Shame is a small town that sits on the outskirts of a vast forest. The town is a logging community with both a lumber mill and paper mill. It also has a dark history that residents seem to have put behind them. I live in Shame and I haven’t.

Years ago there was a string of murders in the nearby forest. Girls were found dead, tied to a tree. The cause of death: blunt force trauma. One of those girls was my daughter.

At the time of the murder I was in the military and deployed, poppin’ the tops of targets. She was a young lady going to community college. She told me she was an adult now and she’d be fine. I came home to an empty house and a dead daughter. I live in shame for not being there for her.

I visit the crime scene often. I watch and observe, hidden in camo. I’ve noticed only two visitors that come to the crime scene. One is the investigator of the murder cases who is a drunk now. The other is a sleazy, greaseball of a man. Doing some digging, I’ve learned his name is Robert. The investigator once arrested Robert for sexual battery of a minor. Like I said, greaseball of a man.

I learn more about Robert, where he lives, what he does and who he’s connected to. That’s a string I’ll pull on later. By gaining access to his home I hit pay dirt. I found his little trophies, locks of hair tied around an old shovel and a scrapbook full of news clippings, coverage of the murders. Robert is my guy, my target.

Waiting in the forest near the trees where the murders took place, I see him come into view. He stops and places his hand on each tree where the girls had died. As he laid his hand upon my daughter’s tree his fingers exploded into a meaty mess. Shock and horror capture his face as he lets out a scream that is cut off by another round that enters his eyeball and exits the back of his head. His body slumps into a heap next to the tree where my daughter died.

I kick dirt into Robert’s dead face as I approach the body. I collect the corpse and carry it like a wounded soldier a mile down a nearby trail where I made camp. I burn the body in a campfire. After that I bury the burnt remains and have another campfire on top of the grave, masking any scent for cadaver dogs, should they come looking. The next morning I leave the campsite, giving the appearance that a hiker made a stop.

That evening I burned Robert’s house down. I sat and watched the flames flicker in the dark night. As the smoke poured into the night sky, I thought that I may just continue this and remove the shame from the town of Shame.