The night was still young, and the atmosphere was filled with an unsettling silence, interrupted only by the distant buzz of street lamps flickering along the deserted road. A solitary black van came to a halt outside a forsaken estate at the town’s edge. The driver, dressed in a sleek black coat, adjusted his leather gloves prior to stepping out. He was known solely as “The Kolektor. “
A shadowy figure, he was a legend that circulated in fear-stricken whispers. No one knew his real appearance, only the mask he wore—a hideous, featureless face that appeared to shift in the dim light. He did not steal currency or valuables. No, his collection was much more intimate. He took individuals, but not just anyone. Each of his captives was selected for a specific reason, a mystery that only he comprehended.
Tonight’s pursuit brought him to the estate of Julian Mercer, a renowned sculptor celebrated for his eerily lifelike statues. The artist resided in isolation, his work both revered and dreaded to an equal degree. Gossip circulated that his sculptures were more than mere stone—they captured the very essence of the souls they mirrored. The Kolektor found this compelling.
Gliding through the grand iron gates, he moved like a ghost through the untamed gardens, his black boots making no sound against the moist earth. The mansion’s windows were dark, except for a flickering gleam radiating from the grand hall. There, Julian Mercer toiled late into the evening, refining his latest masterpiece.
The Kolektor entered soundlessly. He passed by rows of statues—each one eerily lifelike, their expressions frozen in torment or hopelessness. His gloved fingers brushed against the frigid marble of a sorrowful woman, her eyes void of hope. Julian’s craftsmanship was remarkable, and for the first time in a long while, The Kolektor felt a semblance of admiration.
From the shadows, he observed Julian, the sculptor’s chisel moving with honed skill. A single candle lit his aged face, his brow furrowed with deep focus. The Kolektor advanced, his presence as quiet as death itself.
Julian halted.
“You’ve arrived,” the artist remarked without turning. “I was curious how long it would take. ”
The Kolektor inclined his head, intrigued. He had intended to seize Julian, to include him in his collection. Yet the man before him appeared unperturbed, as if he had been anticipating his arrival.
Julian finally turned, displaying a weary smile. “I know who you are. What you do. But tell me, Kolektor… have you ever thought that you are not the sole one with a collection? ”
The atmosphere thickened with something unseen, something ancient. The statues encircling them seemed to shift in the flickering light, their faces twitching, their mouths opening as if to scream. The Kolektor stepped back, his gloved hand clenching into a fist.
Julian chuckled, a dry, understanding laugh. “These sculptures… They represent more than just art. They embody souls, ensnared in stone. ” He pointed toward an incomplete piece, a figure curled in quiet anguish. “I recognize you, Kolektor. I understand what motivates you. You strive to possess that which you fear. But what if, tonight, you become part of something larger? ”
For the first time, The Kolektor experienced a sense of discomfort infiltrating his very being. He reached out for Julian, but the atmosphere surrounding them altered violently. The statues shifted, ever so slightly, their shadows elongating unnaturally against the walls.
Julian’s grin grew wider. “I have been waiting for you. You see, I collect as well. ”
The final image The Kolektor beheld was the frigid grasp of marble hands reaching out for him, drawing him into their icy realm. His scream was unheard, his fight fleeting. And then, he was motionless.
Days later, when an unsuspecting art collector arrived at Julian’s estate, he was in awe of the latest addition—a remarkably lifelike statue of a man clad in a black coat, his featureless mask captured in a perpetual grimace.
Julian simply smiled and murmured, “Welcome to my collection. ”
