It started slowly. Not a monsoon tearing through my being. The urge was a drizzle that started gently but eventually soaked the earth beneath it. I guess that isn't entirely accurate. Whether or not you agree with my description would depend on your definition of gentle, or your aversion to it being used to describe my actions. Either way this is my account of what happened, so your opinion doesn't mean anything.

I'm sure that anyone who is reading this is hoping that this will be an apology about how I deeply regret my actions from the bottom of my heart. I saved and used that speech for the judge and jury. It didn't work. My physical being is doomed to be in this cell for the rest of my earthly days. Why pretend anymore. The people who would believe my crocodile tears are fools.

When I was child I constantly saw something in the corner of the room, just outside of my vision. Just watching. I was never scared. Despite the fact that this being and I had no form of communication it felt like he was trying to let me know that I shouldn't be afraid. Nobody believed me when I said that I was never alone. There was always a form just out of reach. The fact that it never scared me made sure that my parents felt like they didn't have to do anything about it. Not that they would've anyway. My dad preferred to drink and my mom preferred to smoke crack (or whatever drug it was that day) than pay attention to me.

As I got older I stopped seeing him. I figured it was just childhood delusions like everyone else had told me. But something never felt right. I could feel in my bones that I wasn't like anyone else. My mind was a labyrinth in which every corner was pitch black. No way to escape. Many people are torn apart by their darkness. I embraced it. There was many an ill-fated wild animal that came through my grasp. I'd slit their throats and then watch the thick, rich, red blood run gently down their necks. I liked to experiment on them. See what was inside. For a brief time I had the fantasy of making my own Frankenstein pet. Different parts of different animals combined into one super predator.

During my teenage years I could blend in excellently. Maybe some kids thought I was a little strange, but not enough to warrant any real attention. I did not hurt or threaten anyone. Any freak would know that it's better to just be there unnoticed, not talked about, rather than being noticed for any reason by anyone. It's not like I needed the affection pathetic teenagers to make myself feel adequate.

After high school I continued my experiments in my parent's basements. We had no money for college. My parents wouldn't have even have been able to keep the house if I left. So during the day I worked at the local supermarket and at night I continued my experiments. For months I lived my life simply, until he came back.

One night I was out, looking for the perfect kill. I was trying to find something new. I was running out of ideas. There are only so many species of animals in the woods of Wisconsin. Not finding anything special, I settled on another white rabbit. I took aim with old crappy .22 my father kept in the basement. A perfect shot was coming until a dash of black crossed my eye line. Under any other circumstances I would have been angry that I missed my kill, but then I saw him: more clearly than I ever had before. He was magnificent. He looked nothing like the blob from the corner of my bedroom, but as he sauntered up to me I sensed the connection.

I could finally see the outline of his tall, lanky body with arms so long that his fingertips reached his knees. His legs were barely the thickness of my arm, but he had an innate power. The was the sense that he could crush me with his bare hands despite the fact that they couldn't wrap all the way around my neck. He wore a suit perfectly tailored and cleaned, not a spec of dirt even though we were in the middle of the woods. The shadow from the brim of his top hat covered the top half of his face; all I could see was the shape of what appeared to be a raven-like head and sharp wolf's teeth.

"I've been watching you." The man said, "You're finally ready."

I stared at him with my mouth agape before saying, "I know. I always knew you were real."

"Real?" He said, "Of course I'm real. Arguably I'm more real than you, or your drunkard parents and everyone else who told you otherwise. Well, at least I've been here much longer than any of you."

"Been here much longer, what does that mean…"

"Exactly what it sounds like son. I am eternal. It is the special men and women like you that keep me alive. You're faith, you're service."

"Have you made me the way I am," I blurted out

"No, I merely helped you reach your full potential. Given your otherwise trivial life meaning," He explained," Ah how rude of me, I still haven't introduced myself, I am Aamon."

I stood flat-footed in my place, gazing at the sight before me. For the first time taking in his fear-inducing features. Yet I felt nothing. His difference from all humans only made me trust him more.

"Scott," I told him my name, but obviously he already knew.

"Good Scott, now I need you to trust me, because without me you will be nothing, but with me you can be a god."

He explained to me the intricacies of the mortal and immortal realms. Told me things so detailed and confidential that I will not even bother to try and explain to you all. All I can say is that the devil is the only reason I believe in God. The important part for you to know is that energy is wasted on the weak. People like me must take it, become powerful, and help Aamon build his army of spirits. He has to pick us carefully, his "collectors." There can only be one at a time as to raise no suspicions. It was finally my turn. Everything he told me only assured me that my pervious thoughts were correct; you are all truly insignificant.

In order to prove my loyalty to him and officially become his collector I had to take my first human life. For this kill I went for an easy and obvious target. The druggy that had been stuck in my way for so long, my mother. It was quite easy you see, between the drugs and regular beatings my dad gave her, she could've died a million ways. This time I had to make it look like an accident. An overdose.

It was now official I was ready to begin collecting. Aamon told me the people he needed, usually young healthy men who would supply some extra power. In the trial the lawyers tried to accuse me of being a latent homosexual. I assure you that I bare no attraction towards men. I bare no attraction towards anyone. I killed who I was told should die.

The first proper kill I made was a sight to behold. I confess that a bit of a mess was made, after all practice makes perfect, but I did get the job done. It was a man named Simon. He wasn't of large stature but he was scrappy and put up a little bit of a fight as I came toward him. I tried to pull out my anesthetics too early. He saw my moves coming. The drugs got the best of him in the end and I brought him back to my basement, the way I did with all the others.

My years of experimenting on woodland creatures served as a template for the way I cut them all up. Slitting the throat, making sure all the blood was drained cleanly into a container. Aamon said that's where the power is stored. I needed to drink the blood and eat the heart for the collection to be made. After each kill he would appear to me and take the spiritual energy from me as the conduit. I could feel electricity running through my veins, a rush every time a transfer was made. And then there was nothing. I would pass out to wake up and find the body gone. I still do not know what happened to them. The logical thing I can think of is that in my electric stupor I disposed of them, evidently very poorly, or I would not have been caught.

As you all know, after collecting 47 lives I was finally caught. Aamon assured me that we needed bigger targets once I made more and more kills. I knew that this kill, Kevin Clark, the CEO of the largest tech company in Minnesota, was a huge risk. My I did it for my God. My mentor needed me to complete the task. Needless to say, I did. And that's why I'm here, rotting in this goddamn cell.

By the time you find this I will already be dead. I am to be the last kill. Only once my blood leaves my body will Aamon be able to take the full power I collected. I don't give a shit if you all think I'm crazy; which I know you do. I fulfilled my life's purpose and will die knowing that mission was accomplished.

Watch out because the new collector is coming, and you might be next.