10/05/2025
Daniel's Game is the first book in a must read trilogy:
https://tinyurl.com/Danielkillergame
The air is thick tonight, pressing against my skin like a thousand tiny hands reaching for me, but I don’t mind. I’ve always liked the stillness of the night. It calms me, centres me. The world sleeps while I am awake, and in this silence, I am free. The kind of free you can only understand if you’ve stood at the edge, teetering between life and death, and felt the power surge through you as you pulled someone from one side to the other.
Tonight, I can hear the wind whistling through the trees, carrying the faintest scent of decay. I like that too. The world isn’t as pure as most would like to believe. It’s messy, and it’s full of people who pretend they don’t hear the whispers that creep through the cracks in their minds. I hear them. I’ve always heard them.
I am not a monster, at least not in the way they want you to think. Monsters have claws, sharp teeth, and glowing eyes. Monsters are easy to spot, easy to run from, easy to label. No, I am something different. I am a collector. I am a curator of souls, a weaver of destinies. I choose who stays, who goes, and how they go. In my world, I have control, and control is everything.
I’ve been preparing for tonight for weeks. It’s strange how sometimes things seem to fall into place just when you need them to. Perhaps it's fate, or maybe just years of careful planning and observation. A soft smile tugs at my lips as I glance down at the photo in my hand. It’s a simple picture—no more than a snapshot of a life—but to me, it holds everything. Everything I need.
Her name is Rachel. I’ve been watching her for months now. Her life is... dull. A series of trivial interactions, a string of insignificant days. She thinks she’s safe, just like all of them do. But she isn’t. She’ll never be again.
I slip the photo into my pocket and turn toward the door, my pulse steady, my heart calm. I’ve done this before, and I’ll do it again. It’s almost... comforting, in a way. Like an old, familiar ritual that needs no explanation. A part of me wonders if she will cry. I know the others did. The first time I felt the blade break skin, I expected them to beg, to plead, but they never did. They were too shocked, too caught in the moment to process what was happening.
But not Rachel. No, she will understand. She’s a little smarter than the others. She might not know what’s coming, but she will feel the weight of it. I wonder if she’ll try to fight. It doesn’t matter, really. People always try to fight. It’s instinct. But instincts can be broken. They can be twisted until they snap, until the person is as pliable as clay in my hands.
The drive to her apartment is quiet, the only sound the hum of the engine as I glide down the empty streets. It’s late, the kind of late where only those who truly belong to the night remain awake. A perfect time for me to work. It’s almost as if the world is holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable.
I don’t need to rush. I have all the time in the world. Time is a luxury, one that most people don’t appreciate. They squander it on fleeting things—small distractions, meaningless tasks. But I know better. I know that time is the one thing we can never get back. So I take my time, savouring each step as I approach the end of another chapter.
I park my car a block away and slip out, making my way toward her building with the practiced ease of someone who has done this too many times to count. There’s a thrill in the simplicity of it. No grand gestures, no dramatic speeches. Just quiet steps, a soft breath, and the knowledge that I am closer than ever to the final act.
Rachel’s apartment is on the second floor. The stairs creak beneath my weight, but I’m not concerned. No one is awake to hear. I know her routine; her dull, boring routine which never seems to change. She’ll be alone tonight—just like every other night. I’ve learned her schedule down to the minute, a lesson in patience that has paid off in more ways than one.
I stop at her door and pause for a moment, just listening. There’s nothing. The silence is liberating. A faint light spills through the window, casting a glow over the doorknob. I’ve seen that light before, in every corner of every victim’s home, and it’s always the same. A light that goes out, snuffed out by me, forever.
I reach for the door handle, the cold metal sending a chill up my spine. I twist it slowly, careful not to make any sound, and push the door open. It gives with a soft groan, and I slip inside.
The apartment is just as I imagined—small, cluttered, and cozy. Rachel is sitting on the couch, her back to me, her face lit by the glow of the TV. She hasn’t seen me yet. She doesn’t know what’s coming. But she will. She’ll feel it soon enough.
I don’t move toward her immediately. I take a moment to appreciate the scene—the mundane, the normal. It’s always fascinating how people live their lives, unaware of the dangers lurking just beneath the surface. They think they’re safe, sheltered by their routines. But routines are what make them predictable, and predictability is a killer’s best friend.
I watch her for a few more seconds, allowing the anticipation to build. My heart begins to quicken, but I stay calm. I’ve been calm for years. It’s the key to doing this right.
I take a step forward, the floor creaking beneath my feet. Rachel tenses, and I see her hand instinctively reach for her phone, but she’s too slow. I’m already there, standing behind her. She doesn’t scream. Not yet. She simply turns, and our eyes meet.
There’s a flash of recognition in her eyes, and for a brief moment, I think she might speak. But she doesn’t. She’s paralyzed. Not with fear, not yet, but with confusion. Her lips part, but no words come.
“You didn’t think you were alone, did you?” I whisper, my voice low, almost soothing. “No one ever is.”
I reach for the blade. It’s smooth in my hand, sharp as ever. A tool. A means to an end.
I raise it. And then, in one swift motion, I take her.
Find it here:
Daniel’s Game – A Serial Killer Thriller You Won’t Forget A killer leaves his mark—a yellow ribbon tied around each victim’s wrist. Detective Henry Rhodes is desperate to stop him, but Daniel Mercer is always one step ahead. By day, he’s a brilliant lawyer. By night, he’s a predator wh...
