For three whole days, no one dared to approach the vacant lot in the backyard.
The children's playground that was once built because of Jimmy Simmons had long since become a hell on earth, exuding a dense, nauseating stench of blood to anyone who drew near.
Occasionally, a servant passing by could hear the howling of vicious dogs from inside, like they were baring their fangs and emitting threatening sounds as they prepared to attack, their claws scraping against the iron cages with a piercing noise.
Just listening to it was enough to send chills down one's spine.
For those three days, Jimmy Simmons did not allow anyone to deliver food, aiming to fully unleash the ferocity of the beast.
He absolutely could not allow Arnold Simmons, this stain, to appear in his life.
