Sing A Song For Depressed Angels

I arrived home shortly after 4:00 on Monday. I was riding a natural high. Things were good...so I thought. I was not aware that I was about to enter a crime scene. Donning my rubber gloves I began to inspect the scene. At least four victims, maybe more. I've watched enough Dragnet to know: just the facts ma'am. There were no witnesses at the scene, at least none that were alive. Very smart, I thought, but very cold. This killer obviously had no conscience. I couldn't figure out a motive, the carnage was so complete that it could only have been the sheer joy of killing which kept my suspect at his gruesome task. These poor beings lying lifeless before me had made no enemies in their short time on this abundant earth. They had led such a meager life, surely no one was jealous of such innocent creatures.
How did the killer get in to the residence? I couldn't figure that out either. There were no signs of forced entry, so how did the killer get in and out? There was a small list of suspects who could have committed such a desperate vicious crime. The wounds were similar on all four of the victims, small lacerations with very little bleeding. Probably the perpetrator picked them up by the neck and shook the life from their delicious bodies. They were so young and had so much more living to do.
Upon further investigation it was determined that my sister had witnessed the perp at the scene of the crime and stealthily followed him back to his residence. There will be no gobbling on Bemidji Ave. tonight.