Graham Pererson was a murderer. He killed people. Often.

Under the guise of a little old man he scoured the late evening streets for his victims. He carried a small bag and a walking stick.

He had a nicely worked out system which had, to date, never failed him.

And so tonight, April 1, he locked his door behind him and headed towards the suberbs.

They were starting to head home in groups of two and three from their nights of debauchery. He hated them. All of them.

A young woman seperated from her group and turned a corner.

He was behind her very quickly and calling for help as he dropped his back and let the contents spill.

She turned and came forward to assist him. As she stooped to gather his belongings he slid his ‘Punch’ mask from his pocket and over his head. His fingers tightened around the knife.

The girl stood suddenly and something sharp pierced his neck.

He fell to the floor, and as the life flowed slowly from his body he looked up into the chuckling face of Judy.