There was a guy named William Wakerstone who built his life by making mannequin. Old pain never cured, Old pain never depleted. It haunted him day by day, and he didn`t know that . . .
Someone commited a vendetta . . .
What would you do if you saw a small poor dog on a street?
Do you really think it was a small poor dog?
"When you see a creature from hell, it means you've done something
really bad. And if it's the first time you see the creature, then that's the warning."
What if you could see someone's last moments through their very eyes?
Author's Note: Also this is my very first story on Booksie! Feedback is appreciated!
EDIT: This story is no longer called "The Back Road" because I have another story with a name that kind of looks the same called "The Black Door". Just clarification.