He had a lovely wife, two well-behaved children, a golden retriever, and a job as an accountant who kept the bills paid and the weekends free. Neighbours often waved at him as he mowed his lawn, his smile warm and genuine, the kind that made you feel safe.

But hidden beneath this mask of normalcy was a darkness so cold it left no trace. Daniel was a predator, one who thrived on the art of blending in. He was meticulous, methodical, and, most importantly, invisible. He didn’t fit the typical profile of a monster. There were no sudden outbursts of violence, no red flags to suggest something sinister lay beneath his polished exterior. In fact, Daniel made it a point to be helpful to his community. He volunteered, attended PTA meetings, and hosted barbecues that everyone raved about.

The genius of Daniel’s killings lay not in the acts themselves but in how he chose his victims—people on the fringes, those whose absence would stir curiosity but never real concern. He moved quietly, like a shadow slipping through cracks in the night. Each murder was planned with surgical precision, a hobby he indulged in like a puzzle only he could solve. And once the deed was done, he buried the evidence so deep no one ever knew to look.

The police had no reason to suspect him. Why would they? Daniel Monroe was the perfect neighbour, the kind of man who baked cookies for the local shelter and coached Little League. He was ordinary dependable—a true pillar of the community.

But monsters don’t always hide in the dark.

They live next door. They smile at you in the grocery store. And maybe, just maybe, they’re the one writing this story.

-M.