The tenants of the retirement home were sleeping in their beds; either from exhaustion from this morning’s tragedy or from the drugs they were administered. Not everyone was sleeping. One sour looking old soul sat rocking in her chair, smiling as if nothing had happened. She never lost sleep over death, after all, she was responsible for the murders of over fifteen men throughout her lifetime.
Now, in her 90th year, one would hope that she finally retired. That is what Peter thought. He fell in love with Stella the moment she moved into the home. He quickly became number 16.
The fifth and final installment of The Wooden Rose is my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers. I am working on a new series for Friday Fictioneers. you can read the first installment HERE: NIGHT TERRORS