Bruno came, everything was so small and he had mysteriously shrunk. Think of a Soviet-devilry, an experiment of some terrorist act to remove him, the most famous journalist in the country, from the scene of the year. Bruno walk around the room, looked around: everything seemed to have been made by a God from the hands of meticulous long and slender. There was a table on the right, dark ebony like oil, and over a basket of apples.
"I am hungry, I will take a" thought Bruno. Bruno tasted it. It was false: he liked especially.
To see that little hut inside, from the point of view as tiny, everything seemed clearer. Bruno knew that whoever lived there were not mere puppets forced to live within those walls lies. "They were really the people! Saw the little man, stroking his right cheek, the former residence of tens of beauty spots.
"Maybe they think of reasoning Crepet so nice," Bruno wondered, remembering the thousand Paraculo friend.
There was a crucifix on the wall and under what a horrible drawer full of utensils, tablecloths, glasses and other things. "All things for the house are also great weapons," reflected the man wielding a nice toothpick dispenser shaped drone. Above it, hanging just below the Christ, the family photos. There was also the girl died, the one that had been killed. "What was his name? And then who was? "They arrested all: his uncle, his cousin, his mother, his niece. People did not know what to think and who to hate. At the bar in his house, Bruno had noticed that the girl killed and thrown into the well was slowly setting behind the horizons of cool topics, outclassed by the Camorra of GF 11 werewolf and the priest who not only children but has anal sex turns them into werewolves creating an army of monsters uses to transform into monsters and bugger the anal .
"My God, what a mess," Brown concluded, "something must be done here."
"Yes, Bruno."
Bruno felt his blood frozen in our hearts. Who had spoken?
"No, not that cii is someone" tried to convince himself. He was alone in that tiny house in the television studio of his program. He found himself imprisoned and mysteriously tiny, sure, but one thing was certain: he was alone. At least until then, the moment a glorious voice broke the silence lowercase. Bruno turned. "It must be the murderess!" Deduced, "the killers always return to the scene of the crime."
turned and saw him. "DICK!" He cried. "But then ..," the reporter stepped back mumbling, "... then it was you!"
The mysterious figure smiled, and slightly moved his right arm showing a small knife - the handle of poor quality inlaid with faux pearls.
Bruno tried to scream, to call for help or at least to remember in which pocket he had left the phone to call the police, but curiosity was too much.
"I'll be the only one to know if the rapist is also a murderess! This would be a scoop. "
He Died with a strange smile to share two thousand percent.
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