The Red Feast
Just as he did every Friday afternoon for the last three years, Jerome Hancock stared idly at a large shelve of movie rentals. The titles, covered in dark, extravagant art that only horror movies would have stared back at him, but he gazed back with habitual apathy. Friday night was his designated movie night. Of course, most men in their prime usually spent the night out with their friends, drinking at a bar, going to the movies, or engaging in some activity that was, at the least, mildly stimulating.
But Jerome never did fit into that mold. At twenty-seven years old, he had no close friends, worked in a low-income accounting firm, and lived in a single bedroom apartment on the outskirts of the city. There was nothing about his person that distinguished him in the least. His face was plain, and his clothes were, at best, not a complete fashion disaster. The man could have been the poster child for the Average Joe of America.
But Jerome had an able mind, capable to learn