An evil act is committed

Today I received a visit from an itinerant Pole. He was shabbily attired and asked in broken English whether he could sell me one of his drawings for £8.00. Doing so, he intimated, would allow him to support his family as well as leaving me with a drawing I could display in my home. I had no need of a picture of a daffodil, so prepared to send the cove on his merry way.

At once, my dead mother's voice could be heard urging me to accost the Pole. I gathered that the Pole was oblivious to these cries, for he did not react in any way to my dead mother's shrieking.

"This is your chance Horton," she said. "Capture this man and do evil unto him. You must hone your skills. Do it. Do it now!"

Because I am now evil, I invited him into the house. Swiftly, I struck him a heavy blow on the back of the head with the blunt end of an umbrella stand. He remains unconscious on the floor of my hall as I type this.

Dear readers, although I am terribly evil and revel in treachery and violence, I must admit to being shaken by my actions and confess that I rather hope my evilness wears off before tomorrow when my dead mother, whose maniacal laughter still echoes through my Dundee home, will surely force me to do awful things.