gory stories
It’s OK, you can admit it; we’re all friends here. You like grisly murders. The grislier the better. Abductions, embezzlements, disappearances, schemes in the shape of pyramids. You have a thing for serial killers. You especially like the mysteries that haven’t been solved, like that of suburban husband Rey Rivera, who received an anonymous phone call in 2006, ran out of his house, and was later found dead in an empty conference room, apparently hurled from an unreachable balcony. (Google it; it’s intense.)
It’s not like you want Frank next door to be keeping a freezer full of toes, but a small, secret part of you would kind of enjoy being that neighbour on the news: “Frank? He always seemed too quiet.
