I wrote some books - a darker spree,
A series of blood and play.
It's wicked, wild - a mystery!
The series is named DAY!
The seventh book will close the reign
Of terror, charm, and dread.
For Wanda Day's no saint - she's pain;
A goddess dressed in red.
Runs a hotel far from the sun,
In the Alaskan woods, so still.
But Wanda's hobby isn't fun,
She just loves to ****
She built a club, a twisted crowd,
DAY! - her deadly crew.
Each year they gather, fierce and proud,
To celebrate what they do.
Yet this year's feast turns cold and grim,
The Queen of Fear was ended.
The candles flicker, chances slim,
And everyone's offended.
Now cops invade the misty pines,
With questions sharp as knives,
While Colin, drenched in scarlet signs,
Vows vengeance while taking some lives.
He's aided by his closest mate,
Chris: calm, but cut with fire.
Both stalk the truth, both tempt their fate,
Through blood, deceit, desire.
Who killed the duchess of the dead?
The town begins to fray.
The murders breed, the fear is spread:
Who silenced Wanda Day?
A thriller of blood, of guts, of jest,
Dark humor through the grime.
Not for the soft or faintly blessed;
It's chaos, with a rhyme.
Think Desperate Housewives gone to hell,
Meets Hostel's bleeding art.
Entrails fly, fists strike as well.
Weak souls, best not to start.
So, if your nerves can take the fray,
And madness makes you stay,
Then start the tale that lights the way:
Read "Who Killed Wanda Day?"
Nov 21, 2025
Nov 21, 2025 at 4:15 AM UTC
I wrote some books - a darker spree,
A series of blood and play.
It's wicked, wild - a mystery!
The series is named DAY!
The seventh book will close the reign
Of terror, charm, and dread.
For Wanda Day's no saint - she's pain;
A goddess dressed in red.
Runs a hotel far from the sun,
In the Alaskan woods, so still.
But Wanda's hobby isn't fun,
She just loves to ****
She built a club, a twisted crowd,
DAY! - her deadly crew.
Each year they gather, fierce and proud,
To celebrate what they do.
Yet this year's feast turns cold and grim,
The Queen of Fear was ended.
The candles flicker, chances slim,
And everyone's offended.
Now cops invade the misty pines,
With questions sharp as knives,
While Colin, drenched in scarlet signs,
Vows vengeance while taking some lives.
He's aided by his closest mate,
Chris: calm, but cut with fire.
Both stalk the truth, both tempt their fate,
Through blood, deceit, desire.
Who killed the duchess of the dead?
The town begins to fray.
The murders breed, the fear is spread:
Who silenced Wanda Day?
A thriller of blood, of guts, of jest,
Dark humor through the grime.
Not for the soft or faintly blessed;
It's chaos, with a rhyme.
Think Desperate Housewives gone to hell,
Meets Hostel's bleeding art.
Entrails fly, fists strike as well.
Weak souls, best not to start.
So, if your nerves can take the fray,
And madness makes you stay,
Then start the tale that lights the way:
Read "Who Killed Wanda Day?"
Behind the bright smile of Youngsville’s beloved innkeeper lies a legacy of blood. Wanda Day’s hotel has never truly been a safe haven for weary travelers - it is a sanctuary for serial killers. From every corner of the world, the most cunning murderers walk through its doors, cloaked in normalcy, united only by their appetite for carnage.
But when Wanda herself is found dead - her heart pierced with surgical precision - the delicate balance between camaraderie and suspicion shatters. An annual gathering collapses into chaos. Murderers who trust no one must hide their true purpose from the outside world, even as they wonder which of them dared to strike down the woman who bound them all together.
For Colin Day, Wanda’s grieving husband, and perhaps the most ruthless of them all, the loss cuts deeper than any blade.
Now, with his loyal ally Chris at his side, he descends into a hunt that twists in on itself. Every revelation drips with betrayal, every alliance rots from within, and every truth uncovered only deepens the nightmare.