The constant mountain breeze made the collector's blazer whip around at the edges. Suits were not made to be this high in the Appalachian mountains, but the strange man didn't mind. Nor did his pristine Armani suit without a single scuff of dirt. He tucked a golden pocket watch back into its home and clicked his tongue.

      Times up.

      Gary McDowell never had much; a slew of low paying jobs that always ended too soon, a dog that had died of diabetes, a 79 Pontiac Firebird which only ever amounted to a place to hot box and listen to the radio. None of this mattered to the man in the suit, but he found it intriguing that someone with little to live for would make a deal for a longer life.

      What the man in the suit did care about was how far that Gary had gone to avoid him. Selling everything he had to live in a mountain hut. Such conviction for a man that had to know it didn't matter, or maybe he had just found resignation on this mountain.

       The door swung open and a horrid smell wafted from inside. The living room was quaint with a lampshade, a coffee table, and one chair. A lampshade wired with veins. A coffee table with skin stretched out over the surface. A chair made entirely of bone.

       The staircase led down into a bare concrete basement. The wall along the decent was lined with tools and implements of torture. Pretty women were placed on meat hooks along every other wall. A hard bottomed dress shoe hit the floor with a click.

       Gary turned around from his workbench with a welding torch still aflame in his hand. The man in the suit didn't bother trying to get a glimpse of whatever unsavory invention he was working on.

       "You wandered into the wrong house, pal."

       "So this is why you wanted more time, quite a collection you have here."

       "Did you fuckin' hear me!?"

       "Do you want to see my collection?"

       Gary rushed the man in the suit and brought a sharpened hammer into the top of his chest.

       "That's not very nice Gary."

       The sound of dress shoes clicking awoke one of the girls hanging onto life against the wall. Gary stumbled backwards at the man's calm approach and his beady little eyes grew wide.

       With only the primal instinct that had drove Gary mad in the first place he scrambled for the blow torch. The searing heat pressed against the man's neck caused the edge of his suit to catch fire.

       Gary McDowell pissed himself and tears began to well up in his panicked eyes.

       "I came to collect Gary, I hope you feel your time wasn't wasted."

       One touch from the man in the suit and Gary fell dead. His pathetic soul knelt in an ethereal realm with the collector's hand on his shoulder.

       "See Gary, don't you like my collection? Now you'll have all the time you could dream of to admire real work."

       Below them was a vast sea of nothing. Not ten feet above them thick purple and grey clouds formed a single sheet. Chains extended from somewhere in this cloud to bind souls in place. Hundreds of thousands of souls all suspended in neat rows as far as the eye could see.

        Two very thick spiked chains shot from the sky and pulled Gary McDowell screaming into his place in the display.