[ WP ] Bob Ross was actually a serial killer that painted where he buried his victims . His paintings are becoming suspicious and the body count is rising .

Bob ran the brush through a thick glob of oil paint and wiped the excess on his pants. 
 It was nighttime, eerily quiet. 
 Bob gently tapped the brush against the canvas, filling in a line of pine trees with a dusting of snow. 
 Outside, the wind howled and beat against the sides of the cabin. Snow had piled so high in only a matter of hours, Bob had to clear the chimney of ice for the fire thrice. The fire that, at the moment, was the only thing keeping him alive. Well that... and the unfinished business. Business that must be finished. 
 But first, the painting. 
 Bob smiled to himself and stood back, admiring the intricacy of the painted landscape. Reminiscent of Aspen, the forest scene pulled at his emotions. Well it should! This was to be a successful night! 
 
 He began to float off into day dreams, knowing that time was on his side. He did n't need to rush. As he sometimes did, Bob began to imagine the faces of those he'd `` explored''. 
 A young girl from FL. Brown hair. Green eyes. Her screams reminded him of birds cawing. 
 A teenage boy from CA. Football player. Bit back, but eventually gave up. 
 A mother from WA. Blonde with a soccer mom complex. Tennis shoes. Perfume. 
 He let the feeling of euphoria consume him for a moment, ignoring any doubts. 
 
 Sirens broke this happy daze, loud and coming towards the cabin. Bob dashed to the window, and sure enough the blues and reds of two law enforcement vehicles echoed against the trees. He froze, calculating in his head. It had to be now. 
 Bob scrambled around the room, gathering several things in a pack. He threw on a thick parka, boots, and gloves. Tossing the pack over his back, he returned to the painting. 
 Bob slipped a marker from his pocket, bending down to the right hand corner of the canvas. He signed. 
 
 `` Ross. Thanks Again.'' 
 
 He glanced to the cellar door, feeling an odd sense of longing. It was only a moment. He had made a choice now. This last one would be a sacrifice. She would live. 
 Giving the cabin one last look, Bob slipped out the back door and into the snow. The lights were brighter now, and heavy footstep could be heard not far off. Bob smiled and started towards a hidden path into the trees. He would begin again, but now there was only waiting. 
 

