Lapland can be a lonely place for many, but for a serial killer like Max, it's a deserted playing field. Quiet roads, isolated people, and huge forests for bodies to disappear in.
Max can't help himself. It's all he thinks about. All day, every day. Everything in his life disguises the real him, his real purpose, his driving desire—his need to kill. In this environment, people never see it coming.
Robert didn't see it coming—he was too interested in the cement mixer.
Remember that old abandoned house? The one that creeped you and your friends out when you were kids. Still does doesn't it—if you're honest. It's malevolence spills onto the pavement and makes you walk as close to the kerb as you can when you pass by.
These houses don't like us. They don't want us near them, and they certainly don't want us inside them. Every now and then someone stops and looks up at the house, but it's only fear that keeps them from moving on. Sometimes the house will draw them in, play with them, and then maybe, just maybe, let them go.
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