Narrators of all genders, identities, and backgrounds welcome. This short story is told from the perspective of a prison cell.

This anthology features dark fiction, so we want to hear your ability to guide the listener's emotions--whether the appropriate emotion is dread, shock, horror, terror, or disgust.

Please audition with the following excerpt:

Up the stairs, take a left, go around the corner, and enter the second blue door: that’s me. I have a narrow window, which is my greatest luxury, but besides that, I am like all the other cells in this prison. White cinder block walls bear down on the platform bed with a sagging mattress, and the smell of sweat and shit and disinfectant seeps through the door gaps. Over the years, many people have watched the sun rise and set through my window, waiting for the day when I would finish feeding, and they would be bundled out, led down the stairs and into the brown brick room where they would meet their end.

I was empty for many years, until 1977, when Hank Gielen came to occupy me. He had been convicted of killing seven young women, but he whispered to my walls that there were more. He told me about them, in a low, crooning voice; how he’d met Gloria at the library, and Lorraine at the Piggly-Wiggly, how he’d given Rose a ride home and replaced Terri’s tire. He told me what they looked like, how he loved their orange-red hair and the freckles across their noses, how their bodies went limp under his when he strangled them.