Hopscotch

            “This is another sad morning for Crimson Stone,” a sharply dressed male presenter stood by the white screen. “Today, we mourn the people who got butchered inside the local pub last night. May their souls find peace.”

            He continued in a stern voice, wearing a grim remorse, “Some of the survivors claimed that a suspicious man, about six feet tall, smiled at them with a crooked smile etched across his face. The police found no leads as to the whereabouts of this man. The residents are advised to—.&rdquo