind, the many different ways a human can die, and so on.

The only thing that I choose not to change, is my knife. It is the only object that connects me to my parents. How odd, keeping something with such sentiment and yet it comes from someone who has no sense of remorse, taking the lives of others.

Now, at the age of 22, I dig graves for a living.

#

Now, it is 3 o'clock in the morning and I am here, at the graveyard, digging a hole big enough to bury the new body bag. Finishing up, I leave enough empty space for the casket tomorrow.

I am tall enough to climb out with ease. Taking my lantern, I double check to make sure the space is good enough and there is no piece of bag showing. I let out a breath of satisfaction and finish my grave digging. However, being a Grave Digger also means I need to clean gravestones.

Lantern in hand, I look around the few gravestones ignited by my light. Some headstones are clean while others, not so clean. Before taking a step, I hear a whisper.

"Peter."

I spin a full 360 yet see not a single being nearby.

"Who's there?" I call out.

"Forgotten me already? Married five years and dead for one. Is that all it takes for you to forget me? Well... Then again, you never were the best at being there for me anyways, so I'm not surprised." She says.

I know this voice is female because I immediately realize that it is my first, and only wife, Nancy Miller. I'd know that voice anywhere. But I know her screams better. Chills run down my spine as I remember the delicious sound of her horrified screams and the sweet touch of her neck in my hands.

"Nancy," I say, "How am I able to hear you? You're dead."

Anger begins to crawl its way into my chest. The day I had killed her was the day I found out about her betrayal. How could she? Cheating on me the way she did.

"I've been waiting patiently for this day. The day I could finally step foot on earth and find my way into peace, instead of roaming around the God-forsaken underworld." She explains.

"What are you talking about?" I ask.

"It's the first-year anniversary of my death. Of course, you don't remember that, though. You only cared about yourself. But now I can bring myself to peace." She tells me.

Before another question passes my lips, darkness surrounds me. First, it felt peaceful, warm even, but now, It's cold and unforgiving. It is as if someone had taken my very being, my soul, and smashed it into a million pieces while stabbing those million pieces into trillions.

I can't even scream, let alone do anything about this pain. The last thing I remember before succumbing to my misery, is the laugh of my deceased wife.

"You'll finally get what you deserve."